#which was probably just existing happily in my own skin as a woman

[divinegoth]

Got called a loser yesterday as I was walking 2 the bus stop <<<333

[whythinktoomuch]

attempt #37

This was the 52nd formula that Lena had come up with, the 45th solution that she had to wait several hours to synthesize, but only the 37th time she was injecting her shoulder with the resulting concoction. 

It was bright green this time, which only made it seem all the more promising.

There’s a rush and some mild nausea that Lena had come to expect with the experiments, but everything else felt the same. For now. Setting the syringe aside, Lena called out, “Hope, think of a number between one and a million.” 

Then, for the 37th time, Lena tried. She cleared her own mind, practiced the meditative mantras, stared intently into Eve’s eyes, bright blue yet blank with Hope’s quiet disinterest, and... nothing. Not a single digit came to mind. 

No matter how hard Lena tried, the only thoughts in her head were her own. 

With an exasperated sigh, Lena rolled her sleeve back down and directed Hope to log their latest attempt as yet another failure before storming off to start her day. 

// 

Lena emerged from the laboratory with wrinkled clothes and dark circles sunken around her eyes, which was probably why the first thing she heard as she stepped out of the elevator was her personal assistant’s hushed commentary of, Oh sweet Jesus, she looks tired. 

“Oh, I’m well aware, Hector,” Lena said, lofty and without much malice. “Nothing a little coffee can’t fix though.” 

Hector stared at her blankly. “I’m sorry, Miss Luthor?” 

“Never mind,” Lena said, rolling her eyes. She took the outstretched coffee in question as she walked by the assistant’s desk. “Just hold all my calls until the afternoon, please.” 

This time, when Hector grumbled under his breath about wow, she must be grumpy too, Lena ignored it. There were better things for the CEO to tackle, after all; as for example, some fitful sleep on her couch, perhaps? 

Hours later, Lena was relatively well-rested, so she pored over her notes again, trying to pinpoint the exact variable she must have overlooked in her carelessness. Because by all accounts, the formula should have worked—Lena had been certain of it. But then again, she’d admittedly thought that of almost every attempt thus far. 

When Hector walked into her office at some point in the late afternoon with a handful of contracts to be signed, Lena felt no closer to the solution and a slight headache coming on.

“Is there anything else I can help you with?” 

“Another coffee would be great,” Lena said, as she sifted through the documents. 

“Oh my God, if she takes in any more caffeine, her heart’s going to literally explode...” Hector muttered to himself. “Well, maybe she won’t notice if I get her decaf instead...?” 

Lena dropped the papers onto her desk with a scoff. “You know I can hear you, right?” 

Hector appeared startled, which seemed rather appropriate until he slowly said, “So... was that a yes on the espresso?” 

“What?” 

Hector maintained his slow cadence, carefully enunciating every syllable as if he were repeating himself, “Did you want to stick with your usual order... or maybe go with an espresso... because it’s a little stronger?” 

But in a normal cadence, also in Hector’s voice and somehow clear as a bell in Lena’s head came, “If this woman doesn’t get another nap in pronto, she is going to drop dead, and everyone’s going to think I poisoned her coffee, because she’s always in—” 

Absolutely stunned, Lena continued to stare up at Hector in silence, eyes narrowing as the assistant’s slightly panicked voice droned on and on in her head. Until a louder remark broke through the reverie. 

“Whoa, did she just fall asleep with her eyes open?” 

Lena blinked quite obviously, and her mild shock was accompanied with a loud and clear, yet unspoken Oh, thank God! from Hector. 

But the Hector standing before her hadn’t moved his lips once, only watching the bewilderment play out on Lena’s face with some polite concern. 

“The usual’s fine,” Lena interjected before her assistant could press again. “Or the espresso, or whatever. I don’t care, as long as it’s still hot and caffeinated.” 

“You got it,” Hector said. 

“Definitely getting her decaf,” Hector thought as he turned to leave, but Lena hardly minded. She was too busy restructuring the rest of her day around this most exciting realization. 

After some quick bit of arithmetic in her head, Lena set a timer on her watch for five hours, which was presumably the amount of time it would take for her body to break down the serum and render it useless. Then she logged on to her private interface and happily directed Hope to re-record attempt #37 as a success. 

//

The ability to read minds was, quite simply, quite the advantage. 

Though it wasn’t so much “mind-reading,” as mind-receiving. The serum seemed to have granted Lena access to the loud and active thought processes of everyone around her—their inner monologue, if you will, everything put into words but left unsaid. 

Lena had been hoping for more, to be able to break into other people’s minds so as to hack secrets, determine why supposed close friends would ever betray her, and the like. Maybe that would come with time and practice. 

But as it turned out, there was rather plenty to be gleaned from the forefront of someone’s mind, as people often thought about the things they weren’t supposed to say before choosing more palatable means of expression. Which made the rest of Lena’s workday somewhat informative, if not a little fun. 

For one thing, Lena found out that a lot more of her employees enjoyed working for her than she had thought. All of them respected her, several feared her, and quite a fair few entertained invasive thoughts about her décolletage before swiftly directing their attention elsewhere. 

She also found out there was one board member in particular who liked to fudge the numbers during meetings, and that his face took on a very unappealing shade of off-white when Lena could inexplicably confront him with the actual results of his findings. 

But most importantly of all, what Lena found out was that... she actually enjoyed this heretofore inaccessible sense of control this ability afforded her. She had taken on the experiments for a very specific purpose, but now, it was difficult to even imagine going back to how things were, even after the fact.  

// 

Lena walked into the DEO, and for the first time, the outpouring of distrust attached to the Luthor name was all but imagined. The disparaging thoughts followed her, even as the people who had them smiled or averted their eyes as she passed. 

Nothing she wasn’t used to though. 

Alex’s voice slid into Lena’s head in a whisper—... the hell?—one whole minute before she actually greeted her, “Lena, hey... Well, can’t say that I was expecting you.” 

“Yes, that’s what it sounds like,” Lena mused, and Alex gave her a slight frown. 

“So, did you need something?” 

“Where’s Kara? I want to talk to her.” 

Alex’s carefully composed face betrayed no emotion, but her thoughts sighed heavily, “Of course...” before ebbing away into something entirely indistinct and indecipherable.

Lena blinked. She hadn’t encountered anyone whose thoughts weren’t immediately accessible to her before. But here Alex was, giving directions to Kara’s current whereabouts, all the while muttering some underlying commentary in tones so hushed that Lena couldn’t quite make out any of it. 

“... Is there something on my face?” Alex swiped her sleeve across her forehead. “What are you looking at?” 

“What? No, nothing,” Lena said brusquely. “Thank you for telling me where Kara is. Bye.” She turned on her heel, headed for the hallway that would eventually lead to the training room. 

“Well, that was weird...” Alex’s voice drifted after her, a literal afterthought. “But I mean, I guess she has a nice ass, so—”

Lena shot a dirty look over her shoulder, but Alex was already back on her computer, mind rattling off coordinates and running through tactical drills like a well-oiled machine. 

// 

Kara was wearing short shorts and a sports bra, panting, and absolutely drenched in sweat when Lena stepped foot into the training room. She looked over at Lena, her skin glistening against the dimmed green of the kryptonite-lined walls, and smiled wide. 

“Oh, hey! What are you doing here?” Kara asked, giving the punching bag one last jab before tugging her gloves off. "Did something happen or...? I mean, not that I’m not happy to see you, of course.” She flashed Lena another bright grin before pressing a towel to her face and neck and chest. 

It was enough to stop Lena in her tracks, and almost enough to put a damper on her plans. Almost. 

“I need to talk to you,” Lena said evenly, eyes glued firmly to Kara’s forehead. 

“Yeah, sure! Jeez... I’d give you a hug, but I’m like sweating in places I didn’t even know existed. Alex says that this is the only way to learn proper form and all, but wow. I can’t believe there are humans who actually do this for fun—” 

“Kara,” Lena cut in, lips pursing in exasperation. “I’m serious. We need to talk right now.” 

Kara blinked, then slowly nodded. “Okay, yeah, let’s talk... You wanna sit down?” 

“I prefer to be standing.” 

“Okay.” Kara remained standing as well, towel now crumpled in her hands. “So, what’s going on?” 

Lena took a deep breath, quickly running through the meditative techniques meant to keep her mind clear and open, then asked, “Why did it take you so long to tell me that you’re Supergirl?” 

Kara’s shoulders slumped. “Lena, I...” 

“No, why did it take three years? Why didn’t you trust me?” Lena continued, her pace steady and firm just like she had practiced. “I trusted you. I trusted you with every part of me, which is extremely difficult for me to do, and you just... didn’t care, I guess.” 

“Of course, I care. Lena... I never meant to hurt you,” Kara said insistently. Her voice was loud, emphatic, and at the moment, the only thing Lena could hear.  

“Don’t!” Lena snapped when Kara started to approach her. “Don’t come any closer. And stop talking! Just listen.” 

Kara exhaled sharply through her nose and raised her hands in tentative surrender in absolute, utter silence. Lena even paused for a beat or two, just to see if any of Kara’s thoughts would breach the surface, but none did. 

“Why couldn’t you just trust me, Kara?” Lena asked, and regrettably her voice trembled on the last syllable. “Why did I have to hear it from Lex?” 

Kara’s eyes widened. “Lex? Lex told you before I did?” 

“Shut up. Do not talk,” Lena hissed out, waiting for Kara to snap her jaw shut before continuing with a bitter laugh, “Do you, do you even trust me now...?” Kara stared, gaze hardening. “And how do you expect me to trust anything you have to say for yourself now?” 

Lena’s questions—all of the above and beyond—were met with silence, strained only by the sound of Kara’s heavy breath and Lena’s own thoughts. 

Scoffing, Lena threw up her hands. “Do you even care that you hurt me?” 

“... Can I talk now?” Kara demanded, seething like she had any right to it. But when Lena shook her head furiously, she held her tongue and apparently everything else as well, because Lena couldn’t hear a single damn thing. 

When the alarm on her watch went off, Lena left, slamming the door on her way out. She contacted Hope through their private channel and had her re-log attempt #37 as just another failure. 

Back to the fucking drawing board. 

(next part here)

[lilmajorshawty]

What are your favourite moon signs for a woman to have? Just like you did for the men!!

HAHA that’s so hard women handle their moons energy WAYYYY better!

Virgo moon : they are genuine and extremely childlike but in a youthful tone not an immature one. They want to explore the world and hate the idea of limiting their spirit but at the same time love is always in their back burner. There’s a purity to them which is why it hurts so much to see them hurt. They do genuinely care for others and take the needs and feelings of others into consideration before they ever choose themselves which is why it can be such a shock to those around them when they finally do choose “them.” I have nothing bad to say about virgo moon women expect for the fact that sometimes their ability to completely disconnect from their emotions can cause problems for friendships/family and lovers at times because they can truly “move on”

Cancer moon : I’ve met a many cancer moon women and they are some of the fiercest, intense and most caring people I know. Their main pitfalls are having a baby complex, and being a tad self centered without realizing. They are honestly sooooo family oriented and tend to at times not afford that same compassion to outsiders but that’s mainly just because family is their center for better or for worse. So when the family life isn’t going well they can be a tad dismantled. They are big on self care and despite the generazlizations of cancer moons they tend to be highly independent. Love is on their forefront and they tend to be moody in terms of their romantic and sexual desires just because at the end of the day what matters the most to them is being comfortable. They are eternally wonderful but as I said that chilike self centeredness is always swimming just beneath the surface.

Aries moon : these women are intense. They see and feel with a great passion but also feel nothing with a great disinterest and lack of involvement. If they want something or if you happen to find yourself in the path of their movement they can be all consuming and almost as if a million suns landed their rays on you at once. They want a level of authenticity and honesty in all interactions and the moment they can tell you’re not up to par or on their level they subtly lose interest, detach and become less involved. They are SOOOOO heavy energy wise and a lot of the times you’ll be intimidated by the sexuality, the confidence and empress like nature of them. They really run shit.

Aquarius moon : they are an interesting combination of there and not there. They have this otherworldly, hard to catch vibe. Like the cool kid from Highschool that started all the trends effortlessly, the one everyone wanted to jump into the skin of. They can be eery and a tad depressive but then They’ll suddenly take on a more altruistic vibe? They can be moodier than cancer moons but more servicing than virgo moons. They love and need to be around others and that is their only big flaw, they never really know how to deal with things on their own. But they somehow manage to be loners by nature? They are honestly so full of endless paradoxes but that’s what makes them so unique.

Scorpio moon : now these natives are truly a enigma. Scorpio moon women are everything you read about Scorpio sun men but reversed in a fun house Mirror and decorated with these pretty roses and tulips. They can be blunt, tenacious and fearlessly able to act out what their thinking and feeling. They have a paranoia about sharing their inner shades and prefer to keep their feelings deep inside unless coaxed to do so by a patient lover or friend. They’re honest but you must start by being honest you’re self if you want them to truly open up. They aren’t ones to be manipulated as they naturally view people as self serving and they see the natural power dynamics that exist among people which is often why they prefer to be the one in control. Sex is a big part of their lives and dare I say it’s a big destresser for them. They’re probably the most sexually fluid and emotionally complex of the bunch but they are wonderful souls.

Leo moon : litteral angels. They fly through really intense emotions quietly, loudly, somberly, happily, all so quickly and all dramatically as if they’re in some play. They are so affectionate and deeply caring but they also have a tendency to be needy and self absorbed. They can see The big picture always but sometimes get wrapped up in the idea of how they individually fit in it all. They can be drawn to presences like a moth is to fire and they can also find themselves swarming in a pool of love and loveless situations mainly because their emotional world lives in the realm of love. They tend to adjust themselves when in groups or when around certain people as they want to make the situations easy and without issue or clashing personalities. Very rarely will anyone ever really see their real self and that self is often showed in seldom as it is much more vulnerable and softer than the strong lioness they would like everyone to believe them as.

That being said there’s many others I would mention but I wanted to do my top favorites.

[antiloreolympus]

7 Anti LO Asks

1. i dont want to assume anything, but i REALLY find it rather disturbing on rachel and her view of the world if the most evil person she can think of is "mentally ill poor woman who everyone hates for existing and is punished/potentially killed for doing the right thing" while the people deserving of love, respect, and sympathy are the rich elites who includes one that happily owns slaves and literally steals the wages from his employees. like what the fuck is that?

2. Ok like I looked at the pilot on the Wikia and Hecate tells Hades that Persephone is 19, hits him, then when Hades says he loves Persephone, Hecate is all for them being together! And saying "we'll finally have a queen!"

HECATE! Why happened to being mad at him and telling him Persephone is 19! Talk about a 180 in 10 secs!

3. It would be funny (and frustrating) if Apollo ends up being sent to Tartarus and tortured anyways even though he’s a major god of the pantheon and RS claims that her comic is just an alternate retelling

4. you know i get its supposed to look like theyre wearing really shiny lip gloss but because there is no defined lip shapes or even breaking points in their skin to show where lips end and start every time LO shows us their mouths it just looks like the women are slobbering and drooling. like they look so MOIST. WHY.

5. If they go with a Prometheus style punishment, they’d probably go beyond with a Ouranos style punishment and castrate him so he can “never hurt my innocent Persephone again” *rolls eyes*

Because Apollo performs such an important job, they can’t exactly punish him like they did with Prometheus.

6. unironically lo hermes and persephone are a better suited and realistic ship than lo hades being with anyone, tbh. lo hades needs to stop being a creep and claiming a sheltered college sophomore is his "soulmate".

7. i get LO is basically built off "cliffhangers/twists" so she doesn't want the readers to "guess" what's going on, which is like?? It's not a bad thing if the readers get whats happening and can see where it's going, that's actually a sign of good writing. If it's something well known like mythology, you make the known fates have an effect when you build up the relationships and characters. TSOA and Hadestown both do this really well. You can't go off names, you need to make us actually care.

[apiratewhopines]

Thanks to @teamhook for the updated artwork. She’s the only person I know who will provide a gift for her own gift 💝

Thanks to @motherkatereloyshipper for helping me pick Killian’s hometown in this story and for being an all around lovely person

Midnight

Chapter 2 — The Stroke

Summary: In which our heroine does what she does best

Chapter 2 of 7 on AO3

“And my imagination will feed my hungry heart,

Leave me one thing before we part”

-A Kiss to Build a Dream On, Louis Armstrong

The spot he was referring to was an out-of-the-way pub serving the greasiest onion rings in existence and a lively clientele that didn’t notice it was one o’clock in the morning and all decent people were in bed. After days of getting by on breakfast bars and the memory of what a full meal tasted like, Emma thought she had died and gone to heaven.

Melancholy tunes droned softly in the background as she demolished enough food to feed an army. The pretty waitress earned her respect when the woman didn’t even blink at her handsome companion, and she liked to think she earned it back when she ordered three of their daily specials without a trace of shame.

Ignoring the way Killian watched with an expression close to awe as she stuffed her face, she happily gulped down a cup of coffee and observed, “Nice place. Come here often?”

“Not as much as I used to,” he murmured, taking a sip of his drink. “Tell me about this man you’re hunting. Is it personal?”

“Please, don’t make me lose my appetite. Surely we can come up with something else to talk about,” she groaned around a mouthful of beef and melted cheese. He had removed his leather jacket when they entered the pub, and his black short sleeve t-shirt stretched across his biceps in a manner entirely too distracting for comfort. Their high-backed booth made it feel as though they were on an island all by themselves, the dark wood and Tiffany lamps creating a cozy cocoon while still allowing a view of the nearly deserted dance floor.

“Ah, definitely personal then. Did he insult your honor? Break your heart? Have you ever even been in love?”

It stung how quickly he was able to see through her. Did she wear her heartache like a stamp on her forehead announcing to everyone she was an idiot? Ignoring the last question, she replied, “He hurt the only person who ever cared about me out of petty revenge. Neal Cassidy broke me. Now I’m going to return the favor.”

“Chills, darling.” His tone was teasing, but she thought she saw him shudder at her words. “I guess you don’t abide the notion of turning the other cheek.”

“Not when the first hit cost me my home, my possessions, and my peace of mind.”

“So he’s the reason you haven’t eaten in days and don’t have any luggage? Sounds like a lovely chap.”

“I don’t need your commentary or your sympathy, Captain. While I appreciate your help tonight, and I definitely owe you one for the meal, I think my past is closed for further discussion. Let’s talk about you instead. What’s your story?”

“I don’t have one, love. What you see is what you get.”

“What I see is someone dodging my question. Guess I’ll have to fill in the details myself then. Let’s see…thirty-something-year-old man who lives a life of boredom and pines for more while feeling stuck in his white picket fence world. You have a decent career in a field that pays well but decided to start a side hustle to meet new people and have something to do after eight in the evening.” Gesturing with her chin toward his forearm, she continued, “Currently nursing his own broken heart over the woman who loved and left him. The only thing I can’t figure out is what part of England you’re from.”

“Well, aren’t you the perceptive one,” he answered with a self-deprecating chuckle. “Although, I would argue it’s cheating since I have my emotional baggage inked on my skin for everyone to see while you carry yours around like an invisible tumor on your soul. As far as where I’m from, a man likes to maintain a little mystery.”

“Come on! You really aren’t going to tell me anything about yourself? After I guessed all that about you?”

With an unfathomable look, he smiled softly and said, “Fine, I’m from Cambridge. Now you know all my secrets. And allow me to call your attention to how well my devious plan worked. My first evening with my side hustle, as you call it, and I’m already having a late night rendezvous with a beautiful woman. One full of food and dancing.”

“There will be no dancing, Captain. But I wouldn’t be opposed to more food.”

“Not sure where you’ll put it, love, there’s no more room on the table. But I’m game if you are. Come on, one dance, and I’ll buy you a whole pie.”

She wanted pie but not as much as she wanted to feel his arms around her. She wanted it so badly her mind raced with images of skin on skin and restless hands exploring. Then her stomach twisted at the knowledge they would say goodbye soon. They probably should have already said it, truth be told. As she debated what harm could come from giving in just this once, he extended his hand and pulled her gently from the seat. Slowly, she felt a small section of her walls crumble and gave him a reluctant smile. “One dance.”

The soft music wasn’t loud enough to allow for an appropriate selection of dance style, but she didn’t mind when he gathered her close and swayed gently in time with his soft humming. She felt his breath stir the hair around her face and realized this was a mistake. Now that she knew how it felt, it would be harder to deny herself an encore. Especially knowing tonight was a one-time thing.

“Tell me something, Swan. Do you believe in love at first sight?”

“No, I don’t believe in love at all,” she answered. Her words conveyed her deeply held conviction that poets and Hollywood movie producers invented love to make people so miserable with the lack of it, they had to seek out fictionalized versions to find some measure of happiness. Her tone, however, sounded as though she was open to being convinced otherwise.

“That’s a shame. I think you’ll miss out on a lot of what life has to offer by being so close-minded and scared.”

“If I were scared, which I’m not, I have every reason to be. One of my foster moms told me a long time ago that love wouldn’t buy me a diamond ring, and it was as easy to be in a relationship with a rich man as a poor one. Easier really. I used to think she was a witch, but now I think she had a point.”

“Bloody hell, what exactly did that man do to you?”

She felt his direct gaze like a physical thing caressing her even as his eyes flickered with disappointment. “I told you. He broke me. And my bank account.”

“Money isn’t everything, love.”

“Excuse me if I ignore advice telling me to count my non-monetary blessings from the man who picked me up in his Beamer. It may not be everything but not having it leaves you with nothing.”

“A person who needs forty dollars a day and makes forty is richer than someone who has everything and needs more.”

“Now you’re just being silly,” she said as she slipped from his arms. “And when a rainy day comes? What then?”

“I recently took up being an Uber driver in my spare time, love. I imagine I’ll make more on rainy days.”

Laughing as she looked at his endearing face under the dim light, she shook her head. “About my pie…”

—

She knew what she was doing. She lingered over the large platter containing a sampling of every type of pie the surprisingly eclectic menu had to offer. She watched him with affection as he critiqued each in turn, always saving the bites with whipped cream for her. The best parts, in other words.

She was stalling.

The night hadn’t turned out as she expected. While her main goal was unfulfilled, she couldn’t make herself think of it as a loss when her sides hurt from laughing, and her troubled heart felt at peace. It was a pity it had to end. And not because she had nowhere to go, although that was certainly the case.

Slowly they made their way back to his car, neither one speaking as the noises of the summer night buzzed in the background. She’d said a lot of goodbyes in her lifetime, eagerly in most cases, but was strangely reluctant to add this one to the list. “Well, Captain, it’s been an expensive night for you. I think you better drop me off at the nearest bus station before I cost you any more.”

“You’re always trying to bring the conversation back around to money. Get in,” he ordered as he handed her into the car.

The air in the cabin of his luxury sedan felt heavy with expectation. Neither of them spoke nor hardly moved a muscle. She considered asking him to turn on the radio but didn’t want to miss out on the last few moments of hearing his even breathing next to her. Minutes passed, and it took her a while to notice they had left Storybrooke and were heading back toward Misthaven. “How much further to the bus station?”

“We passed it several miles back. You’re going to stay at my place.”

Under normal circumstances, this would be where she prepared to kick someone’s ass, but she knew deep down, as surprising as his announcement was, she had nothing to fear from him. Well, nothing except a repeat of the broken heart fiasco that was getting harder to remember with every second spent in his company. “Oh no, I’m not. What happened to no strings and no funny business?”

“Calm down, Swan. Our deal stands. I’m working the rest of the night so you’ll have the place to yourself. Trust me, the bed in my guest room is much more comfortable than a seat at the bus station.” Without taking his eyes off the road, he reached into one of the compartments in the console and pulled out a key. “There are some shirts in the dryer if you need something to wear. Help yourself to whatever you want. If you hang around until nine, I’ll even make breakfast. If you don’t, leave the key under the Welcome mat.”

“I think you better keep your key, Captain. There are two ways this could end, and neither one is pretty.” She gave him a sidelong glance and was mildly irked to see him grinning at her.

“Only two? Please enlighten me with your power of premonition.”

Heaving a sigh of frustration, she wished he would be logical about this whole thing. Sure they had attraction in spades; the very air around them seemed to crackle with electricity whenever their eyes met. But she knew it would fade, and the only thing left then would be goodbye. Better to skip the messy part and go straight to the end. “The first is I stay and have breakfast, and it turns into the day and then another night….”

