#can we have nothing. must henry always come back in being a fucking creep

[wibble-wobbegong]

The only thing I don't like about Bram Stoker's Dracula being listed is Will being the Mina to Henry's Dracula, but I guess this is more evidence for Phantomgate.

no yeah the more i read through it. will is definitely meant to be mina! i guess that makes mike jonathan, which actually implies he’s part of that 20 roll at the end of the hellfire campaign. erica kills vecna with a crit and her weapon choice is a poison soaked kukri, where jonathan doesn’t necessarily kill dracula but does slit his throat with a kukri. i actually have a lot of thoughts on the way there are three perpetrators of dracula’s death, especially considering some stuff with the 3 likely villains of s5 (the false prophet, the beast, and the dragon). i have a lot of thoughts about this but I just. I really don’t like the will-mina parallels. i hate it here im gonna beat henry to death for the rest of eternity

#can we have nothing. must henry always come back in being a fucking creep #this does play pretty heavily into phantomgate though #i kinda wanna do a full write up on dracula now even though i know it’s gonna make me sick #ITS SO INTERESTING. i’d just have to power through the implications of the will-mina parallels #i mena. there’s a reason peter looks like will! <- i say while retching #asks #will byers

[supercorpkid]

The price of magic.

Supercorp, Kara Danvers x Daughter!Reader, Lena Luthor x Daughter!Reader

Word Count: 2210.

Turns out the price of magic was higher than you had anticipated. You’ve been away for more than a year, but for your family it was nothing but a week. Sure they’ve missed you and they were out there looking for you with no clue of where you could have gone. But for you?

A year in Storybrooke was experiencing your life as you’ve always imagined. Being yourself in its totality. No Luthor name hanging over your head, no hiding yourself behind glasses or a red and blue superhero suit. It was being both Kryptonian and human at the same time, with no fear of judgment or dislike.

Storybrooke was like going on a super long vacation; so long it made you forget all of your problems. But that doesn’t mean that your problems went away. They came back as soon as you stepped foot in National City.

The price of magic was feeling guilty for being happier somewhere else. It was walking into your bedroom and feeling at home but also somehow not at all. It was walking around the craziness of National City and feeling suffocated like you’re in a crowded room full of empty faces. It was missing the words ‘honey’ and ‘sweetheart’ when people were referring to you. It was having a crazy number of options of take-out food but wanting nothing except the food in Granny’s diner.

And you weren’t the only one to pay the price. You can feel how high it was for Kara and Lena too.

“Mom?” You sit up on the bed, looking at Lena standing in your bedroom watching you sleep. “What are you doing creeping over my bed at-” You look at your alarm clock. “3 in the morning?”

“I had to be sure you were still here.” Lena says, sounding small and scared.

“Mom, I’m not going to disappear from my bedroom in the middle of the night.” You say, trying to reassure her, but it backfires you.

“You can’t blame me for thinking that, because you did.” She holds your arm, and you hear the cry in her cracked voice.

“Would you feel better if you stayed here with me?” You make space for her. Lena hum in agreement, lying next to you. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m even more.” She kisses the back of your hand. “A whole year without us. You were probably so scared we weren’t looking for you.”

“I knew you were.”

“You got so tall, and we weren’t even there to see it!” Lena complains and you give her a sad little smile, even though she can’t see your face at all in the darkness of your bedroom.

“Well, I chose a weird age to have a growth spurt .” You joke, but you don’t get a laugh in return. You sort of always knew when you would get taller. It was the same with Kara. You were always very anxious to turn 17, because that was the age she actually grew more. But the weird thing is that you’re not really 17 now. Like Kara is not really 70.

“Come here.” Lena hugs you and you settle back. You’re almost drifting off to sleep when she whispers. “Don’t ever leave again.”

You can’t promise that you won’t. Stranger things have happened in your life, you don’t really feel like you have control over that anymore. And weird as it may seem, you also don’t want to have control over that. Because if you had, if you could have chosen, you probably wouldn’t have met some of the people that you love so much now.

“Hey!” You walk in the kitchen, to both Kara and Lena still having breakfast despite how late already is. “What are you two doing?”

“Having breakfast.” Kara explains, like it isn’t obvious.

You look at the clock. “It’s nine.” You raise an eyebrow at them. “And it’s Monday.”

“Yes.” Lena agrees.

“On Mondays you go to work, and Kara does her usual Kara’ stuff.”

“You were gone for a week. Even if L Corp burned down in flames I wouldn’t leave your side today.” Lena answers you, and you smile softly. You look at Kara next.

“Oh, well, if L Corp was burning up in flames I probably would have to go to put out the fire.” She says but adds in a hurry. “But I would be here five seconds later!”

“