“That doesn’t sound so bad, love. And the second?”

“I leave the key under the mat, and we never see each other again.”

“Hmm, option two is decidedly less appealing. I’ll take what’s behind Door Number One, please,” he joked.

“You think so until reality sets in and you realize you’ve taken in a stray with a score to settle and not a cent to her name. It won’t be long before the sight of me in your shirts makes you cringe, and you resent having to share the couch with a woman who has nothing to give.” She would know having been in a relationship with a person who was only capable of taking, and she vowed never to do that to someone else.

“I have half a mind to hunt down this Cassidy fellow myself after seeing the hit job he did on you. Listen, Swan, the key has no strings. Breakfast is just food. Whatever happens, happens. But if you think I’m going to drop you off at a deserted bus station with only the clothes on your back, fetching as they are, you’ve got the wrong idea about me in more ways than one.”

“I’m not yours to rescue, Captain.”

“You could be,” he whispered in a voice that made her skin tingle. He tossed her a half-hearted smile, eyes stormy with the knowledge she was going to turn him down. Again.

“The fact we both want me to be is warning enough it’s a bad idea. Come on, Killian, let’s call it a night now so we can remember it fondly in the years to come.”

His jaw clenched, and she was worried he was going to fight with her sensible argument. People didn’t meet people in the middle of the road and form attachments in one night. This wasn’t a fairy tale, and she was as far from a princess as a person could get.

Although she had to admit he made a rather fine prince.

Pulling off into a nearby gas station, he turned to her and said almost threateningly, “We’re not through discussing this.”

Then he stepped out and slammed the door as the sky opened up.

—

It was a dirty trick. She knew even as she did it, but it was for his own good. For whatever reason, he felt like he needed to protect her, and she needed to save him from himself. So she waited until he walked into the convenience store and made a run for it.

That’s not to say she didn’t have a brief moment of whimsy. She couldn’t stop herself from placing a kiss on the key he had casually tossed to her as if inviting her into his home and his life wasn’t a big deal. Then she carefully placed it on the dash, grabbing the newspaper from his backseat as an afterthought, and scurried away before she was caught.

Like a rat.

Maybe Neal was exactly the kind of man she deserved.

The rain beat down in a punishing way, her makeshift umbrella getting soggy and soft under the onslaught. She was so busy looking over her shoulder, convinced he was going to search for her and half hoping he was successful, that the sudden absence of the storm took her by surprise.

“Here, miss, it’s raining cats and dogs tonight,” the sturdy doorman of the fancy establishment she was passing said as he reached out to place his umbrella over her. The burgundy awning extended to cover most of the sidewalk and, despite the late hour, classical music was drifting from the open door. Limousines lined the street, spilling well-dressed patrons as they approached the swanky club.

Before she could maneuver out of the way, she was swept into a tide of rich fish, all glammed out and ready for the party to start or continue as the case may be. She overheard one woman, whose hat was so large she had to tilt her head to make it through the door, complain, “Regina’s parties are always so dull even nature weeps.”

Deciding a boring party indoors was better than a lonely night in the rain, Emma changed her stance and walked over the threshold with her head held high like she belonged there. She noticed the plaque on the wall as she entered read The Rabbit Hole and couldn’t help but think it was aptly named. With its marble floors and curving staircase, it was no wonder this wasn’t one of the stops on the Captain’s tour of town. This place was as high-end as they came.

There was a man collecting tickets at a small side table and, with only a minute to improvise, she was glad to see the stubs were roughly the size of the photo she was toting around, one of the few remaining possessions to her name. Without a moment of regret, she turned the photo face down, relieved the love note Neal had written on the back was faded and worn, so only his faint signature was legible. Luckily, the sheer volume of people entering the place meant the employee merely took it from her without looking to confirm it was what it appeared to be.

Following the crowd into a large ballroom off to the side, she saw a black grand piano played with a precise kind of violence by a wild-haired man in a tuxedo. The room was packed to the gills, the group she straggled in with taking the last seats on the far side of the room. The audience was appreciative but far from silent, conversations carrying on as if private concerts of this caliber were a normal everyday occurrence for them. Every time Emma thought she found a place to rest her sore feet and sorer heart, someone took it before she could get there and, in one near miss, she almost flattened a lap dog that warranted his own seat for the show.

Finally, after pushing her way through a narrow row, she found a place and asked the man in the next chair with a hint of desperation, “Is this seat taken?”

Shrugging a silent negative with brooding eyes that lit up when she neared, she tried to ignore the searching glance he gave her as she dropped into the chair and surreptitiously removed her shoes. She could tell by the hint of a smirk he noticed the movement, but at least he had the good grace not to comment on it.

He was handsome in a careworn kind of way. His tousled dark hair and thick stubble were eerily similar to the Captain’s look, and it made her shuffle in her seat with guilt. The man kept staring, his light-colored eyes settling somewhere between gray and green, keenly taking in her appearance and finding it amusing if the continued presence of his smirk was any indication.

As the final notes of the concerto echoed through the room, a burst of applause started. Now that she was fed and able to sit for a few moments, Emma realized she was exhausted. It was a bone-deep weariness far beyond fatigue, and she was fairly confident it could be traced back to a man with blue eyes and more charm than any one person should be allowed to have.

She wondered where Killian was now. If he had already given up or if he was wasting more time and losing out on more money combing the streets looking for his erstwhile damsel in distress. Emma knew what she did was for the best as surely as she knew she would be haunted by the feeling of his arms wrapped around her for a long time.

After a brief break, the musician approached the piano again. Before he could start hammering out another song with the intensity of a madman, a raven-haired woman stepped in front of the instrument. She called out in a commanding voice, “Pardon the interruption but does anyone recognize this man? It would seem there was a mix-up at the ticket counter and someone accidentally handed in a photograph instead of their invitation to this private event.”

Resisting the urge to sink deeper into her chair, she furtively looked around as the audience murmured amongst themselves regarding the unusual disruption. She could tell by the sardonic tone of the woman’s voice and the way she emphasized the word private she wasn’t convinced it was an innocent mistake. A scene would be made if the guilty party were found and couldn’t provide the appropriate documentation.

“Really? No one is going to come forward?” With an annoyed look at the assembly, she sulked, “Fine, I won’t waste any more of your time.”

She saw the woman hurry to the corner and carry on a quick conversation with a few men before the group disbursed and fanned out to cover the room. Feeling her luck was running out, she slipped her feet back into her shoes with barely a wince and slowly stood under the watchful gaze of her neighbor.

She needed to escape for the second time that night, but now she had hundreds of witnesses. Nonchalantly, she surveyed the room, trying to determine the best way. During this perusal, a man caught her eye, and she froze as he began to cut across the room to her side. So much for a stealthy getaway.

Her pursuer had an air of refined boredom with an edge of mischief. His graying hair was an attractive finish to a lean, well-dressed form. Cocking an eyebrow in disdain or maybe curiosity, he spoke quietly to not draw the notice of the surrounding crowd. “A word, madam.”

“With me?”

“Indeed.”

“I was afraid you were going to say that.” Squaring her shoulders, she ignored the way her neighbor watched with rapt attention as she resolutely marched toward her fate.

@teamhook @kmomof4 @jrob64 @motherkatereloyshipper @stahlop @xarandomdreamx @xsajx @klynn-stormz

[vibraniumwing]

i’ve got you, always. [2]

an oliver wood x reader wherein oliver tries to bring the walls the reader built because of a past heartbreak down. will he manage to do that or break his own along the way?

WARNING: angst, effects of toxic relationships mentioned. 

A/N: so @harrysweasleys​ planted this idea into my mind about how oliver wood and y/n’s love blossomed after her heartbreak with fred. (if you do not know that, please do read this before continuing.) so i’ve broken this down into two parts due to the fact that it was too long. i hope you guys enjoy this, i promise things would look brighter in this one.

i’ve broken this down into two parts, find the first part here.

---

It’s been nearly four years since he left Hogwarts, since he left you.

Oliver was doing good, life was going great for him. He was a reserve player for Puddlemere United, he has met a ton of people due to his passion. However, there was still a missing piece within him. A piece that no amount of money and materials can fill in.

He still missed you.

---

“C’mon! Hurry Up!” Oliver’s voice shouted through the chaos as they rushed to the main warzone at Hogwarts, the adrenaline pumping as he saw the school he once attended and deemed as a second home in ruins as flashes of green and red ensued the field, leading a group of his old Quidditch teammates down into the field. 

“Professor!” Olive was quick to shout, immediately spotting McGonagall who was tending to students running from left to right. “Tell us where to go, we’re on it.” Katie, an old student and former member of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team added upon nearing the woman. 

McGonagall had easily directed them inside the castle, telling them to spread out and assist whoever they could and care for themselves along the way. Oliver sprinted along the hallways- or what was left of it- as he casted spells left and right to shield students from their impending misfortune.

He had run into familiar faces along the way, bumping into Harry once as they both fled their separate ways and from afar he spotted a certain ginger who was running frantically through the crowd, fighting his way through threats; looking for someone amongst the sea of what it seems like never-ending people. 

That’s when he heard it, your familiar voice stood out from the loud crashes of walls. “I’d rather die knowing I didn’t live a life under a monster!” He heard it as clear as day, running to over where you are, he immediately casted, “Stupefy!” which sent the death eater flying away, taking you in his arms in a tight hug.

“You have to be more careful, lass.” His voice was rather broken as you took your face in his hands, letting out a shaky breath as he took in your rather relieved smile. He didn’t know what took over him but tears suddenly filled his eyes, the pent up emotions he had overwhelming him as his posture relaxed visibly.

Holding his hands, you let out a soft chuckle, “I’m alright, Oli. Thanks to you, of course.” a shaky sigh soon following as the fear soon slowly sunk in. You leaned into his touch, finding warmth and safety in his touch before giving him a big smile. “We best be off now and fight our way ‘til dawn, Oli. Thank you so much for saving me.”

His heart was jumping out of his ribcage at the sight of you leaning into him, engraving that into his mind as he nodded. “Promise me you’ll be safe, (Y/N).” He said, voice dripping of seriousness as he readied himself to let you go. This earned an eye roll from you but a big smile nonetheless, nodding eagerly, “Of course, Oli. Thank you once again.”

With a reluctant sigh, he quickly placed a kiss to your forehead and let you go, “I’ve got you, (Y/N). Always.” he said, showing you a bright smile as he and you both ran your separate ways. The sudden course of energy flowed through him, making him feel invincible almost instantly.

“Oh and Wood! Whatever you do, don’t tell Weasley you saw me!” Your voice rang out once more, making him stop dead in his tracks. His head whipped to where you were but all he saw was you saving the twin of the man you just said not to mention your existence to. 

What do you mean by that exactly?

---

The sun slowly shined through the broken walls of the Great Hall, multiple people either crying or just in a trance due to the whirlwind of events that just happened within just a few hours. 

Oliver was by the bleachers, tending to a few first years who were severely injured when he saw a glimpse of your clothes walk away from the castle. He handed the cloth to the boy, “Can you tend to this for a bit?” To which the younger nodded, taking the cloth from him. 

He was quick on his feet and ran to you, catching you in the nick of time as well. His hand grasped onto your wrist, making you twirl around to be greeted by the same honey-colored eyes you’ve seen just a few hours back.

And there it was again, the butterflies you’ve sworn to ban from your stomach, it’s back.

“Oli! I’m so glad you’re okay” You breathed out, taking him into your arms for a hug, heaving a sigh of relief at the sudden burden lifting of your chest. You placed your hands on his shoulders, eyes inspecting all over his face and visible skin, looking for any sort of abrasion on his skin, “Are you hurt anywhere?”

This made him laugh rather loudly, shaking his head, “I’m all good. This is nothing I can’t handle, if I survived nasty bludgers to my stomach, pretty much I can handle anything.” He said, smiling at you rather happily before remembering the reason why he approached you in the first place.

“Would you mind telling me why you asked me to keep you hidden from a specific Weasley, (L/N)?” He suddenly asked, shoving his hands into the pockets of his rather tattered jeans, eyes watching how your hands went back to your sides as your body tensed up at the question, clearly caught off guard. 

“We aren’t together anymore.” You explained, gently leaning against the bridge as you crossed your arms, now sparing him a sad smile; despite successfully pushing the memories away, you’ve never really recovered from the fear of loving someone and just have them let go in the end. Ever since the day Fred left, your heart sealed the deal of never loving anyone again.

Taking his silence as a notion to continue, “I caught him kissing another girl one night, then when I gained courage to officially break things off, that was also the day that he and George left Hogwarts. I couldn’t bear to see him today after everything he’s put me through.” You further explained, the fear creeping back into your mind as tears started to fall. 

Oliver didn’t even hesitate to pull you into his arms, engulfing you in a tight hug to silence the sobs that slipped past your lips. He held a subtle scent of cinnamon and ash wood, making you sink into his embrace further, not wanting to let go from the warmth he emitted. 

His hands found its way back to your cheeks, cupping them as his thumb prodded against your skin that glistened with tears, “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help you through it, love.” His voice gentle as he spoke, afraid of ruining the fragile moment. You smiled at his caring tone, leaning into his touch once more. 

“(Y/N), I know this may come as a surprise, and I'll accept whatever reaction you may have, but I just want you to know that I’ve got you, always. I know you’re still going through a lot right now because of your emotions, but I’d be more than happy to help you through it all.” He suddenly said, sincerity dripping with every word he spoke, despite the erratic pacing of his heart. 

“I’ve loved you since Godric knows when and I just can’t stand seeing you like this. I won’t mind how long it would take, I’d love you every second of it and even more.” He ended his confession, a shy yet hopeful grin on his lips as he stared at you, readying himself for the probable rejection.

You were stunned into silence, shocked that someone has loved you all his life without the certainty of him receiving the same love back, that someone stayed despite of you losing yourself for another person. Your judgement easily wanted to reject him, to leave him hanging and just protect your heart, but a small part of you just yearned to be held like how he was holding on to you, to feel the warmth and affection he had easily given you over the course of your discussion right now. 

All of these emotions were coursing through your body as he patiently waited for your answer, eyes never leaving his rather calm expression; how he reminded you of the same warmth he had always given you back in the day.

“Just promise me to always be truthful and that you won’t hurt me, Oli. I’ll try and learn to love once again, just please promise me this.” Your voice quietly spoke, searching for the sincerity that never left the brunette’s face. 

“Of course, (Y/N). I promise to give you what you deserve. I’ve got you, always.”

---

And he did hold on to his promise, Oliver had always been so patient with you; giving you the space you need when you ask for it, the attention, affection and love always there despite him going out to train on a daily basis.

He’d always visit your small business and help out when he’s off from Quidditch training, be proud of all that you have done. He has treated you with the utmost respect and understood days where you just can’t control your emotions and help you through the toughest days and weeks; Oliver had always been there. 

Nearly a year into his promise, you’ve realized how much you have fallen for the male, realizing how he effortlessly broke down the walls of fear and hatred for love and replaced it with warmth and security. 

How your heart would flutter when you hear him laugh at your rants and stories from the customers you would encounter, how he would always be gentle when tending to you, how we kept the end of his promise, how he only made you feel that you were worth the fight and patience; that’s when you knew you love him.

---

The two of you were sat by the garden of your childhood home, the sun shining through the spaces in between the leaves as you two sat by the bench swing under the tree. You asked him to accompany you to your family dinner and he gladly accepted the offer, even clearing out his schedule for you. 

It was still quite early so the two of you decided to kill some time by your backyard, your younger cousin immediately finding him interesting and decided to keep you guys some company, settling himself by Oliver’s lap. His feet were gently swinging the bench as he held unto him, lulling him gently to sleep. “Looks like Theo had grown quite attached to you.” You whispered, giggling softly at the sight. 

A soft chuckle resonated from his lips, shrugging lightly as he spoke, “I’ve got my way with kids, what can I say?” tone light and easy as to not wake the child up while his hand rubbed on his back soothingly. 

Maybe it was how he looked at that exact moment that you knew you wanted this forever or just the way your heart pulsed out of beat that made you say, “Oli, I love you.” Your eyes were trained on him as you had sincerity painted all over your features, cheeks as red as the sweater he was wearing at the realization of what you just said, “I’m sorry, that didn’t mean to come out-”

“(Y/N), you have no idea how long I’ve wished for you to say those words to me, you don’t have to apologize for any of it. I love you too.” Were his words, tears forming in eyes as his whole body was suddenly filled with gratitude and warmth, Oliver was never the one to cry, but hearing those words from you were enough to move him to tears, knowing that you meant that by heart. 

Now wrapped upon comfortable silence, the two of you had the biggest smiles as your hands were now interlocked, his thumb caressing your skin gently. “(Y/N)! Oliver! You guys come in now, dinner’s almost ready and we’re about to take pictures!” your mother called out, hand waving to rush you guys back in. 

The two of you looked at each other knowingly before getting up from the seat, his hands cradling Theo as you made your way inside, immediately greeted by your uncles and aunts who you haven’t seen in quite a while. 

“Merlin’s beard, who might this be then?” One of your uncles asked, staring straight at your companion who instantly straightened up despite rocking your cousin in his arms gently. He was about to answer when you spoke up, “This is Oliver Wood, a former schoolmate, one of Puddlemere United’s reserve players and most importantly, my boyfriend.” introducing him with a proud smile as you take his free hand in yours, squeezing it gently. This earned hollers from your cousins and older relatives, making your cheeks a warmer hue than how it was already.

He looked rather surprised at the last thing you put, giving you a did you just say what I think you just did? Which you returned with a subtle nod, smiling happily as your cousin took baby Theo in her arms, quietly thanking him. “Before you even ask, you already know my answer, Oli.” you immediately said, reaching up to peck his cheek before leaving him to help out with your parents. 

That’s when he knew that he wanted this for eternity.

---

Oliver’s heart was erratic as he touched the small velvet box in his pocket as he led you to the very same place where you first confessed your love for him, smiling at the sight of you nervous and trying to peek through the blindfold, squeaking gently as he let you go, gentle music now filling the quiet space, melding with the noises of the grasshoppers that echoed through. 

“You can remove your blindfold now, love.” He said from behind you, to which you happily complied, eyes instantly catching the rather intimate candle-lit dinner set up under the tree, tears springing into your eyes as you searched for your boyfriend, turning around to see him standing with a bouquet of your favorite flowers which he handed off to you.

“This is going to be really cheesy but a year ago, today, a very special girl said something to me under this very same tree. A year ago today, was also the day that I knew that I wanted her- this- for the rest of my life.” He started off, a nervous smile displayed on his lips as he grabbed the same small box from pocket, getting ready to kneel down. 

“I know that we haven’t been together for the longest, but being with you for a year was enough to convince me that I would never find another. You might have beaten me to say I love you first, but I want to be the last person you’d ever say it to. So, (Y/N) (L/N), will you marry me?” He finished off, your vision blurred with tears as it was greeted by a simple yet elegant diamond ring. 

You were at a loss for words as happiness overwhelmed you, only managing to let out a small “yes” as you opened your arms for him, to which he easily found himself in, capturing your lips in a kiss  before slipping the ring on your finger.

“I love you so much, (Y/N)”

“I love you as much, Oliver.”

---

“Are you really sure about this, darling?” He questioned you one last time as his eyes wandered through Diagon Alley, seeing the rather large moving figure of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes come closer. 

You had asked if it was alright to personally give your invitation to George, to which he happily agreed,  the unnerving feeling of you seeing the man’s twin still present despite the never-ending reassurance that you gave him that it was alright, that you can handle yourself. 

“I am, Oli. Don’t worry too much, I’ll be fine.” You answered, finally reaching the front door of the shop. Your hands slipped from his as you grabbed the invitation from your bag, placing a chaste kiss on his lips in the process. “Don’t miss me too much, Mr. Wood”

He laughed softly, waving as you entered the shop, “I’ll try not to!” he answered, peeking through the glass of the door. A wide smile on his lips as you were now greeted by the ginger, nodding at his direction as you pointed at him from the outside, to which the latter waved happily, giving him a thumbs up in approval. 

What happened next however, made his blood boil. He knew that Fred would be surprised to see you, but to see him take you in his arms was enough for him to rush inside and blast a hard punch across the man’s face, loathing how he treated you in the past. His better judgement, however, told him not to intervene and just trust your words.

His jaw was clenched shut as he watched the scene unfold, how he subtly heard you voice say that you didn’t want any part of him anymore, that you were done and you were happy with him. 

With those words said, a sudden wave of tranquility washed over him as pride swelled over his chest, a big smile on his lips as he welcomed your figure with a warm hug, placing a gentle kiss to your forehead before wiping the tears that managed to escape your eyes, “Are you alright, princess?”

You nodded, not moving from his grasp as you captured his lips in a kiss, conveying how thankful you are for him, how thankful you are that he taught you how to love once again. “I am, love. I’m just so thankful for you, I love you.”

He smiled once more, resting his forehead against yours as he spoke, “You know I love you too, love. You don’t have to thank me for anything.”

“And why is that?”

“Because as a girl told me one too many times before, I’ve got you, always.”

--

general taglist: @theweasleyslut​ @violetravens​ @starlightweasley​ @eunoia-kth ( i can’t tag you :<)

[mldrgrl]

Broken Things 23/24

by: mldrgrl Rating: varies by chapter, rated R overall (THIS CHAPTER RATED R) See Chapter 1 for summary and notes

“Go on,” Melvin says to Mulder.  “Take care of your wife.  I’ve got the horses.”

Mulder holds Katherine close and takes her out of the stables.  She’s weeping, hiding her face in his neck and clutching at his shirt.  He can feel her tears against his skin and her trembling against his chest.  Her choked little cries are tearing him apart.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs to her, over and over again.  “You’re alright, I’ve got you.”

He brings her into the washroom and kicks the laundry washtub over so he can set her down on something.  He’s able to keep an arm around her as he lights the furnace and then shifts her from one side to the other so he can work the pump and fill the bathing tub.  He finds a bottle of bathing oil in the cabinet and pours a bit in.  The room suddenly smells of roses.  

“We’re gonna get you warm,” he tells her.  “And clean.”

“I’ll never be clean,” she whispers, and drops her head into her hands and cries harder.

“Yes, you will.”

When the bathing tub is full and the water is warm enough, he undoes the knot holding Katherine’s robe closed and pushes the ruined garment off her shoulders.  Her nightgown has a few stains on it and can probably be salvaged, but he’ll throw them both out anyway.  He’ll buy her a dozen new nightgowns and robes, ones that aren’t soiled or hold any terrible memories in them.

“My hair will get wet,” she says to him, when he tries to get her into the bathing tub.  He runs to their room and gets the box of hairpins for her.  He takes a cloth and wipes her hands clean and then she winds her braid up high on her head and even with no looking glass and shaking fingers, manages to pin it into place and off her neck.

“Okay?” he asks.

Katherine nods and then takes the hand that Mulder offers and climbs into the bathing tub.  She folds up almost immediately with her legs bent and her back hunched and her head resting on her knees.  Mulder takes up the rag, soaks it in the bathwater and then washes her back.

“I’m afraid of what you’ll think of me,” Katherine murmurs, her voice slightly muffled by her legs.

“I think the world of you,” he answers.  “That will never change.”

She turns her face towards him and rests her cheek on her knees.  He just keeps washing her back and shoulders, rubbing soft circles into her skin with the cloth.  She blinks slowly at him and in her eyes he can see the pain and exhaustion of a heavy burden she’s been carrying.

“I’ve loved you from the day I met you,” he says.  “And loved you even more every day since.  Whatever it is, Kate, I promise you without a shadow of a doubt that I’ll still love you even more tomorrow.”

She breathes deep, ribs contracting under his hand, and then exhales swiftly.  “My father is a Navy captain,” she says.  “He’s highly respected and very strict.  And my mother is very pious.  They’re both very set in their ways.  The only person I fear more than my father, or my mother, is God.”

“Mmhm.”

“I have an older brother named Bill.  Bill Jr.  And I have two younger sisters, Melissa and Charlotte.  I was very close with Melissa.  I miss her terribly.”

“Did something happen to them?”

“No.”  She blinks without really closing her eyes and her head sways slightly.  “My father didn’t believe much in education for girls, I think I’ve told you as much, but I begged him to stay in school.  He told me I could stay until I turned sixteen and then I would have to prepare to be married.  I agreed, even though I wanted so badly to be a doctor that I secretly applied to medical colleges, hoping that if one said yes, he would have to let me go.  Well, there was one college that accepted me, but my father still wouldn’t let me go.”

“You were accepted to medical college?”

Katherine nods and sniffles quietly.  “I told him that if he refused to let me go, then I would refuse to marry any man he tried to match me with.  He said that it was my duty to marry well and that if I refused to do so, he’d put me out on the street.  I said I would go happily if it meant I would no longer be under his tyrannical thumb.  It’s the only time I’ve ever defied my father and I did think then he would turn me out, but  instead he struck a compromise with me and said I was allowed to go to a nurse’s training school that was nearby, but that once I’d complete the training, I should have to find a husband.”

Katherine turns her face back into her knees and sighs heavily.  Mulder drops the cloth into the bathing tub and massages the back of her neck.  He waits for her to continue, wanting her to alleviate herself of this load, but not wanting to push her too far.  The balance between encouragement and pressure is delicate.

“There was a doctor there,” she says.  “Doctor Waterston.  Everyone revered him, including me.  Listening to him lecture, you knew right away he was brilliant.  When I had my placement interview, I told him that I hoped to be a doctor one day and he seemed to take an interest in helping me.  He allowed me to attend his surgeries and even permitted me to perform a few minor ones of my own, instructing me every step of the way.”

“You’ve performed surgeries?”

She turns to look at him again and nods a little.  “I’ve removed a bullet from a shoulder and closed the wound and amputated a foot.”

“Incredible.”

Katherine swallows and her body weaves slightly as she closes her eyes.  “Doctor Waterston invited me to dinner one night and told me he’d just received a new medical text that he thought I’d be interested in and took me to his personal office to look at it.  He told me he saw a lot of potential in me and knew I could be as brilliant of a doctor as he was, one day.”

A feeling of dread creeps up Mulder’s spine.  There is something about the monotone change in Katherine’s voice leads him to expect something sinister to come up.

“He…”  Her voice hitches slightly and pinches off.

“You don’t have to say it, Kate, if you can’t.”

“I need to.”  She shakes her head and takes a deep breath.  “He offered me a glass of brandy, which I did not accept, and then he offered me a glass of water and...and he sat beside me on the sofa as I tried to review the text.  I remember thinking that I felt a bit uncomfortable because he was sitting so close. And then...and then I couldn’t focus and I felt very tired and my limbs felt paralyzed.  I told him that I felt strange and he said it was nothing to worry about.  But...then he was holding me down and I did not know why and I told him he was hurting me and he got very angry and told me to stop talking and he put his hand over my mouth.  I remember that there was some kind of stain on the ceiling and I stared at it.  I don’t know how long I stared at it.”

Mulder feels like he’s going to vomit.  He breathes in and out through his nose and rubs Katherine’s back, but he thinks he might be coming out of his skin.  He would like to find this Doctor Waterston and rip him apart with his bare hands.

“I don’t remember getting home,” she says.  “I remember waking the next morning and feeling ill and...and very sore between my legs.  After that night, he behaved as though I was a stranger.  He didn’t call on me in class, didn’t offer to allow me to observe any surgeries, and didn’t seem to acknowledge I existed at all.  I didn’t know what I’d done wrong and I was sick over it.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I must have let him believe he could touch me.”

“No, you didn’t.  You thought he was being kind and he took advantage of you.”

“My father had told me that no good would come of me going to school and he was right.  God has been punishing for my ambition.”

“I don’t believe that.  I don’t believe that at all.”

“I was so sick about the whole thing that I went to see a specialist about the constant nausea and body aches I was experiencing.  He told me I was with child and I told him I didn’t know how that was possible because I wasn’t married.  He must have thought I was so ignorant.  I was ignorant, though.  I’d...I’d read about pregnancy and childbirth in my medical texts, but nothing told me how it happened.  My mother told me only married women could have babies.  I know now how ill-informed I was.”

Katherine pauses there and then lifts her head.  She tilts her face up and Mulder can see the slow tears that run down her cheeks and drip from her chin.  He wipes them away, but they keep coming.

“I tried to tell Doctor Waterston about my condition, but he told me would publicly accuse me of blackmail and have me expelled from the program.  He said that no one would believe me if I said the baby was his and that the word of a respected doctor meant more than that of a fallen woman.  And then he gave me a five dollar note and the name of another doctor that he said would get rid of the problem.”

“Oh, Kate.”

“I didn’t.  I couldn’t.  That would be a sin.”  She shakes her head.  “I left school.  I told my mother what had happened and she was very upset with me.  She didn’t know how I could do such a vile and wicked thing and bring such shame to the family.  She didn’t know where she went wrong to raise such a common whore of a daughter and said the devil had to have taken hold of me and the best I could do now was repent for my sins and pray that He would forgive me.”

“You did not do anything wrong,” Mulder says, emphatically.  “I am sorry that your mother said those things to you, but you have to believe me when I tell you that none of that is true.”

“I don’t know what I believe anymore.”

Mulder does not know how to soothe her.  He was not raised religious and until now has held no real opinions on the church, but his blood is boiling.  He will forever hold malice in his heart for the ideology that would make the most wonderful woman he’s ever met feel so worthless and wicked.

“Believe me,” he says.  “Trust in me when I tell you that you are not sinful.”

Katherine sighs.  She sniffles and wipes a wet hand down her face.  “Then why was I punished so harshly?” she whispers.

His mouth goes dry and his heart feels like it drops into his gut.  Her sorrow pains him.  He remembers once that he happened upon his aunt in her study while she was reviewing correspondences and she seemed very angry over a letter she had received.  When he asked her what was wrong, she told him that women were always suffering for the whims of men.  And then she’d stared at him hard and told him to never, ever trifle with a lady unless he intended to be a husband or a father.  He was eight years old at the time, but he’d never forgotten it.  And he vowed then and there to never, ever have a whim, whatever that might be.

He looks at his wife and he knows she has suffered, more than he even first suspected.  He wishes he’d known her sooner.  Wishes he could have had occasion to bump into her one day before anything bad had happened to her.  Because he knows deep in his heart that he would have known right then and there that he would marry her, just as he knew a few months ago.  At the very least, maybe if he’d gotten to her first, she would not have married Jack Willis.  But, how did that happen?

“How did you come to marry Jack Willis?” he asks.

“My father knew of him and knew he had some sort of trouble with a debt.  He offered to pay the debt if he would marry me.  Jack agreed, but I don’t think that either of us knew that even though I now had a husband, my parents told me I had to leave and never to come back.  They said I was a bad influence over my sisters.  They said I could ruin their chances for a good marriage.  They thought that if anyone were to ever find out the truth about the baby...”

Katherine trails off and then turns her face up again.  Tears leak so constantly down her cheeks he’s afraid she may never stop crying, but she’s silent and her gaze becomes utterly vacant.

“Kate, what...what happened to the baby?”

“Jack had people in Kentucky and so he took me there.  A lot of that time is...I have a hard time remembering some of it.”  Katherine wrinkles her forehead and closes her eyes.  She touches her face with her fingertips like her head is aching.  “They weren’t very kind to me, or to Jack.  An Aunt or a cousin of his said she was a midwife and said she’d see to me when the time came.  It wasn’t that long before I started having pains one night and bleeding, but I had barely let out my skirts by then and I knew it was much too soon.  To answer your question, I don’t know what happened to the baby.  They wouldn’t let me see it.  I’d lost a lot of blood and was too weak to protest.  Jack said it was just as well since he didn’t want to raise a bastard anyhow.”

“That sonofabitch,” Mulder mutters, before he can stop himself.  He grits his teeth in anger.  Jack Willis is lucky he’s already dead.

“There were three more babies that came and went after that.  I think they must have known what kind of world they might be coming into and it was a blessing that they decided not to stay.  I wanted each one of them, I truly did, but I didn’t know how I would protect them when I couldn’t even protect myself.”

Kate breathes out a huge sigh after that and drops her head to her knees once more.  Her shoulders start to shake and Mulder feels his throat constrict and his eyes burn with his own tears.  He cries with her and for her, resting his head against the back of her shoulder as he wraps his arms around her.

↭

She’s never felt so exhausted in all her life.  She wants to lay down, curl up, and sleep for days.  Her eyes burn with four years worth of tears.  She’s cried herself dizzy and it takes her some time to realize that Mulder is crying as well.  She reaches up to run her fingers through his hair.  He turns his face and kisses her shoulder.

“I’ll understand if you want me to go,” she says.

“Not a chance in hell, honey.”  He lifts his head and cups her cheek.  “I knew you were strong, I knew you were brave, I just didn’t know how strong and how brave.”

“I don’t feel very strong.  Or brave.”

“You are.”

“I’m so tired.”

“Come on.  Let’s get you to bed.”

Mulder helps her out of the bathing tub and wraps her in a towel.  He lifts her easily and carries her to bed.  He gets her into fresh nightclothes and undresses down to his drawers and then climbs into bed with her and pulls her tight into his arms.  They’re face to face, nearly nose to nose.

“I am terribly sorry that I lied to you,” she says.

“You never lied, you just needed time.”

“I was just so afraid that...I didn’t want you to know how low I really was.”

“It never would have mattered to me.  It doesn’t matter to me now.”

“I believe that you mean that.”

“I do.”  He shifts and holds her cheek, stroking her brow with his thumb.  “There’s something that I should tell you too.  Something about my family as well.”

“Alright.”

“Are you familiar with Fawkes Publishing House?”

“I think so.  Maybe.”

“Do you know the writer, E. M. Abbott?”

“Of course.  I read all his books.  They call him the Charles Dickens of the Americas.”

“Mm.”  Mulder chuckles.  “E. M. Abbott is my aunt.”

“Your aunt?”  Katherine pulls back a bit from Mulder and opens her mouth, aghast.  “E. M. Abbott is your aunt?  The aunt that raised you?”

“Yes, great aunt Emeline.  My grandmother and Auntie were the daughters of William Fawkes, who started Fawkes Publishing House.  When my aunt began writing at a young age, her father told her no one would buy books written by women, but he still thought she was extraordinarily talented and of course he wasn’t going to pass on the opportunity.  He told her he would publish her works under a pseudonym.  Everyone called her Em since she was a young girl and she liked Abbott because it was the first name she could think of that came first, alphabetically.  And so Emeline Beatrice Fawkes became E. M. Abbott.”

“That’s extraordinary.”

“And a well-guarded secret in publishing.”

“How sad though, that she could never get the recognition she deserved.”

“Oh, Auntie actually enjoyed that she’d so thoroughly pulled the wool over the literary community’s eyes.  She took great delight in reviews that particularly focused on her unique perspective that was like ‘no other man.’  I would tend to get angry on her behalf though.  I found it very unfair, very unjust.”

“It is.”

Mulder nods.  “I have done my best to try to change things though.  Fawkes Publishing puts out more novels by women than any other major house out there.”

“What?”  Katherine raises her brow slightly.  “When you said that sometimes you conduct business in Boston, what did you mean by that?”

“I sit on a board representing the family’s remaining interests in the company.  We don’t necessarily handle any of the day-to-day anymore, but we own a significant share, which gives us, or me, rather, a fair amount of control.  Let me tell you, publishing women writers has proved to be profitable over the years.  Extremely profitable, actually.”

She ducks her head a little and snorts softly.  “I was a little worried at how freely you spent your money.”

“I can assure you that money is not something you’ll ever have to worry about.”

“I think you could have absolutely nothing and I would still love you.”

Mulder lifts his head from the pillow and leans up on his elbow.  “You love me?” he asks.

“I do.”

He smiles and then lays back down and pulls her against him with a sigh.  She tucks her head down under his chin and wraps her arm around his back.  A strip of moonlight shimmers on his arm and she gazes at it with heavy eyelids.  She must be very tired or her imagination is playing tricks on her, but his skin seems to radiate a brilliant blue hue mixed with a bit of red.

[jeonsjiddies]

Certain Things (m) | myg

original photo by snowmari on picsart

summary- you were in love with min yoongi, because he was a good person. You never thought he’d feel the same. F2l

rating- explicit 18+

word count- 5869

pairing- yoongi x reader

genre- fluff, smut

Warnings - oral (male and female receiving), penetrative sex, daddy kink, slight rough sex

Title inspired by Certain Things by James Arthur. <3

You did not fall in love with Min Yoongi because he was the dreamiest man you’d ever laid eyes on. 

You did not fall in love with Min Yoongi because he was skilled in just about everything 

You did not fall in love with him because of the way his body moved when he danced, almost like telling a story. 

It wasn’t the way he remembered your coffee order or the way he stuck his tongue out when he was concentrating. It wasn’t the look of concern in his eyes when you had a rough day. It wasn’t the way he could (almost) always tell what you were thinking. 

No. 

You fell in love with Min Yoongi because he was a genuinely good person. The kind of person who made you want to be better too. 

The way he’d do good things, the way he’d help people, especially when he thought no one was watching. You couldn’t count on all your fingers and toes how many times you’d sat at your window and watched Min Yoongi help an elderly woman carry her groceries up the stairs, or insisted on taking the single mother's trash to the dumpster as she wrangled her child in the other arm. The times he’d fix things the apartment complex neglected to get around to, not even leaving a note. He never asked for any glory. 

The only time Yoongi sought out recognition was with his music.. His kind words and actions often went unnoticed or unappreciated by others. Yoongi didn’t mind that no one noticed, except you did. You noticed everything he did. 

The day Yoongi moved in next door a year ago, you noticed his minty green hair and his contagious, gummy smile. You’d smiled back and welcomed him to the neighborhood, offering to help if he needed it. Yoongi had politely refused your offer, telling you he did not wish to bother you. Hours later when you showed up with freshly baked cookies, he did not refuse those. That was the beginning of your friendship with Yoongi. 

After that, you two were almost inseparable, you were in his apartment or he was in yours. You talked and laughed and watched movies and got to know each other. The few moments you didn’t spend at each other’s side, you found yourself watching Yoongi every chance you got. 

Just last week, you had perched yourself at your window and watched with a fond smile as your neighbor and now best friend comforted a little girl who’d approached him with tearful eyes and scuffed up knees. 

Yoongi looked around for her mother, the single mom with too much on her plate, and when he didn’t find her he scooped the small girl into his arms, and gently distracted her with stories of a princess  he once knew who fell off her bike too. The little girl snuggled into Yoongi’s chest as he walked around looking for her mother, telling her how the princess got a special band aid that made her booboo stop hurting immediately, like magic. 

The mother darted over to Yoongi, spewing out apologies and thank you’s. She’d only turned her back for a moment and her toddler had disappeared. Yoongi shook his head, telling her it was nothing to apologize about and that he always enjoyed the young girls company.  Min Yoongi was, in your opinion, a literal angel. 

You smiled fondly, walking away from the window and stirring the soup you'd begun cooking earlier in the evening.  You often shared your food with Yoongi, knowing that if you didn't, the stubborn idiot would exist on nothing but instant noodles and americano coffee. As you stirred the pot, you let your mind drift off with thoughts of Yoongi. He had texted you late the night before while he was struggling to compose lyrics for his new song.

He sent you voice clips of him rapping verses and asked your opinion on lines for the chorus, and you'd helped him get through his little slump until he was so in the zone he forgot to reply. You'd woken up this morning to an apology text and hugged your phone to your chest, reveling in how sweet he was and thinking it was just as good as a good morning text. You knew it was stupid to pretend these interactions with Yoongi were more than friendly, but sometimes you couldnt help yourself from getting lost in the idea of being his. 

You wanted so badly to wake up to good morning texts from him. You wanted the hugs to last longer. You wanted him to hold you. You wanted to kiss those shiny, plump lips. Feel those veiny hands on your skin. You wanted to stay with him always, every time you parted from him a part of you seemed to dim. It was as if Yoongi was the sun and you were the moon, his warmth and energy reflected off of you and fueled your own.

Your entire life didn't revolve around Yoongi, not in the least. You had other interests and friends and hobbies. But it seemed like lately, he had wiggled his way into your heart so deeply, like a budding rose, the roots of your love for him were ingrained inside of you. Lately he had taken up more and more room in your heart, occupied more and more of your thoughts. You sighed, shaking off the empty feeling inside your chest and scooped the soup into two bowls.

You made your way over to Yoongi's apartment and balanced the soup so that you could knock. Yoongi opened the door a few moments later, wearing only grey sweatpants. Your mouth went dry and your grip on the soup wobbled as you stared at his exposed chest. Yoongi reached out to steady your hands and took the bowls from you, setting them down on the coffee table by the couch.

''Sorry I just got out of the shower. Let me go put a shirt on.'' Yoongi blushed, scurrying down the hallway and leaving you speechless at the entry.

You collected yourself, slowly shutting the door behind you and grabbing two spoons from his kitchen before sitting down on the sofa. Yoongi reappeared, fully clothed. You weren't sure if you were thankful or disappointed.     

''This smells amazing!'' he praised. ''I was just about to make some instant noodles but this is so much better. Thank you!''

''How many times do I have to tell you that you can't survive on instant noodles and coffee?'' you rolled your eyes.

''I don't know how to cook.'' he shrugged.

''I have offered to teach you a million times.'' you threw back at him.

''But if I learned how to cook you wouldn't cook for me anymore.'' he pouted playfully , knocking his shoulder into yours. 

''Big baby.'' you muttered, not bothering to hide the smile on your face. ''What would you do without me?''

''Probably die.'' he laughed. ''You're my best friend, I kind of need you.''

''Awww, Yoongi!'' you hugged him.

''Yeah yeah.'' he laughed, wrapping an arm around you in return. ''Just don't go anywhere, okay?''

''I won't, I promise.'' you grinned. ''Who else is going to feed you?''

''My point exactly.'' he winked, spooning more soup into his mouth and closing his eyes happily. “Ugh. Marry me.” He joked.

“You wish.” You laughed, trying to hide the heat rising in your cheeks. 

You wished. 

You chucked your coat off and threw it haphazardly on the coat rack then flopped onto the couch with a loud groan. You should have called in. You'd woken up late, your alarm didn't go off. You didn't have time to do your makeup if you wanted to shower, which you really needed to. So you'd gone to work looking like a troll, and things only spiraled downhill from there.  

Your boss had called you out in front of everyone at the staff meeting for being late to work, using you as an example for the new attendance point system. Snide remarks were tossed your way from various grumpy people which you attempted to take in stride. Then, in the breakroom you'd spilled coffee all down the front of your peach colored dress. 

You had texted Yoongi about your less than stellar morning and asked if he was having a better day. He talked you through your meltdown, trying to convince you that the universe wasn't out to get you  and the world wasn't cruel and unjust. He'd been the reason you made it through the work day, albeit by the skin of your teeth. Your whole body dragged on the way home and all you wanted was to see Yoongi's smile but he had promised a friend he'd go drinking with them. 

You flung yourself off the couch and changed into a baggy t-shirt and a pair of pajama shorts. You put on your favorite avocado face mask and relaxed with a lavender candle burning on the coffee table. You'd taken about two deep breaths when you heard soft tapping on your front door.  You whined out loud and got up, padding over to the door and flinging it open.

The poor teenager standing at your door jumped in surprise, almost dropping the pizza he was holding. Eyes wide, he stepped back a bit. Your brows furrowed in confusion. 

“Sorry. Can I help you?” you asked as sweetly as you could, guilt flooding your chest.

“Large pizza for Y/N Y/L/N? ” he questioned nervously.

“But I didn't order any-” you began to explain before you were cut off.

“Sorry! Sorry I thought I'd be back in time!” Yoongi huffed, jogging up to you and the poor delivery kid. 

Yoongi took some cash out of his wallet and paid the young man before thanking him as he took the pizza and turned to you with a smile. He was also holding a white paper sack you couldn't identify and you shot him a quizzical look.

“Hey there Shrek.” he laughed at your bright green face mask which you had honestly forgotten about. 

You were thankful it hid your blush as you swatted at his arm in protest.

 “I thought you had plans.” you stated, ignoring his comment.

“I cancelled them.” he shrugged, moving past you to enter your apartment and set the pizza down on the coffee table.

“Why?” you asked, shutting the door and following him in.

“Sounded like you needed some cheering up.” Yoongi smiled, opening the paper bag and pulling out your favorite wine.

“Ugh, a man after my own heart.” you joked.

Yoongi just chuckled and uncorked the bottle, walking into your kitchen and pulling two wine glasses from the cabinet like he lived there. He poured you both a glass and sat next to you on the couch.

“I am fully aware that I am going to regret this decision, but I have decided that to cheer you up, we can watch whatever movie you want.” he told you.

Your eyes widened in excitement.

“Any movie I want?” you confirmed, “you won't complain?”

“One time only offer. Whatever movie you want.” he grinned at the childlike response.

“Harvard here we come!” you giggled, snatching up the remote and selecting Legally Blonde.

You glanced over at Yoongi, waiting for a snarky comment. He only gave you a pained smile. You snuggled into the couch with your wine in one hand and a slice of pizza in the other, feeling content and happy. Yoongi had turned the worst day into one of the best, simply by being who he was: kind and thoughtful.

“Thank you, Yoongi.” you said softly.

“No need to thank me. That's what friends are for.” he smiled, throwing an arm around your shoulders and leaning in for a quick squeeze. 

Yoongi left his arm around your shoulder while you two watched the movie, and you had never been more comfortable than you were snuggled into Yoongi's side with your wine and pizza and strong leading female character centered movie. With Min Yoongi by your side, maybe the world wasn't so bad after all.

Today was Yoongi’s birthday. He’d gone to lunch with his family the day before and had planned to spend the day with you once he got off work. You looked over at your coffee table, grinning at his gift that you’d wrapped perfectly, even put a pretty bow on top. You’d baked him a cake, which was iced and ready for candles. You opened the drawer, but did not find candles. 

Cursing under your breath, you checked the time before rushing out the door and running over to the small shopping center across the street from your apartment complex. You gave a friendly wave to the cashier, a college aged girl who worked there three days a week. You grabbed candles and a lighter then made your way over, making small talk with her and asking about classes.

“Thank god finals are almost over. They’re killing me.” She whined as you swiped your card. 

“Hang in there, it’s almost over!” You encouraged her and she groaned but laughed.

You made your way back to your apartment complex, thinking about Yoongi and his face when he inevitably saw what you’d bought him. You didn’t notice the clouds turning an angry gray. You did notice however, when the rain immediately started pelting down, drenching you in seconds. You squealed, holding your shopping bag above your head and jogging towards your apartment. 

Suddenly, the rain stopped assaulting you, and you looked up to find Min Yoongi laughing as he held an umbrella over both of your heads. Despite his eyes being the darkest color you’d ever seen, they shone with kindness. 

“Yoongi.” You grinned in surprise, “you’re home early!”

“Yeah, they let me go early for my birthday.” He wiggled his eyebrows playfully.

“Well let’s party!” You beamed up at him. 

The two of you ascended the staircase and made your way into your apartment. You shrugged off your soaked jacket and hung it up. Yoongi cleared his throat uncomfortably, looking anywhere but at you.

“What’s wrong?” You asked.

“I-uh... your shirt.” He mumbled, apples of his cheeks dusted with a light pink flush. 

You looked down, cheeks burning as you realized your white t shirt was soaked through, revealing your lacy pink bra. You squeaked, arms darting out to cover your chest. You disappeared into your room, embarrassment flooding your face as you changed. Reappearing in front of Yoongi fully covered, you couldn’t meet his eyes.

“Hey, it’s okay, don’t be embarrassed.” He comforted you with a hand on your shoulder. 

The skin there burned. When you didn’t say anything, Yoongi pulled you into a hug, strong arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you into his warm chest. You let the warmth of his embrace comfort you for a moment before pulling away and putting the candles in his cake and lighting them before walking it over to him.

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you! Happy birthday dear Yoongi! Happy birthday to you!” 

Yoongi’s gummy smile graced his lips before he closed his eyes and blew out the candles. 

“What did you wish for?” You asked, leaning in and wiggling your eyebrows. 

“If I tell you it won’t come true!” He chuckled.

You sighed dramatically with a smile and cut the cake into slices, handing him the biggest one. Yoongi took one bite and threw his head back with a groan. 

“This is delicious, Y/N. Thank you so much.” He praised. 

Your heart skipped a beat and you grabbed the neatly wrapped present from beside the couch, holding it out to him. 

“I told you not to buy me anything.” He glared jokingly at you. 

“Just open it.” You giggled. 

Yoongi took his time opening the gift, carefully peeling back the paper in an attempt to keep it whole and make less of a mess for you, thoughtful man that he was. He froze when he saw the box. 

“You didn’t.” He gasped.

Your giddy laughter was your only response. 

“These are... they... theyre too much, Y/N. I can’t accept them.” He sighed regretfully. 

“You can and you will. You deserve something special on your special day! It’s about time someone pays you back for everything you do.” You smiled encouragingly. 

“The cake was more than enough.” He argued, but he couldn’t take his eyes off of the box in his lap. 

They were the wireless noise cancelling headphones he’d been drooling over for months, ever since the promo came out on Instagram. He’d been salivating when he showed you the ad for them, and you started picking up a few extra shifts here and there to put back money for them. They were a couple hundred dollars but you would’ve saved up thousands just to see the look that adorned Yoongi’s face in that moment. 

“Thank you... so much. I’ll pay you back for these. I’ll take you to dinner. I’ll-“ he began but you cut him off. 

“Don’t even think about it. Just take them. If you really wanna pay me back, write me a song.” You grinned. 

“I will.” Yoongi promised, engulfing you in a tight hug. “Thank you.” Left his lips in a whisper over and over. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”

He pulled back and held you at arms length, eyes trained on your face. His gaze roamed over your features, drinking you in. His eyes searched yours for a moment before his gaze flicked to your lips. You waited with bated breath. 

“Y/N?” Yoongi's voice was barely above a whisper. 

“Hmm?”

“Can I kiss you?” He questioned quietly, carefully. 

“Please.” 

His hand came up to gently cup your cheek. He angled his head and closed the distance between you. The moment his lips pressed against yours, it felt like coming home. He held you close, and you’d never felt so safe. Your heart hammered in your chest as your arms wrapped around his neck, fingers gently threading through his hair. Yoongi’s arms found purchase on your hips and he pressed himself closer to you, his tongue sneaking out and gliding along your lips. You parted them, and he deepened the kiss. You weren’t aware that your grip on his hair had tightened until Yoongi pulled back, resting his forehead against your own with labored breathing.

“I’m trying really hard to be respectful and not to push you, but you’re making it kinda hard pulling on my hair like that.” he admitted breathlessly. You could feel the thickness of him pressing into you.

“What if I want you to?” you asked quietly, looking up at him from beneath your lashes.

Yoongi sucked in a surprised breath, his eyes searching yours almost frantically for a sign of doubt. When he found none, he interlaced his fingers into yours.

“Are you sure?” he pondered.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything or anyone.” you admitted, biting down on your lip nervously.

“Is this- Are you- I don’t think I can do this if it’s just a one time thing.” Yoongi sighed remorsefully. 

“I don’t want it to be.” you reply, gently running a hand up and down his arm comfortingly. “Yoongi I want you. In every possible way. You’re my best friend. I love you. I’m in love with you. I have been for a while.” 

“I’m in love with you too.” he whispered, like a secret he’d been dying to tell you. “Be mine?”

“Oh Yoongi baby, I’ve always been yours.” you giggled, pulling him in for a tender kiss.

Yoongi kissed you back, slowly. He took his time, exploring your mouth, relishing in the taste of you. You tasted a bit like the cake you’d both consumed not long ago, but also just distinctively...you. Yoongi loved the way you tasted, and he wondered idly if other areas of your body tasted just as sweet.

Gripping you by the hips, Yoongi pulled you up against him and you wrapped your legs around his torso as he carried you towards your bedroom. Your hands gripped his biceps and he barely had to look where he was going, so familiar with your apartment since he practically lived there. He hoped to become as familiar with your body and how you ticked as he was with everything else about you. You could feel him pressing up against your core as he carried you, the friction causing arousal to pool. 

Yoongi placed you on the mattress gently, his body moving to hover over yours. He gazed down at you with longing in his onyx eyes, but it wasn’t just longing. He yearned for you, needed you, you knew this because you felt it too. The way he looked into your eyes mirrored your own expression. You were so desperately in love with Min Yoongi, and by some miracle, he felt the same way.

“I have dreamt about this moment for so long.” he admitted sheepishly, “I almost can’t believe this is real.”

“Me either. I can’t believe you’re here.” you giggled, letting a hand come up to softly caress his face, then push his hair out of his eyes.

“I’m not going to lie, I thought I was going to have to leave when your shirt was wet and I saw your bra. I didn’t want you to see my hard-on.” he laughed.

You covered your face and giggled in embarrassment, but Yoongi’s hands covered yours and pulled them away from your face, holding them on either side of your head.

“Don’t hide from me. Don’t ever hide any part of yourself from me. You are so beautiful, Y/N. I adore everything about you.” Yoongi cooed, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. 

“Did you know…” he ghosted his lips to the other cheek. “That…” his tender assault moved to your forehead as he placed a kiss to it. “I…” his lips brushed the tip of your nose.  “love you.” he smiled, kissing your lips.

“I love you too, so much.” you  giggled, kissing him back and moving closer to him, his warm embrace cradling you. 

Something shifted, and Yoongi’s kisses got deeper, needier. His body lowered to lay flush against yours, but he was careful not to squish you. His erection pressed firmly into your core as he slowly rutted his hips into yours. A quiet moan left your lips at the swivel of his hips against yours and Yoongi’s kisses began to descend, his lips now working against the skin of your neck, sucking and nipping at the flesh. 

His fingers crept up to the hem of your dress, and he tugged gently on it. You lifted yourself, tugging it off and tossing it across the room. Yoongi had seen you in bathing suits that had covered the same amount of skin, but this was different and it had heat flooding your cheeks. You took a deep breath and willed all of your courage and unhooked your bra, letting it slip down your shoulders before tossing it aside as well, leaving you only in your panties. 

Yoongi’s jaw went slack as he stared at your breasts. You wanted to cover them, wanted to hide, but this was Yoongi. You trusted him with every part of you. 

“You’re so beautiful, Y/N.” he stated in awe.

His head dipped down and his mouth wrapped around your nipple, his tongue flicking over the nub. Your back arched and your whimpers got louder when he began to suck. His large hand reached up to knead and tweak the other breast. Your body responded immediately, hips bucking up into Yoongi’s. You gripped his shirt and tugged, mumbling “off.” Yoongi obliged, tearing the fabric off and tossing it away in one fluid motion.

Your mouth watered, eyes roaming his ivory skin, the smooth planes of his flat stomach, poofing out just a little. He was perfect. Yoongi’s cheeks were dusted pink again and you leaned up, placing soft kisses to his tummy. Yoongi wound his hands gently in your hair, watery eyes watching you as you worshipped his body the way he deserved. Your lips ghosted over his chest and you could feel his heart racing beneath your touch.

“You’re so perfect.” you cooed.

Yoongi covered his mouth to stifle a laugh, and you grinned up at him. His hands came down to cup your face gently, and you leaned into his touch before urging him backwards until he was lying on his back. You made quick work of his belt and zipper, pulling his slacks down and tossing them haphazardly away. You watched his face for a reaction, and he bit his lip to conceal a nervous smile. Your heart fluttered in your chest at how adorable he was. 

Despite the fondness filling your chest, you couldn’t help but feel warmth farther down when your eyes roamed over the tent in Yoongi’s boxers. You reached out and cupped your hand over his hardened member, palming him over his boxers. Yoongi let out a low groan at your actions, his hand gripping at the duvet cover. You slowly pulled the boxers off his body, 

Yoongi’s length sprung free once his boxers were removed and it rested against his stomach, thick, hard, and leaking.  You peppered soft kisses along the vein, bringing a groan out of Yoongi. Your tongue snuck out and cautiously slid across the tip of his penis, and his breath stuttered. You smiled to yourself, then took him in your mouth. Yoongi couldn't tear his eyes away from you, mesmerized by the sight of your lips wrapped around his cock. He'd had a million dreams about this very moment, but none of them compared to the way it felt to have his cock in your mouth. 

It was almost too much for Yoongi, the way you were bobbing your head along his length, twirling your tongue around, massaging his balls with the perfect amount of pressure. It wasn't all sensual, he could see the adoration in your eyes. It made his heart swell with joy.   Other parts of him were swelling as well as he neared his high. His hips involuntarily jerked, apologies tumbling from his reddened lips but you didn't slow down. You wanted to make him feel good, reward him for all the things he did for everyone else.

“Y/N, I..I'm gonna-” Yoongi warned.

You took the opportunity to take him deeper down your throat, swallowing around him. That sent Yoongi over the edge, echoes of your name falling from his lips, his body twitching as he spilled his seed down your throat. Yoongi took a shaky breath and gazed down at you in awe as you licked your lips clean after swallowing his load. 

 “Your turn.” He smiled, guiding you to lay on your back while he settled himself between your thighs, placing teasing kisses along the skin there.

He pulled your panties down your legs and licked his lips at the sight of your soaking cunt presented to him. Yoongi didn’t waste any time, bringing his lips to your folds and letting his tongue dart out to lick at your clit. You gasped, spreading your legs further apart, inviting him in. He slowly slipped one finger in your heat, working it and curling to hit that sweet spot that had you drooling. 

His lips wrapped around your clit and he sucked before using his tongue to attack the sensitive bundle of nerves. You knew Yoongi could move his tongue quickly based on every rap you’d heard him recite and you’d daydreamed about how that would translate to eating you out but his skills surpassed your imagination and he had you close to cumming in under a minute. He slowly worked more fingers in, stretching your tight hole while he seemed to recite spells on your clit with his tongue. 

No sooner than Yoongi added a third finger, you were careening off the edge, pleasure washing over you and Yoongi worked you through it, drinking up all of your juices and leaving a soft peck on your clit as you came down, which had your body jolting.  He reached down to his jeans and pulled out a condom. 

“Are you still sure about this?” He asked tentatively. 

“Yes, I’m sure.” You said with absolute certainty. 

Yoongi crawled up your body, leaving sweet kisses as he made his way to hover over you until you were face to face.  He bit his plush lip, looking into your eyes with so much longing it almost hurt to return his gaze. He reached up to brush a stray lock of hair from your face, leaving his large hands on your cheek, gently rubbing his thumb back and forth. You leaned up and captured his lips with your own, and he melted into the kiss, immediately deepening it. His hands travelled down your neck, his fingertips tenderly brushing against the skin of your arms until he found your hands, resting beside your head. He interlaced your fingers together as he finally, finally entered you. 

You gasped into his mouth, squeezing his hand while you focused on the feeling of finally being filled  by the man of your dreams. Yoongi felt perfect inside of you, filling you up perfectly as if he was made for you and you were made for him. He stretched you in all the right ways and feeling him pressed up against your walls had your head spinning. 

'' You okay?'' Yoongi asked, stilling inside of you.

''Yes.'' you whispered breathlessly. ''You feel so good, Yoongi. Please.''

Yoongi began to slowly move inside you, taking his time and making sure not to hurt you. His hips met yours as he bottomed out and he let out a shaky breath, watching your eyes for any sign of discomfort. You smiled up at him, pecking his lips quickly. Yoongi was amazed at how brightly your eyes shined when you looked at him. His thrusts started picking up pace, your soft noises spurring him on. 

The two of you shared sweet kisses as he thrust in and out of your aching heat.  Your noises gradually got louder, the faster his thrusts got. The louder you got, the harder it was for Yoongi to keep his composure. While he'd been picking up the pace, he’d remained fairly gentle, but something in him snapped when you groaned his name, sounding particularly needy as you begged ''more.''

His hips snapped into yours in a harsh thrust , knocking the air from your lungs.  Gone was the sweet love making from moments ago, instead Yoongi was plowing into you with everything he had within him. Everything he'd held back this past year seemed to be pouring out, driving him to fuck you harder, faster. If you thought Yoongi's slow passionate strokes were maddening, you were absolutely ruined by his relentless, unforgiving thrusts.  

Your soft cries of his name were now loud moans, he had you writhing and screaming as he drove you closer to the edge with every brush of your sweet spot. 

''Fuck, you take my cock so well baby. I have dreamed about fucking you like this for so long.'' he growled in your ear, leaving hot, wet kisses along the skin below it.

''Me...me too.'' you whined at a particularly good thrust.

''Hmmm, I bet you have.” he smirked, bringing his hand between your bodies to rub lazy circles on your clit. 

“Did you touch yourself here?” he asked, applying more pressure to your sensitive bud. “Did you play with this pretty pussy thinking about my cock?” 

You nodded, overwhelmed with pleasure while Yoongi played your body like an instrument he'd practiced all his life. He knew exactly where to touch, how to rub, how to bring you to the brink of oblivion with a single stroke of his thumb. He was a damn sex wizard.  

“You're cute, baby girl. But  I need you to tell me. Tell me how desperate you were to feel me inside you. How you thought of me while you fingered yourself.” Yoongi coaxed, bringing one nipple into his mouth and making it impossible for you to think as his tongue rolled over it.

“Cat got your tongue?” Yoongi purred, licking a bold stripe across your hardened nipple, then the other. “Who makes you feel this good?”

 “You.” you moaned, walls clenching around his cock as you got closer to release. This response did not seem to satisfy Yoongi and he shook his head.

“What's my name?” he prodded.

“Yo...Yoongi!” you cried out as he rolled his hips harshly against your own. 

“Close... but you can do better, baby girl. ” his words were muffled by the hickeys he was sucking along your skin.

“Fuck… daddy.” you whimpered.

“What was that princess? Louder.” he commanded.  

“Daddy!” you groaned.

“Cum for daddy.” Yoongi demanded.

And you did. Your orgasm crashed over you, the most intense you had ever experienced before. You body arched off the bed into Yoongis and you let out the most pornographic sound Yoongi had ever heard. Your vision went spotty and your head felt light and your face contorted in pleasure. The combined feeling of your pussy clenching around him and the sounds you were making threw Yoongi over the edge and he came shortly after you, spurts of hot cum filling the condom. Yoongi didn't think he had ever cum this much in his life. He tied the condom and threw it in your trash can.

His savage streak gone, the energy drained out of Yoongi and he fell beside you panting. You looked over to meet his gaze and you both burst into giggles. His arms came to wrap around you to pull you into his chest. You sighed contently and nuzzled into his warmth. He stroked your hair softly, leaving soft kisses anywhere he could reach. You pressed chaste kisses to the skin of his chest, too exhausted to aim for anywhere else.

“I can't believe it took us this long to get here. We're pathetic.” you giggled.

“Better late than never, I suppose.” he grinned. 

“Always a bright side, that's one of the things I love about you.” you admitted with a shy smile.

“Oh?” Yoongi smiled, kissing your blush filled cheeks.

“There's certain things that I adore about you.” you explained. “Like how kind you are, and how determined and focused. How you always treat people with respect. How you scrunch your nose up. God its adorable.”

Yoongi covered his mouth to stifle a laugh, his own cheeks now turning a shade of red.

“I love you too, baby. I love how you take care of me. How your eyes light up when you smile. I love how passionate you are. You’re perfect to me.” Yoongi's voice was low and soft while he confessed. 

You hid your face in his chest, willing your racing heart to calm down, but Yoongi always made your heart race, it seemed to beat only for him.  Soon, exhaustion  got the better of both of you. You drifted to sleep in Yoongi's warm embrace, listening to your favorite sound in the world, his heart. And it beat only for you.

[blouisparadise]

Here are some of the amazing bottom Louis fics that were posted or completed during the month of September. We hope you enjoy this list. Happy reading!

1) Hard Candy Dripping On Me (Til My Feet Are Wet) | Explicit | 1997 words

Louis gets fucked on a plane. That’s it.

2) Fucking Nightmares | Mature | 2151 words

Louis has a nightmare. Harry comforts him.

3) You Could Take A Lick (But It's Too Cold To Bite) | Explicit | 2469 words

“You look kinda thirsty.” Louis croons softly.

Harry leans back in his chair and tilts his head to the side. His eyes are covered by the pair of expensive shades, but Louis feels his eyes drifting down his backside as he lays on his stomach.

“Why don’t you bring me a bit of that ice cream, darling?”

Louis and Harry have fun in a summer day.

4) Interview With The Vampire  | Explicit | 4135 words

Note: The fic pairing is Louis/Robert Pattinson.

Working at an alpha magazine wasn't always easy for an omega like Louis, but he's just landed his biggest interview yet with an A list actor who has asked for Louis especially. Unfortunately, the interview is with Rob Pattinson, the biggest pain in the arse alpha on the planet.

Inspired by Rob’s interview in GQ Magazine and not actually about vampires

5) Conozco La Vida | Teen & Up | 4761 words

Note: This fic contains no explicit smut, but since it’s omega Louis, we’ve included it. 

"I have a son," he declared, there was a very thinly veiled layer of hesitation.

Harry was unaware in the direction which this conversation was heading but chose to stare at the man instead.

"He is an Omega," he dropped the pivotal piece of information.

Harry's attention was hooked now.

"He has been raised in an Omega convent all his life, he hasn't been in the presence of any Alpha who isn't his immediate family."

"I am still waiting for you to make a point."

"You could take him as an Omega."

Harry did not react, his face remaining perfectly free of betrayal of any sort of emotion and leaned back upon his chair, his leg crossed upon his knee. "You are selling your son to me?"

6) It’s Hard For Me To Go Home | Not Rated | 4890 words

Don’t call me baby again.

7) So Baby, Let's Keep It Secret | Explicit | 4638 words

“I’ll leave with you,” Harry said after a beat, sounding sure of himself.

“What!? No!, you can’t leave with me, Harry, you have a life here. You have a job and friends an-”

Harry kissed him in the middle of his rambling. “Which means nothing if I don’t have you.”

Into You Music Video AU.

8) ZOMOS | Mature | 5659 words

Is it easy to forget everything and start afresh? Is it easy being served with hateful glances and insults when all you wish for is to be loved? Is it easy to make it seem like everything is alright when in reality your world is crumbling into pieces with every breath you take?

Is it easy to be the omega who is unwanted by their alpha?

9) Your Biggest Fan | Explicit | 9075 words 

Just like everyone else, Louis has a few habits that he can’t seem to break. Guilty pleasures, rather. His nails are perpetually short because he can’t quit biting them, the bottom of his shoes scuffed from tapping his foot constantly. Sometimes his leg gets a cramp from bouncing it so often underneath his desk. That isn't too bad, he reckons, just some average teenage coping mechanisms.And also, occasionally, minor instances of theft.

10) Making A Splash | Explicit | 9557 words

“You want this?” Harry muses, fisting his cock as he drags his hand lazily up his thick length. Louis eyes the motion and nods his head absentmindedly. “You want to show everyone at this beach how much of a slut you are for Daddy’s cock?”

“M‘your slut,” Louis immediately replies, inching closer, inching closer with his eyes glued on Harry’s glistening cock, precome shining under the sun as it dribbles out his slit.

Harry grins widely and stops the movement of his hand to grip himself at the base again, pushing Louis’ head down. “Show everyone how much of a slut you are.”

11) Hung Up High in the Gallery | Mature | 14006 words

When Harry’s best friend, Louis, comes to support him at his art show, he decides they need to do some celebrating afterwards. How fast do the lines between friends and lovers get blurred ... or better, get painted?

12) My Home Is Your Body | Explicit | 15341 words

Note: The fic pairing is Louis/Henry Cavill.

He had seen who had made his senses go haywire. His ex was in the front row, five feet in front of him. He felt his eyes on him even as he mechanically made his way to the end of the runway, hoping to God he didn’t look like a maniac. Everything was a blur. He somehow managed to walk the rest of the way without falling or emoting anything. Why was he HERE? Of all places.

...where Louis is a successful omega model and the last thing he expects is his ex to become the co-partner of the new company he works for....

13) There's Nothing Like It (Nothing At All) | Explicit | 15471 words 

Note: This is a sequel to this fic.

His hands are outstretched on the mattress like he’s reaching out for something, reaching out for Harry. It makes his heart swell, almost bursting with affection and love. He only waits a bit longer before reaching over to turn off the light and pulling Louis to his chest, smiling when the omega immediately sighs in contentment, nuzzling into his skin happily.Tomorrow, he tells himself. Tomorrow, they’ll talk about it.-Or, Harry isn’t ready for things to change, and the end is just the beginning.

14) Seven Simple Words | Explicit | 15535 words

It’s not like he and Louis were a couple. No, they might have been a lot of things—best mates and colleagues with a seemingly convenient friends-with-benefits arrangement—but never a couple. It wasn’t Louis’ fault he didn’t feel the same way and couldn’t reciprocate Harry’s feelings in the way he’d wanted, the way he’d needed. Harry had allowed himself to get in too deep, his entire being aching to be loved back by the object of his affections. But in love, as in life, you don’t always get what you want.

15) Works Like A Charm | Explicit | 18061 words

Ever since Louis joined the team in fifth year, a few facts have become set in stone.

One: Louis is the best chaser in Hogwarts.

Two: Harry is the best beater in Hogwarts.

Three: They do not get along.

So it’s really unfair of Liam to think that forcing them to spend time together as Louis recovers from his injury will make them the best of friends. The last thing Louis would do is get along with that git.

16) The Way This River Runs | Explicit | 27417 words 

It’d be so easy to just open his mouth and plead with Harry, to scream I’m sorry until his voice disappears, but he can’t. Be it his pride or his ego or his insecurities, he just can’t do it. The worst part is that he knows Harry would probably forgive him.

But Louis doesn’t want phony forgiveness. He doesn’t want Harry’s soothing words and pity embrace, thinks he might just break altogether if he was offered them. He feels like he’s made of glass recently and it’s to the point where he kind of wants to tip over the edge, just to see if he’d shatter. Just to see who’d be there to pick up the pieces if he did.

17) Give Me Love | Explicit | 41041 words

Louis doesn't feel like a good omega, Harry doesn't remember how to be an alpha, and they figure it out together.

18) Falling Out Of Fashion | Explicit | 42123 words

Harry Styles has been the established face of the Grimshaw House of Design for two years. It’s a prestigious and coveted modeling contract Harry took away from once-famed supermodel Zayn Malik. With the model transition Grimshaw’s designs went from a more urban, Zayn-forward aesthetic, to a Harry-favoring flowery, flowing femininity in the Grimshaw designs for men.

So when Harry sees a dress Grimshaw made for a famous Marvel actress, “only a tease”, Nick says, of the evolving look, Harry knows Grimshaw is shifting his aesthetic.

Harry wonders if he can pull off the look.

19) Three Days In February | Explicit | 189346 words

Louis is cursed after a night out with the lads and the five have just three days to figure out what happened and how to break it before Harry and Louis both lose their sanity and maybe something more. Louis can hear everything Harry thinks and Harry isn’t sure he can keep his feelings for Louis a secret from his own mind.

Ridiculous amounts of banter and angst, a lot of Harry and Louis alone together, a healthy dose of OT5 friendship, and one very magical weekend.

20) Boss Bitch | Explicit | 386901 words

Harry had always wanted to work for this successful mafia; the mafia that everyone knew, everyone feared. Led by none other than the pahntom

"L'eue Courante", whom everyone knew existed, but had no other clues who this person could be. The only thing known was a high heel the phantom once left.

So this person had to be woman, Harry assumend. And man, was he wrong.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

You can find other monthly roundup fic rec lists here.

[bearlytolerant]

Fandom: The Wayhaven Chronicles

Pairing: Mason x F!Detective

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3256

*explicit for smutty bits including but not limited to first time together and shower sex*

—

Again

Would you like me to walk you home sweetheart?

She should’ve resisted the offer but she didn’t and now she stands with him inside her apartment feeling naked even though she’s fully clothed. But Bobby was so unwanted, uncalled for and Mason–

“But how about I help you forget all about him?"

Well, Mason let’s the ball fall in her court every time. And Mason is beautiful and brilliant and everything she desires.

She steps forward, wordlessly begins to unbutton her shirt but Mason stills her fingers and with a whisper to her ear asks, “you sure about this?”

They’ve already been here. She thought she made it clear at the door before they came barreling through it in a flurry of passionate touching and kissing all the way to the bedroom. Apparently he needs more confirmation. And like her feet hitting pavement in the summer's sun, she plants a burning and unyielding kiss on his lips. There’s a yes breathed in there somewhere so there’s no confusion. But she’s never been so sure of anything in her life. Of course, she wants to know all of him but she’s caught up in this moment and she wants to feel his warmth.

“Then let’s get to it,” he purrs just before he covers her mouth in more kisses.

His hands trail up and down her back and squeeze her ass and soon his fingers are working deftly at her buttons. She grabs his hands, holding them and pulling away from his lips enough just to say, “may I take the lead on this one?”

He’s smirking now, hands surrendering to her as they lay at his sides. “Be my guest.”

Edith continues to undo the buttons of her shirt, moving unnecessarily slow, taunting and teasing but also hesitant and shy. She shakes off her jitters. This isn’t something she’s done before—a one and done deal. But if she’s going to do this just once , she wants it to be memorable.

Her shirt glides to the floor and she watches the way his eyes smolder. She’s caught off guard by the intensity of his gaze as his eyes flick up to meet hers. He licks his bottom lip and she shudders, slipping the straps of her bra off her shoulders. Inching toward him, she unclasps her bra and tries not to blush but she can feel the heat in her cheeks as he takes in the sight of her chest. Somehow, he remains unmoving and the glimmer in his eye makes up for the confidence she lacks.

“Stunning,” he tells her, “every goddam inch of you.”

A little closer and her thigh is touching his unmoving hands. With a steadying breath, she takes his right hand in her own and places his palm against her stomach. He sprawls his fingers across the markings of her body as he lets out a quiet breath. She shivers under his touch. She continues to give him a tour of her body, his hand now covering her left breast. Without her help, he maps out the other half of her body with his other hand, exploring through squeezing and massaging while she groans.

“Will you kiss me?” she asks.

His answer is wordless as he crashes his lips into hers. There’s a great need within his kiss, a need she hopes to satiate. She releases his wrist and while maintaining his kiss, she manages to wriggle her pants down to her knees and proceeds to shimmy them down to her ankles. She has to break away long enough to get them off her legs though.

“Sorry,” she mutters.

He chuckles. “For what?”

“Not being able to get undressed in a sexy way.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he replies and he goes back to what he was doing, which she’s incredibly grateful for.

Even if she’s awkward, he doesn’t make her feel it. With his sweet lips pressed to her own, she searches her way across his body, scoping out every muscle beneath his thin shirt. She eventually makes her way down to the edge of his pants and loosens his belt. She fumbles a bit more than she likes but eventually it comes free and she can get past the button and zipper and she’s worrying that she’s going way too fast.

“Is this okay?” she asks.

He chuckles mid kiss. “More than okay.”

She smiles and busy’s her lips again while slipping one hand past the waistband of his boxer briefs. She frees his cock which sits long and heavy in her hand. She strokes him gently and he lets out the smallest moan. The sound makes her flush and she wants to hear it again. So she pumps him a little more. And yet again. Then breaks from his kiss to kneel in front of him. She lightly strokes the length of his cock, watching the way it bobs for her before she wraps her lips around his head and glides down his shaft. She glances up at him through her eyelashes and he’s staring down at her with open, relaxed eyes. He’s gazing at her like she’s the only person existent in his world. Like she’s something more than a one time fling.

She pushes the thought from her mind though. He’d made his intentions clear and she wants to just relax too.

She sighs against him, gripping the back of his left thigh as she brings him deeper, sucking as she goes. One hand grasps at her hair and the other digs into her shoulder blade and she lets out a steady sigh of pleasure as she sucks on him and makes use of her tongue at the same time. When his groans turn into an almost growl, she gently cups his balls with her other hand and ups her pace, not too much, but enough to leave him desperate and wanting. Then she slides back up his length and loosens, allowing the cool air of the room to hit his tip before she covers it with the warmth of her mouth again.

“ Fuck,” he hisses.

She smirks before going back to work. A steady process of drawing out his sighs and groans and tasting his reactions. And how sweet are his reactions to her ears. Every sound she pulls from him makes her clench with desire. Still, she is a patient woman and she wants this to last. She draws his cock in further, as far as she can manage without gagging, then lets go of his thigh to grip the part of his cock that she can’t cover with her mouth. Drawing him back and forth in her mouth, she elicits more of his sounds until he’s thrusting fervently and gripping her desperately. It nearly drives her to her own sense of desperation, wanting to lay him across her bed and mount him, riding him over the brink of his pleasure. But she reminds herself to stay present.

He curses again and shudders under her and she sucks him harder, tasting the salt of his come as she swallows and ever so gently sucks as he comes back down from his high. She smiles happily as she lets go and he pulls her back to her feet, smothering her with a barrage of kissing.

“I’m not done with you yet,” she murmurs between those kisses.

Mason is nearly breathless when Edith says she’s not done with him which is unusual. He is a vampire after all. Many have wanted him and never been done with him. But it’s the way she says it and the way she looks at him, like he’s worth knowing every detail of. It’s almost as if she sees right through him. It’s both exciting and terrifying.

But he rolls the thought off his shoulders and grins at her.

“Oh yeah? What else do you have in mind sweetheart?”

He bends down to rid himself of his pants coiled around his ankles and relieves himself of his briefs as well. Meanwhile, she’s wide eyed, gasping and inching closer, hands outstretched. The warmth of her palms is delightful as she pushes him back against the bed. Or tries to before she tangles her feet in his pile of clothes and stumbles into him. He could stop her momentum but he allows them both to fall back into the bed. He brushes a dark curl out of her face as she blushes up at him, her glasses barely hanging on the tip of her nose. He removes them and folds them up. Stretches to place them on the bedside table.

“Sorry,” she murmurs. “Didn’t mean to knock you over.”

Another smirk. “Really? I thought it was intentional.”

She repostions herself in his lap as he straightens, leaning back slightly on his arms.

“You’re being overly nice,” she says.

“If I were to make fun of you, it would be rather hard to get what I want out of this.”

“Probably, but you don’t have to pretend to enjoy this either.” She gestures to herself.

“Oh there’s no pretending sweetheart,” he growls as he dips forward and kisses along her neck. He’s relieved when she lets out a soft moan and stops worrying so damn much.

He works his way back up to her lips and she’s running her hands through his hair and pressing palms into his shoulder blades, squeezing him into her breasts and taking his breath away. It’s not supposed to be like that.

He pulls back, remembering how to breathe and she’s flushed and she’s…

“You’re so beautiful,” she tells him. Then strokes her knuckles down the side of his face.

Damn she’s good at this.

He parts his lips in a smile. “I was going to say the same thing.”

“Of course you were,” she says. “How cliche of you.” She's smirking though and he feigns being wounded, eliciting a laugh.

“May I,” she asks with a palm against his chest.

He has no idea what she’s asking permissions for but whatever it is, it’s certainly a “yes”.

By all fucking means.

Then she bends forward, craning her neck to the side to place a plush kiss just beneath his jaw and he swallows down the overwhelming urge to scoot her forward and drive himself into her, fucking her until she’s the one left breathless. Instead, he grips the coverlet in his fists and lets her teeth drag across his skin.

Is she? She wouldn’t…

She barely bites him and then kisses the spot where he imagines the faintest imprint of her teeth lies. The widening of her lips spreads across his skin and he knows she wears a mischievous grin. Her breath dusting as the quietest chuckle escapes. She thinks it’s funny but she doesn’t know how much he wants her to do it again.

His hands fly to her hips and instinctually makes to find her entrance.

“Not yet,” she says against his ear. “Not yet. Just–just trust me.”

Trust me .

His tension lessens but his hands still hug her hips as her lips trail down past his throat and peppers kisses all across his chest. Her tongue traces patterns along his freckle covered body and internally he pleads for her to never stop. She gently guides him back so he’s laying flat across the bed and she continues to explore and kiss every part of him that she possibly can in the most tender of ways. This certainly isn’t how he imagined this going. But he’s not too prideful to admit, it’s infinitely better .

Her breaths are heavy as she places feather light kisses across his navel and then all the way back up to his throat. Along his jawline. Once on his lips. Her tongue slips inside his mouth and she groans against him as she grinds her hips.

“Mason,” she murmurs his name, the n dragging on her tongue as they kiss.

He makes some guttural response just as she grips his cock and settles herself slowly down on top of him. He thrusts once, not meaning to take a portion of her control but….

“So damn good,” he croaks.

She murmurs agreement and he knows it wasn’t the wrong move.

Her chin dips, eyes closing as she lets out a huff of pleasure. She’s warm and wet and sends all his senses into overdrive. He wants to thrust again but he holds back, waits to see what she does. Her hands are on his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as she shifts her hips from side to side. He watches her chin tilt towards the ceiling, some of her hair coming loose from her braid and spilling onto her shoulders. Her breasts sway as she rocks and sighs contentedly.

He reaches one hand up to caress her neck then dusts his fingers down the length of her body. Finding her clit with his thumb, he moves it in a circular motion. Her rocking turns to bouncing and he can no longer be an observer. His eyes roll back, lids fluttering closed as the pressure builds. Her breathing is erratic, the pace matching the rhythm of her heartbeat. The pressure within himself builds and builds until finally it all lets loose in a string of expletives as she lets out one long, loud cry of release. Crumpling against his chest, her arms are drawn in and he holds her there as she is, cozy and satisfied.

He has no idea how long they lay there unmoving. But there’s peace in listening to her heart rate lower as he smooths his hands up and down her back.

“I should shower,” she says, her eyes meeting his in a hazy gaze.

He nods. Eases her off himself and he watches as she wanders off to the bathroom. The sway of her ass makes him want to go for another round and he finds himself following after her.

“Mind if I join you?” He stands lounging against the doorframe.

She throws a glance over her shoulder, her right brow raised. She lowers it with a smile.

“I wouldn’t have pegged you for a shower after sex kinda guy.”

“That’s because I’m a sex in the shower kinda guy.”

She laughs at that and turns the water on. While it heats, he goes to her. Pulls out her hair tie and combs his fingers through her dark hair. Her eyes flutter closed at his touch.

“Mmm,” she hums and he can’t help but kiss those pursed lips again.

Eventually she reaches out blindly to find the water running. Barely breaking their kiss, she shuffles a few steps to the left, stepping over the edge of the bathtub and leading him in with her. She turns to face the water, the droplets running down her skin and making it glimmer in the light. He doesn’t want to close the curtain and dim the sight of her but water is splashing onto the floor.

The curtain hooks scrape across the metal bar and he drinks her in. One hand above her head against the wall and the other just hanging loosely by the curve of her ass. His cock is already so hard for her again. It twitches in response. He licks his lower lip as his hands grip the swell of her ass and squeeze. He can see all of her and he wants to run his tongue along the slick of her and see how she tastes. Maybe after the shower. For now he wants to be inside her.

The surprised sound she makes as he lifts her cheeks, angles himself and slides in is enough to make him nearly come again. Her other palm smacks against the wall in front of her as she rises on tip toes to take him more fully. He thrusts, going deeper and her groan drops an octave. He thrusts again and she lets out an “umph” and if his senses weren’t so heightened he might not have caught it when she said, “again.”

He indulges her and she pushes her ass back as far into him as she can and each time he thrusts he gets a little deeper, draws out a little more volume, a little more of her panting.

“Please,” she utters and he picks up his pace, grasping at her hips to keep them both steady. He fucks her until they’re both gasping for breath. He unleashes a cry of ecstasy and she crumples forward in a whimper. Though he catches her, he’s afraid he’s hurt her.

“You okay?” He tries to hide the concern in his voice as he turns her to face him.

“Yeah,” she breathes, nodding as she pushes the wet hair out of her face and over her shoulder, straightening herself in his arms. “More than okay.” She smiles, her deep brown eyes full of warmth.

He crushes her into himself. Kisses the top of her head. Her hands find comfort in wrapping around his lower back. Then he gently lifts her chin to look into her eyes again. Kisses her softly on the lips.

Eventually she breaks away from his embrace and goes through the normal motions of showering. At some point he takes her loofa from her and washes the hard to reach places on her back, then kisses those same places after the water washes the soap away. They towel off and he gathers his clothes into a pile while she dries her hair but he doesn’t put them back on. Not yet.

When she finishes, she finds him, not bothering to redress either and she leads him back to her bed. There he takes the time to taste her. He lowers himself before her, hands trailing down her ass and then the back of her legs as he flicks out his tongue. And once again, it’s better than he imagined. He loses himself to pleasing her, allowing her to nearly rip his hair out when she climaxes again. Satisfied and smirking, he rises back up to meet her, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before crashing against her lips again. He has no idea how long they remain this way before she breaks them apart.

“Stay with me, Mason?” she asks. “Until I fall asleep at least?”

How can he resist when she gives him those satisfied but tired eyes. Plus he’ll get to hold her naked body again and that’s certainly not a bad thing.

He nods and goes around the side of the bed to pull the covers back for her. She slips under and he slides in next to her, warm skin flush against his own. Within minutes she’s asleep and a contented happy smile pulls at her lips as she dreams.

It’s a shame when he escapes from his comfortable haven to pad across the floor to throw on his clothes. Pulling his shirt over his head and tugging his pants back on, he savors the memories he made with her over the past however many hours. He laces up his boots with no more thought to it and makes for the door. But unlike times past, he stops and glances back.

She still has her contented smile in place and as he turns and exits her apartment, he worries that he desperately desires to do this again.

But what if she doesn’t?

The thought surprises him that he would even care and he shrugs it off as he makes his way back to the warehouse.

[heyyyharry]

Chapter 16: Night Before the Battle

(from ‘The Winter and The Crown’)

…in which Harry accompanies Y/N to meet the other queen.

Word count: 3.6k

AU: queen!y/n, commander!harry

Description: Y/N and Harry set off on a new adventure to find ‘the cure’ for an ancient curse, meanwhile, the enemies are plotting to take her kingdom.

Wattpad link (Reyna as Y/N aka Peach)

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Y/N and Harry arrived at the southern border at dawn and found a single tent with two horses outside. Calanthe and whoever had accompanied her must have camped here overnight. Y/N assumed it was one of The Monks; however, she’d never met any of them, except for the one who had been sent to kill her at the market last year.

Y/N dismounted Thunder, unsheathed the dagger at her side and tucked it into her riding boot. They would be asked to submit their weapons before Calanthe received them, and even though Y/N doubted Calanthe could hurt a single fly, it was still better to be careful.

Mary had come to see Y/N the other night, and if the witch had been honest, Harry’s and Lance’s speculations had been true. It wasn’t at all shocking to Y/N that The Monks were only using Calanthe as a chess piece in their game. Calanthe didn’t seem like the mastermind behind this elaborated plan, starting with the attacks at the borders and Harry’s capture. Calanthe was desperate and angry, but she wasn’t vicious enough to want to take over the world.

Hearing Y/N’s and Harry’s arrival, a tall dark man with a thick beard emerged from the tent, dressed in a large black cloak – the signature look of The Monks. He swept his fierce eyes over Y/N with his thick eyebrow arched. Her heart thudded violently as she held her breath in fear of him acknowledging the weapon hidden inside her boot. Thank Gods, he didn’t.

His dry lips spread in an attempt of a smile, which didn’t look at all genuine and less intimidating. He put a hand on his chest and took a bow before Y/N. “Queen Y/N, my queen was expecting you.” His gaze flicked to Harry’s sword. “You must submit all weapons. And your servant is not allowed to enter.”

“That’s my commander,” Y/N said.

The man gave Harry a scornful smirk as he told Y/N, “If you say so, Your Majesty.” Y/N glanced at Harry to see her lover have his fingers wrapped around his sword-hilt. It must take everything for him not to say something when being disrespected by the enemy.

“If Harry is not allowed to enter, he must keep his sword,” Y/N said.

The man held her stare thoughtfully before another eerie smile transformed his long face, sending chills right down her spine. He didn’t ask Harry to hand in the weapon anymore as he told Y/N to come with him.

The inside of the tent was dimly lit by firelight. Calanthe sat in her chair in her riding clothes, her hair tied up in a braid at the back of her neck. The shadow on the wall looked as though it wanted to engulf her. She looked small and young and helpless. Without Y/N’s uncle’s crown on Calanthe’s head, no one would be able to tell that Calanthe was a queen and not a young maiden being held captive by the evil man in the black cloak.

The inside of the tent was dimly lit by firelight. Calanthe sat in her chair in her long golden velvet dress with her hair tied up in a braid at the back of her neck. The shadow on the wall looked as though it wanted to engulf her. She appeared small and young and helpless. Without Y/N’s uncle’s crown on Calanthe’s head, no one would be able to tell that Calanthe was a queen and not a young maiden being held captive by the evil man in the black cloak.

“I thought I told you to come alone,” Calanthe spoke once the man had left.

Y/N took some time to study the Queen of Theros. A lot had changed about Calanthe since the last time Y/N had seen her in person. She looked sick with her bony physique, lifeless eyes and pallid skin. What had they done to her? What had she done to herself?

“Harry’s my commander,” Y/N said, keeping a straight face. “It’s not safe for a queen to travel that far on her own. And didn’t you bring someone as well?”

“Vossler’s my new consultant.” Calanthe rose from her chair, eyeing Y/N with contempt. “Since you killed the old one.”

“I’m not here to be accused of murder. I wasn’t in the castle that night.”

Calanthe tilted her head and pouted with feigned innocence. “Who should I complain to then? Your husband?” Her face turned cold. “Let me remind you why you’re here, Y/N. I asked for the witch. Where is she?”

Y/N’s expression remained unchanged. “I told you I came with just Harry.”

Calanthe’s eyebrows knitted. It wasn’t until now that Y/N realised how quiet it was. There was no sound but the crackling of the fire and the sighing of the wind. She wondered if Harry was still waiting for her outside. He wouldn’t leave her by choice. She could take down Calanthe, and hopefully, Harry could handle Vossler, unless this was a trap and they’d just walked straight into it. Y/N doubted it, though. The reckless little girl who’d been forced to put on her dead husband’s crown would probably have Y/N and Harry murdered tonight. However, Calanthe wasn’t playing this game. The Monks were.

“The witch belongs to me,” Calanthe said, pulling Y/N out of her thoughts. “You return her to me, and I will spare your life in the war.”

“I don’t ask for mercy in a war I’m not losing.”

“Even if it means you’d get to keep the North?”

“Get to keep the North?” Y/N scoffed. “The North belongs to me. I’m the rightful ruler and heir to the crown. My family is the oldest family that’s ever lived–”

“Said the only family member survived,” Calanthe cut her off. It was a jab in the heart, still, Y/N didn’t let it show. “The first High King angered the Gods,” Calanthe went on with a smug grin. “His bloodline would end with your death.”

“Is that a threat?” asked Y/N.

“I never threaten.” Calanthe’s brows were drawn together. “I guarantee that you won’t live to see your people bend their knees to me.”

Y/N chuckled. “Should it be easier if you kill me now, though?”

“And become the villain in the story? No, darling,” Calanthe asked with fake surprise. “I must win on the battlefield, my dear. But if you give me the witch, I’ll let you live to be a sad loser. You can keep the North, marry your handsome king and live happily ever after in your winter castle. But if you keep the witch, I’ll have to declare war against the South based on the fact that your brother murdered my husband, and you murdered George Wallace.”

“There’s no proof for either of your accusations.”

“Trust me.” A corner of Calanthe’s red lips lifted. “It’s so easy to convince the other kingdoms that you’re just as mad as your brother.”

Y/N swallowed hard, balling her fists. She wasn’t going to let herself be provoked by Calanthe’s harmless words. This woman wasn’t the real enemy.

“If you declare war with the North,” Y/N said, “you declare war with Attwell, too.”

Calanthe rolled her eyes and smirked. “With Rouxvania’s support, I would surely win.”

Y/N’s stomach dropped. “The East is on your side?”

“While you were too busy looking for the cure for your lover, I was busy nurturing my allies.” Calanthe turned her back to Y/N, facing the fire. Y/N caught a glimpse of two long scars on Calanthe’s right palm. It seemed like she had been learning to wield a sword. Y/N guessed The Monks was going to send Calanthe onto the battlefield where they’d make sure she would not return. They wanted all kings and queens to fight to the death so they’d take over one hundred kingdoms.

“They’re just using you,” Y/N broke the silence. Calanthe glanced over her shoulder, her eyes troubled. “They’ll kill you like they did to my brother and the first High King,” Y/N went on, keeping her voice as quiet as possible. “Egon and Lokesh also believed they were ‘the chosen one’. You’re their next victim, Calanthe.”

Calanthe whirled around as she snapped, “And why should I trust you?”

“Because I don’t want the South for my own,” Y/N calmly said. “And I’m not standing here as your enemy. I’m here as a woman who doesn’t want to see another woman suffer from abuse from men.”

Calanthe’s eyes squinted with doubt. “You’re only saying this because you fear you’re going to end up like every single one in your family. Dead.”

Y/N clenched her fists, now highly aware of the existence of the dagger in her boot. Still, she kept her composure. “I know you hate me because of what my father did to your family and kingdom. I am sorry. If I could go back in time and stop him, I would. But I can’t. I’m trying to help you now by telling you the truth–”

“You don’t know what the truth is,” Calanthe cut her off. “You think you’re so special huh? Just because you found the lake and survived the North Forest, it doesn’t make you special, Y/N. You’re just as twisted as the men in your family. Lokesh sold his baby’s soul for victory, didn’t he? And we both know you didn’t just ask a witch to bring your friend back to life for free. You killed you ba–”

Y/N didn’t wait for Calanthe to finish. She shoved Calanthe into her chair, drew the dagger out of her boot so fast that Calanthe could barely gasp when the shiny blade was held at her throat.

“Your Majesty, is everything all right?” asked Vossler as his shadow towered over the entrance of the tent.

Y/N applied a little bit more pressure to her dagger as she leaned in and whispered into Calanthe’s ear, “I’d cut your throat before he could set foot into this tent.”

She could see that Calanthe was trying her best to look calm while her big blue eyes were showing the opposite. “Everything is fine,” she told Vossler.

Y/N looked back over her shoulder and saw that Vlosser hesitated before he left. He probably suspected something was off but had no choice but to obey the command.

“I know you can’t kill me,” Calanthe said through gritted teeth.

Y/N turned back to her. “I can. I just chose not to because I’m not stupid.” Her fingers relaxed around the hilt of her dagger. “But as you can see, it’s very easy for me to kill you. And we’re not even on the battlefield, Calanthe.”

When Y/N pulled away, Calanthe let out a loud sigh as she immediately reached for her throat as if to make sure her head was still attached. Y/N thrust the dagger back into her boot, smiling.

Calanthe gave her a dismissive wave, too embarrassed to even make eye contact. “You may leave.”

Knowing there was nothing she could do to change this foolish woman’s mind, Y/N kept her thoughts to herself and walked out without a single glance back.

Outside, Harry was waiting with the horses while Vossler was sharpening his blade by the tent. Y/N could feel Vossler’s dark eyes following her as she exited the tent and padded straight toward Harry. His eyes stayed fixed on Vossler as he asked her, “So?”

She shook her head and mounted her horse. “Let’s go.”

Harry’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, but he knew this wasn’t the right time to have this conversation. Giving Vossler one more glare, he got onto Lightning’s back. Together, they rode away.

When they came across a river, Y/N suddenly stopped, got off her horse and walked straight to the riverbank. She stood there in silence, just gazing out at the water.

Harry came up from behind her. “Peach, what happened back there?” He sounded worried. It made her feel bad.

She sucked in a breath and put her arms around herself. “I had a dagger at her throat, and she still wouldn’t surrender.”

There was a pause. “Peach, you can’t do that. She’s still a queen.”

Y/N whirled around to face a concerned Harry. “She’s an idiot. Now people are going to die. I can’t stop this war from happening.”

He sighed and placed his hands on her shoulders. “It’s not your fault. You can’t control everything.”

“Everything is my fault.” Her head drooped as her voice cracked. “This all started with me running away. I killed my father and my brother, and my uncle was murdered because of me.”

“You did what you thought was right at the time. You couldn’t have known.” He squeezed her shoulders gently. “You’re not responsible for their deaths. If I were to die defending you, it wouldn’t be your fault, either.”

Her heart stopped. She looked up into his green eyes. “Don’t say that. Don’t you ever say that. You won’t die.”

A knot lodged in her throat as his eyebrows sloped. “When someone dies, they die, Peach. You cannot stop it. But no matter how or when it happens, it will not be your fault. And you will not waste one moment on guilt.”

Tears blurred his features. Y/N couldn’t even think of something happening to Harry again. Losing him once was already too much. Other than Lance, Harry was the only person in her life who knew what kept me up at night. He knew her more than her own family had. It would be like losing her mother all over again, but she’d known long before her mother’s death that it was going to happen. Her mother had been sick. If Harry died under the hand of the enemy, it would happen suddenly. How could she ever recover?

“Tell me you understand that.” His voice shook her back to reality.

She didn’t want to understand, but she nodded nonetheless because that was what he needed to see. She slipped her arms around his neck, and he hugged her tightly. She never wanted him to let go.

“Your father and brother weren’t good kings.” His voice thickened. “But you are a great queen. You’re the chosen one, Peach. You’ll lead your army to victory. I believe in you..” Stepping back, he squeezed her shoulder once more and offered a smile to fool her into thinking everything was going to be okay. At least it worked. “Come.” He kissed her forehead. “It’ll be a long trip back to the castle.”

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It was official. There was going to be a war.

Two days after Y/N and Harry had come home, the news had travelled to all high and low courts that The High Queen of Theros had declared war against Isolde to avenge the deaths of her husband and her consultant. Y/N had faith in her well-trained army as well as Lance’s for they had all expected this outcome. Her father had been well-prepared for this. Nevertheless, this wasn’t at all what Y/N wanted.

The night before the battle, it snowed thickly outside. The castle was too quiet. It was as if the universe was holding its breath for the bloodbath tomorrow.

Y/N rose from the soaking tub. Jo helped her slip on a thick robe, and she padded on her bare feet across the fire-warmed stone to the lone mirror. Using her palm to wipe away a bit of steam, she tilted my cheek and observed the faintly red and bruised skin along her chest and the corner of her mouth. She’d got them from the fall off the cliff; they were barely noticeable now. Sometimes she missed that feeling of free-falling to her possible death. If it hadn’t been for the people she’d leave behind, she would have chosen the easy way out.

Was it easy, though?

Death.

It sounded easy if the choice was given to you. However, her death would only prove Calanthe right. That she was destined to receive the same fate as the men in her bloodline. And she didn’t want to be associated with their crimes and weaknesses. If she were to die, she’d die brave and honoured, holding her sword.

Blinking, she caught Jo’s dreadful eyes looking back at her in the mirror. “I’m scared, Y/N,” Jo muttered as she twisted the towel she was holding.

Y/N turned around. “Don’t be scared. We’ll be fine.” She didn’t know that for sure, but she’d say anything to put her friend at ease. It didn’t work, though.

“If they took the castle, what would happen to me?” Jo asked, her forehead creased. “I’d surely die. I cannot protect myself.”

“I won’t let them take the castle.” Y/N mustered an encouraging smile as she took Jo’s hand. “And you can protect yourself, Jo. I’ve shown you how to use a dagger—”

“Being shown the basics of how to use a blade and using it on another living person are two different things.” Jo pulled her hand back. “I would’ve stood there and screamed.”

“You would’ve defended yourself,” Y/N said, this, she genuinely believed. “I’ve seen how vicious you get when Harry ate your last piece of pie.”

The skin around Jo’s eyes crinkled as she giggled. “I would duel him to the death for that delicious cake.”

A short laugh burst from Y/N. “Just imagine all the attackers as Harry trying to steal your last piece of pie and you’ll be good.”

They laughed about it together and pretended that it was just a joke. In reality, Y/N knew Jo had a good reason to be scared, as was she. She’d failed to save Jo once. How could she be sure she could succeed this time? There was no witch to help her. She’d have to do this on her own.

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Sweat dampened Harry’s skin as he dipped down and kicked out. Caught off guard, Lance staggered to the side and froze before he could start striking back. His gaze dropped to where Harry held the dagger to his throat. The corners of his lips lowered.

Harry smirked. “I win.”

“It’s not about winning.” Lance scoffed, rolling his eyes. “It’s about surviving.”

“Isn’t that winning, though?” Harry lowered the dagger and stepped back.

Lance shot him a glare and sheathed the dagger at his hip. “The battle tomorrow isn’t a game.”

“I know that.” Harry put away his blade. “But I still won.”

“Boys, can you stop being boys for a moment?”

They both whipped around to find Y/N standing on the steps in her white fur coat, staring out at the yard.

“She’s talking to you,” Harry and Lance said to each other at the same time

Y/N marched up to them. Her face scrunched up like an angry teacher as she regarded them both. “You two are aware that we’re heading to battle at dawn, right?”

Lance’s eyes widened as he aggressively pointed his hand at Harry. “I’ve been trying to tell him!”

Y/N crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow at Harry, who put on a grin. “I’ll be in serious fighting mode at dawn.”

She rolled her eyes. Her lips arched faintly. Harry knew that she knew he was just trying to keep everyone calm and in good spirits. Deep down, he was a bundle of nerves. He hadn’t been sleeping since they’d returned from the border. Whenever he closed his eyes, he’d see death. He wasn’t afraid of dying. But if he died, he couldn’t protect her. There would still be Lance, but he couldn’t count on anyone else but him and herself to keep her safe at this point.

The three of them headed back inside. Y/N stopped Lance when he was about to retreat to his chambers. “Come to the throne room and drink with me,” she said. “Both of you.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to get drunk before a battle,” Lance said.

Harry and Y/N exchanged the same kind of look. To Lance, Harry said, “We’re not drinking to get drunk. Besides, this might be the only chance we get to drink together.”

Lance flicked his gaze between Harry and Y/N before throwing his head back and exhaling sharply. “You two are unbelievable.”

Y/N laughed as she slipped her arm around Lance’s and tugged him along. Strangely, Harry felt fine with it. Maybe knowing this could be the last night of his life had made him more sensible. He would think about what she’d said on the night she’d asked him to marry her. About how she loved Lance even though it wasn’t the same way she loved Harry. He would look out for Kenny, too, even though Kenny and Stefan were married and had a baby together. While Lance’s feelings were not reciprocated, Harry knew he’d still jump in front of an arrow for Y/N.

“Here’s to us staying alive,” Y/N said, raising her cup. “Long live the Queen.”

Lance chuckled as he lifted his. “Long live the King.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Long live Harry.” And chugged the wine from his cup.

Y/N sat on her throat while Harry and Lance sat on the step on either side of her. She stared thoughtfully into her cup as she took a deep breath. “I want you to promise me one thing.”

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I’m proposing, Lance.”

“Well, I have a feeling that I won’t like it,” Lance said and poured himself some more wine. Harry gestured for Y/N to continue anyway.

“If you see me having trouble on the battlefield,” she said, “just know I can get myself out of it. I want you to mind your own business, watch your own back unless I scream for help. Do not try to help me and get yourself killed.”

Lance shook his head. “Y/N, you know I can’t promise you that.”

“You must.”

“You’re not giving me orders. We’re equals.”

Y/N let out a soft breath. “I’m not giving you orders, Lance. I’m asking you.”

Harry could see Lance softened at once. The King averted his eyes and stared down at his cup. “I promise,” he replied weakly.

It was enough for Y/N. She turned to Harry. Forcefully, he nodded and gave her his word.

[wordsablaze]

13/13 - goat string of fate

A Dozen Denials Soulmate-identifiers exist to make things easier unless you’re Jaskier, who’s equally as deep in love as he is in denial. But there’s only so many excuses you can make to avoid the truth… (aka jaskier’s soulmate is definitely a witcher, just not the one he first assumes)

A/N: what we've all been waiting for... undeniable red string of fate, but with goats for eskel's sake ;) @alllthequeenshorses @eskel-loves-lilbleater

previous chapter

-

“If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!”

Jaskier’s heart breaks.

He knows that Geralt isn’t lying because the words don’t show up on his skin and he knows that Geralt isn’t just saying that for the sake of it because his pulse is as steady as ever under his wrist and he knows that Geralt isn’t thinking with a clouded mind because he can’t feel any intense emotions at the back of his mind.

The only logical conclusion to make is that Geralt really means it.

“See you round,” he says, even though he’s not sure he will.

It’s nowhere near the first time he’s had his heart broken but somehow this time hurts so much more than every other time, probably something to do with the fact that he’s leaving his very soulmate behind as he walks away with blurred vision and wobbly steps.

He doesn’t walk very far, though; he just can’t bring himself to.

-

There is a building on fire.

And there is a witcher trying to help.

Nobody asked him to help and yet he runs into the building because he can hear the panicked heartbeats of four humans inside.

He hands over a frightened child to their mother and runs back in.

He hands over a man to his grateful sister and runs back in.

He hands over a crying girl to her father and runs back in.

There’s one more racing heartbeat inside the building but he can’t find it, it doesn’t belong to anyone he can see, and even though he tries his best because he can’t let anyone die - he just can’t - he has no choice but to leave when the roof caves in and smoke fills the air.

It’s only once he can breathe again that he realises the heartbeat has followed him out.

The last person wasn’t in the fire after all; they’re under his skin.

-

Jaskier doesn’t get the rest of the story from the others in the end.

He wants to - he’s a bard so of course he wants to - but he knows that his own story having just found such a bitter end means that he won’t do the dragon hunt any justice so he leaves its tale to the dwarves.

He’s tired and he kind of wants to cry and he doesn’t know which way he’s meant to go so he doesn’t even try to subtly follow the others back down the mountain. Instead, he walks and walks and walks and hopes he doesn’t fall to his death.

And he doesn’t. But he does stumble over nothing in particular and end up rolling over himself until he hits a tree, gasping for breath and curling around his lute because he doesn’t have any other source of comfort.

The last thought he manages before he drifts off - read: passes out - is that he’s incredibly glad his lute hasn't broken the same way his heart has.

-

There is a funeral.

And there is a witcher trying to mourn.

But there is something giddy in the back of his throat and something bright behind his eyes and something exciting at his fingertips and he cannot focus his emotions.

There is a fight.

And there is a witcher trying to concentrate.

But there is a puzzle in his lungs and a question on the tip of his tongue and a mystery in his every bone and he cannot tell if he knows what move to make next.

There is a festival.

And there is a witcher watching quietly.

But there is a heavy grief in his stomach and a heavy doubt inside his mind and a heavy pain within his blood and he has no idea why his body is telling him to be upset.

-

Jaskier wakes to the taste of oranges.

For some reason, it just makes him want to cry.

“We are not dying on some godsforsaken mountain,” Jaskier mutters to his lute but also to himself because if he is to die, it will not be at the hands of heartbreak.

A lot easier said than done, though, because he ends up lost. Horribly lost. So lost that he wonders if someone had moved him while he was sleeping because there’s no way he could end up so clueless when he’d been pretty close to their original path the day before.

And he’s not unfit but he must have bruised himself more than he can tell while tumbling because he doesn’t get further than the duration of half a dozen ballads before both his muscles and his lungs force him to stop and rest in danger of retiring altogether.

Still, he keeps going. He can’t find anything edible but he hangs onto the taste of oranges from his stolen dream as he pushes forwards, begrudgingly thanking Destiny for giving him at least that from his soulmate.

-

There is a town with a contract.

And there is a witcher who almost regrets accepting it.

The monster is easy enough to defeat, nothing that takes more than a day. No, the monster isn’t the reason he chooses to disappear for almost a month afterwards - that would be the mirror.

Or more specifically, what he sees in the mirror: one of his eyes is the wrong colour.

He thinks he’s delirious at first but one potion and two hours’ worth of meditating later, his eyes are still inexplicably mismatched.

His left eye is the colour of the sky. The colour of the ocean. The colour of a privilege that he was never allowed to have. And he’s read just about enough poetry to know how that means he has a soulmate out there somewhere.

All that does is drown him in a blue hue of guilt.

-

Jaskier has just started playing his third song on the lute when something crashes into his legs.

He yelps, springing to his feet and almost tripping over whatever it is that’d crashed into him, which turns out to be a goat. A goat, of all things.

“Right, well, if you could not do that whole attacking thing again, that’d be great. You have rather pointy horns,” Jaskier huffs, settling on the rock once again.

To its credit, the goat seems to listen, munching on grass instead of stepping on his toes as Jaskier starts playing again. Confused but not entirely against the company, he continues singing about whatever comes to mind until the sky begins to darken and the air turns cold.

He sighs, putting the lute away and gently reaching out to stroke the goat, smiling when it doesn’t just headbutt him and bleats happily before settling in his lap. “At least you seem to want to stick around,” he mumbles.

Too tired to find anywhere more sheltered, Jaskier pulls his doublet tighter around himself and hugs his new best friend as tightly as he dares. For a moment, the goat lifts its head and stares at him and he fears he’s about to have his eye poked out, but then it just burps and settles again.

This time, he falls asleep laughing.

-

There is a hearth.

And there is a witcher sat beside three other witchers.

And despite the warmth of the fire and the warmth of his family, he is cold.

He is colder than he ever is, colder than when he is submerged underwater during a fight or when he is caught unawares in a storm or when he is kicked out of a tavern because he brings down the mood.

There is no explanation for why he is cold because he is home and he is safe and he should be warm but for some reason, he is not.

He is rarely warm.

And if he is warm, he doesn’t understand why.

There is no explanation for why he is warm when passing ruins he’s never seen before or when camping in the middle of nowhere just to be away from people or when being told the last copy of the book he’d been looking for was just sold to someone else.

Eventually, he gets used to the confusion, pulls on a cloak, and moves on.

-

Jaskier is probably losing a few of his marbles.

With nothing better to do, he follows the goat as it travels along a seemingly random path to find nothing in particular, stopping every so often to munch on something or the other.

“I can’t believe I’m following a goat,” he mutters to himself as he brushes grass off his arms, “and it’s not even a cute little baby- what’s a baby goat called? Hmm, I should really know that… Or should I? It’s not like I’ve met any farmers lately. Or anyone, for who am I meant to meet atop a mountain? Well, a goat, apparently.”

Said goat bleats at him as if asking him to hurry up.

“Yes yes, I’m hurrying. Some of us don’t eat grass, you know? Oh, but how would you know when all you can think about is the next patch of moss you’re going to eat? Is that what life is to be, travelling from patch to patch and-? Hey, that could be a wonderful name. I dub thee Patchy, my dearest goat friend,” Jaskier declares, grinning.

Patchy bleats again and headbutts his shin but it’s okay because it doesn’t hurt in the slightest and he only wobbles a little bit.  

“I’m taking that as your approval!”

-

There is a woman.

And there is a witcher lying in bed next to her.

They are both tired and not quite awake and she is gently running her nails along his arms because she has never seen anyone with so many scars.

He is waiting for her to fall asleep but she sits up and frowns, pointing out the words that have appeared on his skin: but I didn’t take any honey.

She must be able to tell he’s just as confused as she is because she gives him a funny look but doesn’t pry, though he leaves in the dead of night while she’s still asleep to avoid any chances of her asking questions.

But the words keep appearing and he ends up with plenty of his own questions anyway.

When he’s mending his armour: it doesn’t even hurt anymore; when he’s hunting: I love you more than I love getting drunk; when he’s brushing his horse: I assure you I have a perfectly good explanation; when he’s buying new gloves: I’m afraid I don’t know you; when he’s stitching up a wound: of course I was given permission to be here.

And on and on and on.

He wonders if this person is even human at times because they seem to lie more in a week than he even talks in a month.

-

Jaskier is exhausted.

“Hey, Patchy, it’s been lovely to know you but I think the time has come to part ways because I simply cannot take another step,” he mutters, leaning against the closest tree and sliding to the floor.

Patchy leaps into his lap with an oddly angry bleat.

Jaskier shrugs, ripping up a bit of grass and letting her eat it off his hand before sighing. “I fear it is indeed my fate to perish here. Perhaps life does grant blessings after all, hmm?”

His stomach rumbles and Patchy seems to take offence, startling and jerking sideways, the goat’s horns catching on his sleeve and causing a panic that leads to a large tear in his doublet and a mercifully smaller tear in his skin.

Still, he winces, pressing a hand onto the cut and half-heartedly glaring at Patchy. “Really? You’re lucky the material is red anyway, you menace.”

He regrets his words when the goat stands, spins on the spot, and makes a strange noise before sprinting away. Somehow, that abrupt departure stings far more than his actual injury.

-

There is an ocean.

And there is a witcher who has never been to the coast for a good reason, and still hasn’t.

He doesn’t belong in this scene, he’s borrowing it from someone else without even knowing how, but he can’t look away from the waves as they brush over the sand and over his toes before retreating once more.

There is a cane.

And there is a witcher who has never suffered this kind of punishment, and still hasn’t.

Although the injuries are not his and the crime - if it even exists - has nothing to do with him, he can’t escape the burning pain and the sharp throbbing as someone makes sure the wood meets its mark, again and again.

There is a cat.

And there is a witcher who has never been able to see one up close, and still hasn’t.

He’s not the one touching the tiny ball of fluff that curls up in his palms, he seems to be experiencing someone else’s amazement, but the feeling of soft fur and quiet purring stays with him for no less than a week.

-

Jaskier is ready to give up.

He truly has no idea where he is or how he’s meant to get back to flat land. The berries he’d found in the morning have done very little to provide him with energy and he’s about to declare himself as food for the wolves or something when he hears bleating.

“Patchy!”

And it is.

The goat barrels into him hard enough to knock him over but he’s too busy trying to hug his horned friend to care. He’s also too busy hugging his horned friend to notice that he’s being watched. That is, until someone clears their throat.

He freezes, looking up.

There’s a very long moment in which his heart drops about a mile into his stomach as he catches sight of a wolf medallion but then he sees the amber eyes and the spiked armour and the hesitant smile and his lungs remember how to work once again.

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you,” Jaskier says, grinning.

The witcher frowns at that, glancing over him in clear concern. Before he can reply, Jaskier looks away to tug his sleeve out of Patchy’s mouth and winces as he pulls on the not quite scab that had developed over the goat-inflicted wound.

“Oh, is he yours?” the witcher asks after a minute, and gods is his voice deep enough to sink into forever.

Jaskier blinks, pulling himself back to the matter at hand before he spirals into a daydream and shaking his head. “I didn’t even know he was a he, to be honest. Thank you for that, by the way, at least I can sing him a more accurate song of gratitude now.”

The witcher chuckles and steps to the side, revealing another, smaller goat that immediately bounds over and settles on his leg; Jaskier has never been so innocently afraid to accidentally move in his life.

“She’s called Lil Bleater,” the witcher says, promptly cursing when said goat starts nibbling on the sleeve Jaskier had just saved from being eaten by Patchy.

“It’s not like I was planning on wearing this doublet again anyway,” Jaskier says, but he still feels incredibly guilty for letting such fine tailoring end up as food for a pair of goats.

-

Eskel has never been so confused.

He feels like he recognises this stranger from somewhere but he can’t place it, the knowledge is almost like smoke slipping between his fingers before he can grasp it properly.

“It looks like it’s seen better days anyway,” he says, immediately regretting it when the other man blinks at him.

But then he laughs - perhaps the nicest laugh Eskel has ever had the pleasure of hearing - and holds out a hand, amusement sparkling in his eyes. Eskel leans forwards to shake his hand but Lil Bleater chooses that moment to get up and charge at him so he steps back and picks her up instead, offering the man an apologetic look.

“Not to worry, my hand will live a little longer without the honour of yours in it. I’m Jaskier, and you have my eternal gratitude for appearing out of nowhere when I was about a day away from forgetting what other people’s voices sound like,” the man says sincerely.

“Jaskier?” Eskel echoes.

He knows Geralt has mentioned this bard in the past and he’d have to be living under a rock not to know of him at all, what with the songs that are sung his way whenever he ventures into more populated towns, but he can’t fathom why someone so famous would be spending his time with a mountain goat.

Jaskier grins up at him. “Ah, so you’ve heard of me! I wish I could say the same but I don’t believe we’ve met before?”

Eskel shakes his head. “I, uh, I don’t do… crowds.”

“You and every other witcher, it seems,” Jaskier says, but he doesn’t sound like he’s trying to insult anyone. If anything, he seems almost sad.

“The crowds seem more like your style, bardling. What are you doing up here?”

The bard opens his mouth to say something before closing it again, then sighs. “I got lost and ended up following a goat until I got even more lost?”

Eskel chuckles, then puts Lil Bleater back on the ground before leaning down and offering Jaskier his hand because it feels odd to continue the conversation while he’s still sitting down. This time, the goats don’t get in the way and he manages to pull them both upright.

-

Jaskier gets about five seconds of being upright before he keels over.

Everything hurts.

The world blurs around him.

His knees hit the floor with a dull thud.

Everything really hurts.

There’s something under his skin.

His body is on fire.

Everything hurts so very much and he has no idea what’s happening and the sky has disappeared altogether and there’s water rushing past his ears and he’s in so much pain and he’s going to die without even having learnt this gorgeous witcher’s name and he can’t feel his hands at all and it’s way too dark and-

“Breathe, Jaskier!”

He already is.

Or maybe he’s not.

He unclenches his jaw and gasps desperately.

“That’s it, just breathe, you’re okay.”

But he’s not.

Or maybe he will be.

He groans and reluctantly peels open his eyes.

“I’ve got you,” the witcher murmurs, and he has; his arms are practically cradled around Jaskier and the two of them are kneeling in a tangle of limbs on the ground.

Jaskier exhales.

“You’re not going to die, I promise. And my name’s Eskel,” the witcher whispers, at which point Jaskier mortifyingly realises he must have been panicking out loud.

Slowly, Jaskier uncurls his limbs.

He stretches his fingers out from where they’d been squeezed into fists and waits for a moment before accepting that whatever the blinding pain had been is over before looking up, intending to thank Eskel.

But Eskel gasps before he can say anything.

And Jaskier immediately panics again, wondering what could possibly be wrong. He doesn’t need to ask though, because Eskel lifts a hand to ever so lightly tracing his finger down the right side of Jaskier’s face and it doesn’t take a genius to work out what he can see.

“No no no no no,” Jaskier breathes frantically, “this cannot be happening.”

He pulls himself out of Eskel’s arms and shakes his head but his gaze lands on his hands as he uses them to balance and his breath hitches. Without wasting a second, he shrugs off his doublet and rolls his sleeves up, eyes widening at the sight of silvery scars he’s never earned, silvery scars he’d once had and once lost.

“No, I- I already know my- Geralt was- is- no, no, no no no no, wait. Wait. This can’t be right, it can’t- it- you can’t- I mean, we can’t be- nope, no no...” Jaskier’s words can’t seem to form themselves properly as he struggles to breathe.

-

Eskel has no idea what’s happening.

Except he does.

There’s only really one explanation for why the marks that had suddenly revealed themselves on Jaskier’s skin are an exact copy of his own scars, there’s only really one explanation for why the colour of Jaskier’s eyes had seemed so familiar, and there’s only really explanation for why he feels like someone has cast igni inside his heart.

Unfortunately, Jaskier doesn’t seem to like that one explanation.

He waits, though. He waits until Jaskier remembers how to inhale and exhale properly before offering the bard a small smile. “I’m sorry.”

Surprisingly, Jaskier looks confused at that. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, “I don’t blame you for preferring, uh, Geralt. Or anyone else, for that matter. I wouldn’t want to be stuck with me either.”

Even more surprisingly, Jaskier shuffles closer and punches his arm with a surprising amount of strength, his confusion having been entirely replaced by anger. “I don’t know what in Melitele’s name you think you mean by that but I demand that you stop… thinking it. I’m not- I- I just thought- I’ve spent years, so many years, thinking that I knew and I- I don’t know… I can’t-”

He cuts himself off, his chin wobbling, and Eskel has the inexplicable urge to hug him.

So he does.

Jaskier stiffens for half a second before he seems to forget that he has bones and all but melts into the embrace, burying his head into the crook of Eskel’s neck and throwing his arms around him as if his life depends on it.

Eskel has never felt so pleasantly warm in his life.

He wraps his arms around Jaskier in return and pulls him close, pretending that he can’t hear the sobs the bard is trying so hard to stifle and marvelling at the fact that he gets to hold his soulmate in his arms at all.

His soulmate.

He’d never thought he’d actually get to meet them.

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier mumbles eventually.

Eskel pulls back only enough to frown, brushing the tears away from under Jaskier’s eyes before tilting his head to the left. “You have nothing to apologise for.”

-

Jaskier feels like a fool.

He leans into Eskel’s soft touch for a moment before cupping the witcher’s face in his hands. “I’m sorry I never looked for you. I’m sorry I didn’t realise I was wrong. I’m sorry I almost just insulted you. I’m sorry for wasting so much time. I’m just so, so sorry.”

Eskel shrugs. “You didn’t know and I don’t blame you. It’s not your fault. I… I knew and I didn’t try so perhaps I ought to be the one apologising to you.”

But Jaskier did know.

To some extent, at least.

He’s known for long enough that not everything was adding up and he’d ignored it, he’d done nothing about it because he’d been terrified of losing Geralt, of losing his soulmate, of losing a life he’s loved, and it turns out he’s been losing everything he didn’t even know he could have had instead.

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier mumbles again, letting his forehead fall against Eskel’s as he closes his eyes.

“How does getting to the nearest inn sound?” Eskel offers.

Jaskier laughs and meets Eskel’s eyes, nodding. “Sounds like a plan I can’t argue with.”

“We’ll start with getting you to a proper bed and then go from there.”

He tries to resist that, he really does, but Jaskier simply cannot stop himself from smirking and raising an eyebrow. “Straight to bed, darling? Aren’t you even going to buy me a drink first?”

The endearingly sheepish look on Eskel’s face is almost worth all the pain.

“Though you really should buy me a drink first, for one reason or the other; I am a little dizzy still,” Jaskier mutters, having forgotten all about that because of the unprecedented pain.

Eskel curses.

Before Jaskier can even process the emotional whiplash, Eskel has lifted him to his feet and turned around, dropping to one knee. “Let’s go.”

Jaskier blinks. “Are you asking me to… climb on your back?”

Eskel turns to look at him with half a smile. “I really don’t think you’re capable of walking more than a mile more without collapsing, Jaskier.”

Well, that’s probably true. He grabs his lute and swings that onto his own back before looping his arms around Eskel’s neck, his legs locking around the witcher’s waist as he stands up effortlessly.

-

Eskel smiles as Jaskier settles on his back as if he were born to do so.

Which, quite possibly, he sort of was.

He smells like the comfort Eskel gets from when the dreams he borrows are good ones and it feels impossible that he gets to experience it in person. But it’s very much not impossible because Jaskier is a steady weight around his waist and on his shoulder and against his neck.

It’s a little overwhelming.

“So you’re the one who was dreaming of a succubus then?” Jaskier asks out of the blue.

Eskel stops walking for a second, narrowly avoids accidentally kicking Lil Bleater, and clears his throat. “Dreaming? No. No, that’s not quite how we spent the night.”

There’s a moment of silence before Jaskier laughs brightly. Eskel can feel the way his shoulders shake with the force of his amusement and it’s almost a miracle that neither of them overbalance.

“You’ll have to elaborate on that at some point, it’s going to make a great song!”

“You want to write songs about the succubi I’ve met?” Eskel asks, confused. Surely the bard could have asked Geralt about them over the years, it’s not like witchers can afford to designate who takes care of which creatures or anything.

But Jaskier snorts, pokes Eskel’s cheek, and shakes his head. “No, I- I want to write songs about… about my soulmate.”

That feels like a confession and Eskel is honoured to have received it. He hums in acknowledgement and gently squeezes one of Jaskier’s legs. “Not to worry, we have all the time in the world.”

“We do?” Jaskier asks.

Shuffling the bard’s weight a little bit, Eskel lifts his right hand so Jaskier can see his wrist and more specifically, the ouroboros etched into it. He hears Jaskier gasp before there are gentle fingers around his arm that almost make him shiver, a warm finger tracing the symbol over and over until Eskel hears quiet sniffling.

It takes a while for Jaskier to exhale softly and give Eskel’s hand back to him, after which he goes back to supporting his weight more evenly. He has plenty of his own questions but he figures it’s best to leave them for later, when they’ve both recovered from the shock.

The town comes into view sooner than expected, or perhaps Eskel had just been unknowingly pushing himself to walk faster because he can feel the way Jaskier’s grip has slowly relaxed to the point where he’s practically just draped over him like a very strange sort of cloak.

As much as he doesn’t want to let go of Jaskier, he has to when they get to the stables. Both goats are more than happy to be secured near Scorpion, who huffs at Jaskier just hard enough to send him stumbling into Eskel’s side with a small yelp.

“I’ve got you,” Eskel chuckles.

-

Jaskier grins.

“That you have,” he agrees, “but have you got a room?”

Nodding, Eskel leads them both back to the inn. But instead of going up the stairs, he guides Jaskier to the table in the corner. “Stay here, I’m going to get some food.”

Jaskier blinks, used to this scenario playing out the other way around. Eskel is gone before he can even think of replying so he just yawns and waits, shuffling over when the witcher returns because if he doesn’t lean against someone, he’s probably going to fall into his meal.

Eskel pauses for a second before sliding into the seat beside him, placing two bowls of stew in front of them. “I know you’re tired but you really should eat.”

“How ever will I repay such kindness?” Jaskier mumbles before following Eskel’s instructions.

Jaskier is immensely grateful that Eskel doesn’t mind being leaned on because almost counterintuitively, eating only makes him want to fall asleep even more. By the time they’re both finished, he can barely keep his eyes open.

“Almost there,” Eskel says, at which point he realises they’re now halfway up the stairs.

Yawning again, Jaskier keeps a tight hold of Eskel’s arm as they get to his room, thrown off when they stop by the door instead of somewhere more suitable for sleeping. “What’s wrong?” he asks, frowning.

Eskel places the lute Jaskier apparently hadn’t been strong enough to carry himself down before gesturing around vaguely. “I didn’t know anyone would be staying with me so…”

Jaskier laughs, throwing his head back. He has no idea what compels him to do so but he cups Eskel’s confused face in his hands and places a soft kiss on his nose. “Eskel, darling, you are literally my soulmate. I think we’ll be alright sharing a bed.”

He can actually feel the way Eskel smiles under his hands and can’t help grinning back, but then his knees decide to buckle for no apparent reason - aside from the general exhaustion and probably clumsy bruises, of course - and Eskel is once again the only thing keeping him upright.

He’s not entirely sure what the sequence of events is after that but he doesn’t care to puzzle over it because he ends up with his head on an actual pillow and Eskel’s arms around him and he’s never felt so comfortable and safe and content in his life.

“Don’t leave without me,” Jaskier mumbles even as he can feel himself drifting off, only slightly embarrassed at being so obvious about it.

Eskel hums quietly and brushes the pad of his thumb over Jaskier’s cheek before moving his hair away from his forehead, smiling softly as their eyes meet. “I would never even think of it,” he promises.

And somehow, despite everything else in his life that’s somehow gone wrong and fallen apart and proven that perhaps he shouldn’t be so blindly trusting of what he thinks may be the truth even if he has plenty of reasons to believe otherwise, Jaskier can't bring himself to doubt the witcher’s words even in the slightest.

If there’s one thing he knows, it’s that Eskel has always been his destiny.

-

i apologise if this finale was a little messy because i was indecisive and couldn't choose just one pov but i am so hyped to have finished !!! i hope this ending was worth all the chaos <3

-

thanks for reading! masterlist | witcher blog: @itsjaskier

[allsassnoclass]

The Inherent Domesticity of Target’s Home Decor Section

Pairing: Michael Clifford/Calum Hood Rating: Teen Word Count: 2076 Read on AO3

Michael has mixed feelings about Target.  On one hand, Target is better than Walmart, and he appreciates that they get to design different album covers and sell special editions there.  On the other hand, walking into Target makes him feel like he should have his life together more.  That’s not to say that his life is a disaster; his life is actually pretty great, and he feels like a fully functioning adult.  However, the store still gives him the niggling feeling that he should buy a planner and some post-it notes and turn into a suburban mom.

“Do you think I should buy a planner?” he asks.  Calum hums, reading the back of a DVD that’s on sale for $5.  When he shifts to put it back on the shelf, Michael shifts right with him, arms around his stomach and cheek plastered against his shoulder.  It’s earlier in the morning than Michael would like, so Calum gets the privilege of holding him up as punishment for dragging him out into the world at this time of day.

“Why do you need a planner?  Ashton takes care of that stuff for the band,” Calum says.  He picks up another DVD and flips it over.

“Yeah, but maybe I should put down everyone’s birthday or something,” he says.  Calum snorts and Michael pinches his side, because he’s apologized for forgetting his birthday that one time sincerely and profusely and gave Calum a pretty spectacular blowjob to make up for it.

“Would you even use it?” Calum asks.  Michael considers and has to concede his point.

They look at DVDs for a few more minutes because Calum gets a kick out of what a place like Target choses to stock in their meger selection.  Michael lets him slip some animated thing he thinks he watched once as a kid into the basket, content to stand there while Calum takes his time and just breathe him in.  He loves being close to Calum, letting his familiar smell fill his nostrils and leeching body heat.  He lets their breathing sync up and imagines that he can hear his heartbeat, slow and steady and almost putting him to sleep standing up.

Nowhere feels like home quite like Calum does.  Even in the middle of Target, Michael feels better than he ever has alone in his house.  It makes him wonder why he’s even living alone, and why Calum pulled away and they stopped messing around when neither of them have girlfriends.

The bottom line is that he misses Calum nearly every moment they’re apart, but he doesn’t know how to articulate this without the crushing fear of rejection.  Calum loves him, and he knows that a significant part of Calum’s world revolves around Michael, but that doesn’t mean they necessarily love each other in the same way.  Michael wants grocery shopping and kisses and late night cuddles regardless of if they have somewhere to be in the morning and lazy sex and laughing at each other’s ridiculousness so hard that he can’t breathe.  Calum wants a platonic best friend.

“What else do we still need to get?” Calum asks, shaking Michael out of his reverie.

“Toothpaste, I think.  And vitamins.”

“Look at you, being healthy and shit.”

Michael pokes his side and Calum tries to wriggle away, giggling because Michael knows exactly which spot tickles the most.

“Just because I don’t let Ashton drag me to yoga like you do doesn’t mean I’m unhealthy.  I get the most sleep out of any of us and I drink a fuckton of water.”

“I know, I know,” Calum says.  “Want to check the CDs?”

It’s a distraction tactic, because Michael will always check the one-shelf CD selection, especially so soon after one of their own releases.  Michael makes the conscious decision to allow himself to be distracted.

“Okay.  CDs, then toothpaste, then vitamins, then I want to look at the home decor.”

“What do you want to look at the home decor for?”

Michael shrugs, knowing that Calum can feel it.  There’s just no non-incriminating way to say I like to see your reactions and pretend that we’re picking out stuff for our house because I might be fully in love with you and I want you in every single crevice of my life.

That’s the issue with Target: it makes him feel domestic and long for things he can’t have.

“Excuse me?” a new voice says, and Michael first feels a twinge of annoyance at someone interrupting his moment and then a twinge of panic that it could be a fan when he definitely doesn’t have the emotional or physical energy to put on a public persona.  One look at the owner of the voice dispels that notion.  The woman is on the later side of middle-aged and looks pretty much exactly like the kind of woman who cooks meatloaf and has 3 cats and actually does go to Target to buy planners.  As inclusive as the band tries to make their music, Michael can admit that she’s not exactly in their immediate wheelhouse for fans.  Nevertheless, he straightens up a bit, but the woman is smiling so he thinks he can maybe get away with still locking his arms around Calum’s waist.

“Sorry to bother you, but I just wanted to say that you boys make such a cute couple!  It’s so nice to see young people in love.”

Michael stiffens, but Calum puts a hand on his arm, effectively anchoring him in place before he can pull away.

“Thank you.  It’s nice to be in love,” Calum says, and Michael’s breath stutters in his throat.

The woman beams and for a moment Michael thinks she’s going to reach out and pinch Calum’s cheeks, but she just bids them a good day and continues towards the books.

“CDs?” Calum asks, casual as anything.  Michael nods and fully pulls away, not trusting himself to speak or to touch.

It was just a nice thing to say to a romantic woman, but it’s nice to be in love plays on repeat in his head like a broken record.  He knows, he knows that it doesn’t mean anything, but Michael would give almost anything to have it be the truth.

There are five copies of the Target exclusive edition of CALM on the shelf.  There’s also a Neil Diamond greatest hits collection and a few random soundtracks that Calum points out, but Michael can barely focus.  He kind of wants to skip the toothpaste and go straight home, but he also doesn’t want Calum to question why that small interaction with the woman threw him so off kilter.  By the time they make it through the checkout and back to Michael’s car, he feels like he’s going to vibrate out of his skin.

Calum waits until they’re out of the parking lot to start talking.

“I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable earlier.  That wasn’t my intention.  I just figured that was the easiest response.  I know we’re not--I know we don’t do that anymore.”

In a different world where Michael hasn’t kept a very tight lid on his feelings for his best friend for the past eight years, he would have crashed the car.

“I know,” he says instead.  Silence fills the space, heavy and uncomfortable.  Michael keeps his eyes resolutely on the road and tries not to read too much into how Calum keeps taking a breath as if he wants to talk before cutting himself off.

“And I understand,” Calum says suddenly, almost causing Michael to swerve.  “I understand why we’re not together anymore.”

“What,” Michael says.

“I’m not trying to get you back, or whatever.  I know you don’t think of me like that.”

“That I don’t--” Michael chokes.  “I’m sorry, what?”

“Come on, don’t make me say it,” Calum says, shifting in his seat.

“No, hang on.  I don’t understand what you’re saying to me right now.”

“Mike, stop it.  Now you’re just being mean.”

“Calum, you’re the one who pulled away from me.  Personally, I don’t understand why we’re not together anymore.  I didn’t even know that we were!”

“That’s bullshit!  What did you think we were, if not together?”

“I don’t know, fucking around?  I thought we stopped because you got bored of me.”

“Michael, we stopped because we got asked about ships in an interview and you got really weird about it.”

“Yeah, because I’ve been in love with you for half my life!”

Silence descends, and Michael absolutely cannot look at Calum right now.  The only things that exist are the steering wheel in his grip and the strip of road in front of him.  There’s still a good ten minutes until he reaches his house, and Michael is very content to spend those ten minutes pretending like he is alone and has not just revealed his biggest secret during an argument that he still doesn’t quite understand.

“Pull over.”

No such luck, apparently.

“Michael, pull over right now.”

He eases over and puts the car in park, letting his hands fall into his lap.

“You’re in love with me?” Calum asks.  Michael nods.  “We’re so stupid.”

“What?” Michael asks, finally looking over at Calum.  He doesn’t look uncomfortable or sad, he looks exasperated.  Michael isn’t sure what that’s supposed to mean.

“We’re idiots.  We could’ve been happily dating this whole time.  Hell, we probably could’ve been married by now,” Calum says.  “I’m in love with you, too.”

Michael blinks at him and really wishes his brain was operating a bit faster.

“Calum,” he says, for lack of anything else.

“Michael,” Calum grins right back.

“Are you serious?” he asks.  Calum rolls his eyes.

“Why would I joke about this?”

Michael shrugs helplessly.

“Michael,” Calum says seriously.  “I made you park the car.  We just had a conversation that obviously made you uncomfortable.  Why the fuck would I be joking right now?”

Michael shrugs helplessly again.

“You love me?” he asks.  Calum reaches over and grabs one of his hands.

“I’m head over heels, crazy in love with you.  It’s pathetic.  It’s ridiculous.  I want to jump you in this car right now.”

Michael laughs.

“Not in broad daylight,” he says.  Calum smiles in a way that makes something settle in Michael’s stomach, something that he hadn’t realized had been unsettled ever since they stopped seeing each other.

Fuck.  He’s so lucky.

“I’m in love with you, too,” he says.  Calum’s smile widens.

“I know,” he says.  “You just told me that.”

“Well, I wanted to tell you again.”

“Well, I’m in love with you, too.”

They’re talking in circles now--wonderful, love-sick circles--and Michael is thankful for multiple reasons when Calum breaks it by leaning over the center console to kiss him.  Calum’s lips are familiar under his, and even after months without feeling them Michael has them memorized.  This kiss feels different, though.  There’s a surety to it that they haven’t had before, a question and agreement that thrills him.

“You’re sure you don’t want to roll around in the back seat right now?” Calum asks softly when they part.  Michael grins and knocks their foreheads together.

“You’re funny,” he says.  “Ha, ha.”

Calum kisses him again.  Michael could definitely get used to this.  If their previous conversation is any indication, he’ll have plenty of time and opportunity to get used to this.

This time when the kiss breaks, Calum fully leans back rather than keep breathing his air.

“Okay,” he says.  “Let’s go home, Michael.  We’ve got years of a honeymoon phase to catch up on.”

Michael puts the car in drive and eases back onto the road.  They’ll have time to drive around again later, because Michael definitely wants to do another circuit of the Target home decor section with this new revelation.  Maybe he’ll try to find a card for the woman who confused them for a couple, just in case they happen to run into her by the post-it notes or planners.

Either way, Michael thinks that Target might be his favorite store now.  He glances at Calum to find him already looking at him and his chest warms.

Yeah, Target is definitely his favorite store, but he’d be okay with never setting foot in it again if it meant he could keep spending time with his favorite person.

Thankfully, the way that Calum leans over to kiss him at a red light seems to mean that he agrees.

[tintinwrites]

Sunday Morning With Pedro Characters but I’m Only Slightly an Asshole to the Characters

I love Pedro and everyone’s fics and headcanons for him and I’m kind of nice in this one anyway.

Agent Whiskey

you have brunch every Sunday and yes it is at Denny’s

it’s a little nice, though, listening to the mixed conversations of all the other people in the restaurant as the two of you quietly enjoy a meal

Jack keeps smiling across the table at you and it makes something in you flutter

“You make a man like myself enjoy Sunday morning like a black-bellied whistlin’ duck enjoys a quiet swim in the crick.”

you’re not sure how much a black-bellied whistling duck enjoys a quiet swim in the crick, but he reaches across the table to hold your hand over your Grand Slam and runs his thumb gently over your skin and you then understand everything about black-bellied whistling ducks

brunch is followed by a drive in that thing he calls a car

sometimes you go back to your or his place and canoodle (his words, not yours), but then there are times when he parks his car in a secluded little spot and you “come across the goods” (HIS WORDS, NOT YOURS) in the backseat

Sunday mornings with him are relaxed, but you are going to end up with your legs above your head thanks to that Southern charm

Comandante Veracruz

he sleeps in for an entire half hour

wakes you up with a smack to the ass so hard you wake up in another dimension

you mumble something to him about being a normal human being as he presses sucking, biting kisses along the side of your neck

“Your breakfast is ready.”

you know exactly what he means don’t even pretend you don’t it’s pressing into your thigh

and you suck his dick bc it’s fun and it makes him real soft afterwards (in two ways!)

he pounds two orgasms out of you with his fingers then gets up to get ready for his day

Sunday mornings with him are sexual obvs and then you lay in bed watching him gel his hair until he pats your ass and tells you to get up

Dave York

he’s never in bed when you wake up and that includes on Sundays

always sitting over a desk working on something that he won’t tell you about

it doesn’t really matter that you’re wearing his favorite sexy little nightgown and pouting in the doorway bc he doesn’t even look at you

“Go for a walk or something, I’m busy.”

you usually end up alone eating bland af eggs bc he doesn’t own seasonings since, and you quote, “Salt is spicy enough.”

but then he comes into the dining room with a self-satisfied smirk and he kisses your temple and takes you over the dining table real quick

do i mean quick

Sunday mornings with him are lonely and then sweaty...so sweaty...you don’t understand how he can sweat so much from thirty seconds of sex

Din Djarin

whatever the Star Wars equivalent of Sunday is, no one is the same with Din

sometimes you’re with him on a hunt for a bounty, sometimes you’re alone on the Razor Crest to watch the Child as he works, and then there are your favorites

no bounties, no running, just a handful of credits and some good food and lodging on the nearest good planet

“He likes it here.”

this is something Din muses as he watches the kid play with other younglings or explore or happily eat a new food

but sometimes you look up to find he’s staring at you as he says it and you wonder if he’s talking about himself without really telling you

you’ll probably tell him you love him on one of these days

Sunday mornings with him are different, but nice just because you’re with him. You especially like the ones where he’s happy and almost calm and let’s you in his room once the Child is asleep

Ezra

you’ve been up for an hour and he’s still passed out, face down in bed, snoring his head off

I don’t know if ‘noon’ exists in this world but that’s when he’ll be up

you’re walking around doing what needs to be done when you see him looking up at you with a little smile

“Your inimitable beauty is even more prominent in this morning light.”

you tell him it’s not morning and roll your eyes when he says he’s hard either way

he seems sleepy but he WILL jump out of bed if you try to walk away and drag you back in with him

yes he eats your pussy without you needing to ask him

Sunday mornings with him are lazy for him as you occupy your time, then both of you stay in bed all lazy until it’s time to go prospecting

Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales

the only way you’re waking him up before eleven is by wiggling your ass or hips into his dick, depending on the position you were sleeping in

he works hard and Sundays are his day where he does nothing but you

a little sleepy and mumbling things, he’ll take you slowly and sweetly

“G’morning. So beautiful. You like that?”

he’ll make sure you both cum then promptly pass out for another ten minutes

he pads into the kitchen with his hair stuck up all over the place and wraps his arms around you from behind, kissing your neck for a few minutes before helping you make breakfast or lunch

you pretty much eat and bang all day

Sunday mornings with him are soft and sensual and the most loving thing e v e r

Javier Peña

you woke up alone before Javi and when you first started sleeping with him

you couldn’t really blame him for being scared of attachments in his line of work. you were scared too

then one day you were shaken from a stakeout and you begged him to stay when he was still inside you, and he started falling asleep in your bed a bit more often

“You need some good dick in the morning?”

he teases you with this when he's sitting up in bed, turned away from you as he takes a drag of a cigarette, and you crawl over to kiss his back

you need him in the morning but you don’t want to scare him off

the two of you usually end up with some sort of pastry or street food for breakfast, which you eat in a comfortable silence

Sunday mornings with him are lonely even when he’s standing right there by the window with a cigarette or a drink, and yet he finally makes your Sundays enjoyable and fulfilling

Marcus Pike

he’s an early riser, but he let’s you sleep as long as you need to when there’s nothing to be done

sometimes he accidentally wakes you up a little when he’s kissing your nose for the eight time and he quickly backs away to let you fall back asleep

he does try to wake you up before noon just to be sure you eat something, presenting you with some kind of breakfast whether he made it or bought it from the nearest cafe

“Hey, sleepyhead. You need to eat something, beautiful.”

you nibble on a doughnut or a bagel as you lean into his chest, and he mostly steals bites because it makes you laugh

morning sex with Marcus is the best sex with Marcus

okay any sex with Marcus is the best sex with Marcus because he cares so much about your pleasure but morning sex is so soft and gentle

Sunday mornings with him are like...a breeze on an empty beach with the waves crashing gently on the shore. Perfect. Also he wants to give you a life, and a home, and a family if you want it

Maxwell Lord

wakes up at six AM exactly, works on his hair until seven, and is in a suit and downstairs by 7:15

he reads the paper. the business pages. yes.

you come down to the kitchen at eight and as you gently tell his personal chef what you’d like to eat, he snaps his fingers at them to speed it up

“Someone’s lazy today. Where are my slippers?”

he’s a fuckin jerk but hey he puts his hand on your thigh as you eat breakfast and maybe his thumb rubs little circles sometimes

your Sunday sex is scheduled for 9:30 and he will do it wherever he’s flexible and there’s enough mirrors in the house for it to work for him

the one day of the week he decides you can orgasm tbh

Sunday mornings with him are rich. I don’t know how else to describe it. It’s like being married to a rich man in 1954. There’s waffles.

Max Phillips

this man wakes up pretty damn early for a vampire thanks to his executive bullshit

an actual Sim who stands in front of the mirror for an hour practicing his speech

he finds blood to drink somewhere and you just let him as long as it’s not from you

“Selling is service. Service is selling. Sex sells. Oh, hey!”

that’s him realizing you’re standing there and thinking about sex with you

he mentions making a sex tape of the two of you to sell and you ask if he even shows up on film and the boy POUTS

a handjob fixes that tho so

Sunday mornings with him are...interesting.

Oberyn Martell

you’re probably still fucking from Saturday night

I don’t even know if days of the week exist in Game of Thrones thanks

there are other people in the room including Ellaria so it’s not just you and him alone

“I’m starving for you.”

yes he eats pussy for breakfast and someone else is probably sucking on your titties

you’ll probably end up sucking his dick for your own breakfast

and you’ll be riding him too

Sunday mornings with him are like any other morning with him; fuckin’.

Pero Tovar

he wakes up an hour before sunrise

doing men’s work I DO NOT KNOW WHAT MEN DO

you wake up and make him his breakfast because that’s what a good 1100′s wife does

“Good morning, woman.”

he eats like he’s angry at the food but you know he loves it

there wasn’t much to do back then so some good ole baby-making sex is next

then you cook his second breakfast duh

Sunday mornings with him are very Middle Ages.

[chayacat]

Devil’s Sweet Star (14)

Fandom: Dead by Daylight

Ghostface x Female Reader  

Rated M for Violence, Language and Smut  

***

Rage... A sudden outburst of this emotion can turn a man into a real beast. A lot of things can make you get angry. Most often, it’s when someone is attacking your loved ones. And when you end up finding those responsible... let's say doctors have a hard time repairing some of the body members.

But when rage takes a narcissistic and sadistic assassin like Danny... Well, it's like you're treating of beast... A beast. He had spent the whole night looking for the one who stabbed you, thinking and imagining how he would take care of his "guest". He wasn't angry because that man wanted to steal the show by killing you, no... He was DRUNK with rage because that filthy bastard wanted to KILL you. If there's someone who has to scare you... if there is someone who has to hurt you... if there is someone who has to kill you... That's him. him and him ONLY.

He had fallen asleep in his office, passing his rage on the photo of McKellan who was unrecognizable, the knife planted on McKellan's forehead. He was lying on the couch with his glasses resting on the little table next to him, a plaid serving as a blanket. He moaned slightly and moved a little in all directions. Like when a child has a nightmare. And he had one. He remembered the long corridors, the nurses and doctors who passed through the rooms, the patients who were lying in their beds, others in wheelchairs and.... That door. This room: number 012. That's where she was... that's where she...

“Danny...”  

He awoke startling, drops of sweat beading on his forehead, panting as if he had run a marathon. The simple fact of having seen the façade of the hospital in which you are... brought him back bad memories. He thought he would never go back, he never wanted to go back... and yet... He got up, left his office to go into the bathroom, and put some water on his face. He needed to wake up. As he wiped his face with a towel, his phone rang. Mattew or Melina, probably.

“Hello?” Danny said, his voice sounded tired.  

“Hi Jed...it’s me Mattew... I know it's a silly question after what happened yesterday but...how are you? You seem tired. I don't mind you, do I?” said Mattew embarrassed.

“You never bother me, you know that. I... let's say I had better nights... I'm worried about (Y/N) . Even though I know she's safe there. How about you?”

“I didn't sleep better than you if it makes you feel better... Neither did Melina. The boss called me... you don't need to come to work if you don't have the strength. You can work quietly at home until you feel able to come back.” replied Mattew.  

“That's nice of him... I'll be back on Monday morning... I think I'll take advantage of this weekend to... to clear my mind. And go and see her. Until she got out of the hospital.” said Danny, rubbing his eyes.

“Do you feel able to go on your own? Do you want us to come with you? Because yesterday you were completely... paralyzed at the thought of getting inside.

If only you knew the reason, poor man...that's way too personal for Danny to talk about. But if he ever has to talk about it... there is one person, whom he "judges" worthy of being aware of.... It's you. Of course, he'll have to change two or three little things.

“Jed?” ask Mattew on the other line.  

“Sorry, I was somewhere else. I promised her I would go and see her. Then I'd go. Don't worry about me. I think I'll be fine on my own. I’m sorry but, I have things to do before I go to see her. Say hello to everyone for me. And don't forget to tell the boss.” respond Danny.

“Sure! Rest well Jeddy! See you Monday then!”

Danny hung up before returning to his office, putting on his glasses and removing the knife from his hunting board. He observed the photo, at least what was left of it, a bad look, but a crazy smile on his face. Oh, when he finally gets his hands on him... He's going to torture him like never before. A slow, painful, unbearable agony, before slaughtering him, tearing his skin, making him so unrecognizable that no one will be able to approach his corpse without immediately throwing up on him. He will no longer have the skin on his bones... it will only be a putrefaction heap.

Mike was a work of art... But McKellan will become a masterpiece. A bloody, twisted, disturbing masterpiece. The most beautiful trace of his existence, the most beautiful signature of Ghostface. And when it's over... He will ensure that no one comes near you. As I said, Danny does not share what belongs to him. And he intends to make it clear.

It's amazing that we found the headless body of the dealer but not the body of Mike as well as the photos... and his basement of fantasies. Danny had worked on it more than on the other and he felt a bit vexed. But sooner or later...someone will find him. And with the bloody arrows Danny left on the walls, he's not going to get lost. It's so nice of him that he surprises himself.  

Well... it's time for him to get ready, he said he'd come to see you, and he will. But first he had to go to the police station, witnessing what happened, the police asked him to come to hear his testimony as well as the description of your attacker. If only they knew who they were going to welcome, just thinking they were getting a poor witness... It's no longer taunting the police at this level, it's this openly mocking them.

And then he's going to do something he hasn't done in years... buy a bouquet of flowers. For you. Even if the beauty of the flowers will never surpass yours. His sweet little angel. What kind of friend would "Jed" be to you if he came with nothing? Of course, you wouldn't mind, but for Danny who has studied other people's stupid behaviours, bringing flowers is always well seen. And "Jed" is supposed to behave like that.

He tied his hair, put his glasses back in place, took his bag and left his apartment to go to his van. It’s not the desire that he lacked to go sneak into your apartment but, the police of this small town are not very friendly when the person they summon doesn’t respect the schedules. And for the moment he must not draw suspicions on him. Brush the police in the direction of the hair during the day, provoke them and humiliate them at night. So far, that's what he's always done. And that always worked.  

The police station... hmph. For Danny, getting in is like letting the wolf into the sheepfold, or a demon going to heaven. How ironic... But funny. He pushed the door and went to the reception to show his summons. The policeman showed him the way and knocked on the door of the man who was handling the case: Inspector Daniel Wilhelm. What a surprise... Wilhem was also in charge of the Ghostface murders... It's a small world. Or he did it on purpose.

“Inspector Wilhem...” said Danny with a smirk.

“Jed Olsen... Of all the witnesses who could have been there... You must have been in the heap. Are you going to follow me until I die?”

“I can turn the question over to you... But you didn't summon me to talk about coincidences and fate, did you?”  

“No. Take a seat. Coffee?” said Wilhelm turning his back on Danny to serve himself a cup of coffee.

“No thanks.”  

Wilhelm relocated to his office, taking out all the necessary to record the testimony and called a graphic designer for the description of the suspect. Danny told everything that had happened this morning, down to the smallest detail. Wilhelm asked questions as he went to see if there was a special connection between you and your attacker. Then came the portrait of the aggressor that Danny described without any problem, this idiot had his face completely uncovered... Amateur. The whole thing lasted many hours and once the graphic designer left and the deposition signed, Danny put his stuff in his bag.

“You said you suspect a certain... McKellan to be the instigator of this... attempted murder. Do you have any proof of that? Because such an accusation can cost you dearly if you're wrong, Olsen.” said Wilhelm looking at the file and then Danny.

“Well, he threatened her for a simple order that she could not carry out; And I know that this man is not the type to stop at the legal means to get satisfaction.” said Danny without looking away from the inspector.

“Always sticking your nose all over Olsen.... You're worse than a weasel. It will also cost you dearly one day …"  

“If it's to allow people to discover the truth down to the smallest detail, even the most disturbing, I don't give a shit about dying, Wilhelm...”

“Tsk...By the way Mike Harris' name must be familiar to you, right? It seems to me that he was working with you... Do you know if he had any connection to drug trafficking?”  

“I don't get myself into the lives of my colleagues... but recently I learned that he had big addiction problems, which would explain why he went after me and my colleagues... Why this question?”

“We found the headless body of a guy last night... autopsy revealed a high level of cocaine... and apparently after doing some research, we discover that he was a dealer and Mike was one of his regular clients. But if you don't know... I'm not going to hold you any longer. You can leave Olsen.”

Danny got up and left the police station after shaking Wilhelm's hand. Once outside, he insulted Wilhelm in a low voice before getting in the car and going to buy flowers. Then he drove to Zanesville Hospital. He went to the reception where he asked for your room number. He remained frozen for a few seconds when the young woman in the reception told him that you were in room 012...They say history repeats itself but... that's too much.

What are the chances that two people from his entourage, two women, will end up in the hospital, in the same room? knowing that this happens years after she... Danny clutched the bouquet in his hands and inhaled deeply before knocking on the door of your room. He waited for you to allow him to enter, to open the door and face you, his eternal angelic smile on his lip.

“Jed! I’m glad to see you!”  you said happily, as if nothing had happened.

“Hey...” he starts before giving the bouquet of flowers. “I'm not an expert in flowers... and I don't know your tastes but... I thought you'd like iris flowers.”

“Hawn you’re so sweet...you don’t have to Jed...Thank you. Don’t stay there, take a sit!” you said, taking gently the bouquet from his hands. “So, how are you? I must have worried a lot of people... I'm sorry.”  

“For what? To have been stabbed? Even if you didn't do anything or say nothing?  you don't have to apologize. And... I should ask you the question: How are you? What did the doctors say?”  

“I was lucky... the doctors took me just in time. The blade didn’t hit any vital points fortunately. Normally tomorrow or the day after tomorrow I could go out. But I'll have to be careful and not make too much effort. I owe you my life... Once again.”

“Good...You don’t have to thank me; you would have done the same for me. Mattew and Melina told me to say hello to you. they didn't sleep better than me.”

You talk for hours. Laughing about everything and nothing. That laugh... Danny could hear it for hours. And see you with that smile... that angel's smile. it reminded him of those same moments he spent with her. History repeats itself... but compared to her... You're alive and you're going out. But all good things have an end. And the time for Danny to leave came. He got up and prepared to leave when he felt your hand holding his arm.

“You... Will you be back tomorrow? I'd love to talk with you again.” you ask like a little child.  

“...Of course. Rest well.” he said, heading to the door before he stops and turn to you. “By the way who was this man...Parkson?”  

“Oh...He...He’s my banker! I told him I would call him when I was settled and ...as it had been a while, he preferred to travel in person to see me. I know it's not common but... He's a little weird. But I can trust him. Just like I trust you.” you respond with a smile.

Danny nodded and, waving his hand, he left the room and then the hospital. He still had a lot... A lot to do. He was not going to go after your attacker, knowing that Inspector Wilhelm had his robot portrait... But a little visit to McKellan's house couldn't hurt. And he's going to leave him a little passing gift. Nothing very extravagant... a little bloody on the edges... But something simple. or maybe go back to the traditional method of phone calls?

In any case, don’t face a man until you know all the details about him. A little surveillance in the middle of the night, that's Danny's favorite activity. He got into his van and went home to pick up his other bag. The one that contained his outfit and his mask. No Ghostface for you tonight... Too bad. But don't worry, you'll have plenty of time to make up for lost time when you're in your apartment.  

He picked up his mail, went back to his apartment, put his belongings in his office and then picked up his other bag to leave. He went back on the road to McKellan's house, he had carefully searched for his place of residence, which frankly is not very hard to find. Look for Roseville's most eye-catching home and you'll know this is where McKellan lives. Quite isolated from everything and everyone which did not surprise Danny, when you saw the oversized ego of this rich rotten up to the marrow.

He parked in the little corner of the forest that hid his van to perfection, put on his outfit and mask before getting out of the vehicle. He observed the building that stood in the distance, the mad look and a bad smile on his face. Tonight, is not your time McKellan... You're lucky...

But soon...The devil will come and get his prize...

Your screams and your death.

***

(And it’s done! My head hurts as if a monkey had taken me for a bongo. But everything's fine! I'll be able to rest on my weekend! hoping you'll like this chapter! See ya!)

[lotornomiko]

The Broken Hearted Comfort One (Not safe for work)

Decided to do some improving on the existing chapters...some tweaking in an attempt to make them flow and read better. I don't believe I ever posted the first versions here either....if I can get the cuts to work, I will be posting them all to my tumblr as I go over them...(Couldn't get the post editor to do a cut for 16 no matter what I tried yesterday...)

Hook Belle coupling, once Upon A Time fanfic...

It begins with a look, just that of two pairs of eyes chancing a meeting from across the bar. Neither one of them means to do it, but it happens all the same. Grieving blue meets a gaze equally full of such similar a sorrow, sparking a reaction in the two.

The woman is the first to look away, to glance down at the mug she's nursing. Hook stares at her a moment longer, then turns away with the startled realization that he KNOWS her. He might not know her name, or where she is from, but he knows where she spends her nights. Or at least part of them, Hook acknowledging that she's always been at the tavern long before he has arrived, and is probably still there long after he leaves. And always, she just sits at the bar, nursing that one drink, with the same despondent look in her eyes.

It's a look he knows well, Hook having seen it gaze back in full in his own mirror’s glass. It's one that has been reflected there since the day that his Milah had died, his love a woman who had been savagely murdered by her own coward of a husband. On that day, with her brutal passing, a part of Hook had died as well, his heart all but torn from his chest the way that Milah's had been.

His sole remaining hand tightens on his own mug, Hook staring off at nothing with those memories sparking vivid in his head. He doesn't realize that his grief shows all the more, or the fact that the woman is looking at him once again. Staring at him with an open mouthed recognition, a kind of sorrow eyed sympathy shown his way. She can't possibly know what he's been through, but she does acknowledge it as a twin to her own grief.

The woman quickly looks away, when she realizes he has noticed. Hook can't help but stare at her, wondering what--WHO had put such a similar look of pain in her eyes. His own sympathetic gaze is cast on her, knowing her for what she is. A woman whose heart has been thoroughly broken, just as Hook's has been.

It didn't matter the circumstances of her situation. He wasn't looking to make a friend. Wasn't looking for anything except a minute or two of relief, the kind of peace drinks alone could not grant him. And yet he kept turning back to her, studying her, noticing things beyond the sad blue of her eyes.

Like her hair, which was a rich chestnut brown color, full of long curls that were draped and gathered over the front of one shoulder. She wore a pretty blue dress, with plenty of white frills and gold lace. She had a shapely figure, and a beyond lovely face. She was beautiful, even in her torment, Hook wondering why anyone would ever want to hurt her and tear the smile off of her face.

But he wasn't going to ask, wasn't going to even think of the potential reasons for her hurt. Because if he did, he'd want to kill someone, want to hunt down the monster who had made this beautiful woman hurt so badly. And that was something he couldn't devote time or energy to, Hook having a mission, a single minded purpose, existing all on the desire to avenge his murdered and broken heart, that of his Milah.

He thinks of her raven black hair then, of ivory pale skin, and those piercing eyes that had seemed to always see past his swagger, to the man Hook was---had once been inside. Milah had always able to make him feel things, exciting and new, revealing unexpected facets of Hook, she still affected him now. But it was all dark in his head now, his eyes a blue dulled with his own monumental pain and sadness.

Coins abruptly clattered on the bar's countertop, Hook leaving his drink unfinished. He wouldn't even look again at the woman in blue, stalking towards a side exit of the tavern. It had started raining outside, a cold spray heavy enough to send the townspeople all fleeing indoors. Hook lingered undecided for one moment more, then stepped out into the rain. Someone follows behind him, and Hook wonders just who can be that foolish. Especially when they then follow him into an alley, Hook turning, grabbing at an arm, then hearing a woman gasp. Hook might have gasped too, staring shocked for one moment, at the woman from the bar. Then reason comes back to him, Hook gripping her arm tighter, forcing a pained sound out of her.

"Why did you follow me?!" He demands, his harsh sounding voice making her flinch for one moment longer, before she gathers up her courage.

"I wanted to ask....wanted to know if it will get better."

He doesn't have to ask her what she means by that, not when they match each other so perfectly in the pain that they feel. Nor can he give her an answer, any hope, Hook just shrugging back.

The woman seems to deflate before him, as though what little hope she had been clinging to, has now extinguished completely. And still she is beautiful, even as the rain soaks her tired form down, and plasters her hair and her clothing against her.

She doesn't seem at all fearful that she is alone in an alley with a stranger. Has she gone stupid from the pain, or does she simply not care what could happen to her? But he well knows the answer already, Hook too having long having abandoned caring if he lived or he died, simply existing instead.

"This is no way to live." Hook mutters out loud, and the woman nods. But what choice do they have, when caught in the grip of their own private heart breaks.

"I just want it to stop." The woman confesses. Is she starting to cry? But with the storm on her cheeks, he can't tell tears from actual rain drops. "I just want the pain to go away, to feel something other than this heart break."

It is then that Hook realizes he is still gripping her arm, and that she's not even attempting to get away. In fact she moves towards him when he pulls, her head tilting back just enough to keep on looking him in the face.

He's not the one she should be looking to for comfort. He can't even fix his own heart, let alone that of any other. Not with the pain still so fresh, so new. With th wound that Milah's death has dealt him, keeping on festering inside him, hollowing out his heart so that he can feel nothing of love and hope and happiness.

The grief that is so relentless inside of him, goes blessedly quiet the instant his mouth covers hers. It's not a true peace that he has attained, the kiss unable to keep his sorrow away for forever. But it will do the job for at least a few minutes, Hook realizing he wants to lose himself in this woman. And from the eager way that she is attempting to kiss him back, he realizes that she feels the same way.

The kiss isn't anything like the ones he had shared with MIlah. This woman is more an inexperienced girl, than that of a practiced seductress. She doesn't at all know what she is doing, but what she lacks in expertise, she makes up for in enthusiasm. Kissing with the same raw need, and desperation that Hook feels, both wanting to know something other than the pain. Hook can only marvel at what a fool the person who had broken her heart must have been, this woman eager for kisses, for just even a little affection. It's downright criminal for one to have ignored her, to have refused lips as sweet as hers. It makes him want to teach her, to show her what it felt like to kiss and be kissed back.

She makes a soft, startled sound, but doesn't outright hesitate when his tongue twines with hers. He makes his own groan of sound, deeply gratified when she laves her tongue back, the woman learning the play of it, and seeming to enjoy it.

Hook enjoys it too, his hand letting go of her arm, to catch instead at her hair. Gripping it and her steady, then losing his own focus when her hands touch on his sides. It's over his coat, and probably means nothing more than an attempt to keep her balance, and yet the mere idea of this woman touching him any where, makes him wild. Completely frenzied, Hook walking her back, to pin her against the alleyway's thick brick wall.

Kissing her harder, then pulling back, his forehead then lightly resting against hers. Water pours off the both of them, the two staring into each other's eyes. Both of them are panting, their heavy breaths echoing oddly amid the rain. Hook stares and sees not just confusion, but a lost, helpless look, the same one that he is surely wearing. They both want peace, they both might want someone to share the pain, but most of all they both want this moment, the woman issuing out a breathy plea.

"Don't stop."

He couldn't, not even if she had begged him to do otherwise. He needed her, needed the comfort she could provide. Hook didn't care that this was insane, that this didn't solve anything, for him or for her. He just wanted, and as a pirate, he was used to taking that which he desired.

It wouldn't be anything like she deserved. He couldn't, wouldn't show her the care a woman such as this needed, couldn't allow himself to make this moment into something more than it was. He was not some hero in a story, and she was not his happily ever after. Hook didn't even believe there was a chance for him, no longer daring to wish for more, to want for anything more than revenge and a quick death after.

This time when he kissed her, it was almost angry but Hook didn't know who that feeling was for. Himself or for her, or for the things that could not be, the future they could not give each other.

His tongue harsh, his lips bruising, Hook kissed her as though he would devour the woman whole. She tried to match his pace, to match the near violent intensity he displayed, mewling sounds escaping out her throat. Her hands clutched at his coat, the woman feeling so small while she trembled against him, but ever so soft and so pliant.

Knowing she had to be freezing from the rain, he STILL sliced through the laces of her dress' corseted back with the hook that had taken the place of his severed hand. The dress didn't immediately fall down to her hips, too rain soaked to do anything but cling to curves he was sure were perfect. Hook nearly groaned with impatience, wanting her bared to the waist, but not wanting to take the time to tug and pull down that skin tight bodice.

It proved more than worth the effort, Hook rewarded with a sight that was glorious. Round, full breasts, with small but rosy looking nipples, the rain water leaving slick trails all along her freezing skin. He hadn't even needed to touch her, the chill making those nipples stand out. Greedy, he tasted one, his open mouth enveloping it fully. The woman seemed to jerk back in surprise, a hitch to her breath a moment before she arched her back and pressed her breast more firmly against his lips. And then she was moaning, Hook's mouth teasing, making the woman shiver and shake against him.

Her hands went to his hair, holding, encouraging him. His hand went under her dress, kneading the inside of her thigh for just a moment. And then he was pressing his knee against her, forcing her legs to part and straddle around him. She mewled, and tugged on his hair, forcing him up from her breasts so that they could share a kiss once more.

Tongues seeming to duel against one another, Hook's hand dropped to the front of his pants, fingers more clumsy than they should ever be. Somehow, without the aid of his hook, he got the leather open, his cock springing free and erect, and touching against her. She shifted to see, and that was when he tore off the voluminous amount of fabric that served as her under garments, Hook hauling the woman onto him.

She cried out, her nails digging into him in retaliation for the hurt he had just done her. There was the pained glimmer of tears in her eyes, the woman looking almost betrayed. Hook wondered if that was the same look she had given the man who had broken her heart, but quickly shrugged free of all thought, not wanting to give in to anything like guilt for having hurt her.

Keeping her pinned against the wall, Hook began to move. Not caring about her, about anything but the moment, and the fact that it was now silent in his head. Revenge, Rumplestiltskin, even Milah was forgotten, Hook completely in the moment, his lean but powerful hips working. Forcing his way into the deepest part of the young woman pinned before him, feeling every inch of her passage work to expand and give way, and still remaining ever so gloriously tight.

He cried out, not recognizing his own voice. Not aware of anything except the all consuming lust that had pitched through him, Hook feeling frenzied and feverish. Needing to come, and not wanting the moment to end, his hips bucking wildly, with little art or expertise, Hook bit down on the crook of the woman's shoulder. She cried out too, but he couldn't make out the words, his tongue laving over the bite mark he had left her. His good hand lay flat against the wall besides her, Hook ruthlessly driving himself into her, relying on the bricks to hold against their combined weight.

Her nails were drawing blood, the woman's breasts bouncing with each thrust of his. He could feel a wetness that didn't have anything to do with the rain or her maiden's blood, the woman's body at last fully accepting him, though its attempt at preparations had been woefully delayed. Hook knew he should have helped her, should have eased her into her first sexual experience better. For that matter he shouldn't have taken her in some side alley, should have given her the bed and comforts a virgin would have required. A dozen more should of came to mind, and were quickly dismissed, Hook knowing it too late to change anything, even the fact that he was about to come, and she was not.

His cock actually jerked inside her, his climax erupting harder than he could ever previously remember. He actually thought he saw stars, so dazed was he by the orgasm, just continuing to standi there while going flaccid inside her. Both of them were breathing heavy, Hook resting his head on her shoulder. And as his breath began to even out, the memories began to come back. First trickling in, then becoming a full out flood, Hook remembering it all, Milah, Rumplestiltskin, the horrific murder of his loved one, the need for revenge. And besides it, was the memory of the woman he had just had sex with, Hook not daring to look at her face, not wanting her betrayed expression to add to his future torments.

Not looking at her, he pulled out, and then set her down none too gently on her feet. He'd go to take a step away from her, and she'd sway, Hook spinning to catch her in his arms. It was an uncharacteristic moment of vulnerability, Hook feeling bad for what he had done, for how he had treated her. He'd feel worse after she recovered, her delicate hand then slapping hard across his face.

"Beast!" The woman proclaimed, hurriedly pulling up her dress a moment before she took shaky flight off into the night. Hook didn't try to stop her, fought even the desire to turn and watch her run away. His cheek belzard with hurt, the woman having struck him hard enough to leave a mark of her own. He deserved worst, his shaking hand touching first his cheek, and then his lips where the taste of her still lingered.

The encounter had been a mistake, he was sure of it. One he wouldn't be repeating. With her, with any woman, Hook deciding this was the last time he'd be unfaithful to Milah's memory. It didn't matter that it seemed an unreasonable promise, Hook hating himself in the moment. Swearing off sex, off drinking, and off beautiful strangers who wore pretty dresses. Especially ones whose eyes were as hurt as his.

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To Be Continued.....

8/24/2021 Updated and Tweaked a fair bit to try and make it flow better without outright overhauling and rewriting the entire story from scratch. Will try to tweak the other chapters as well!

Michelle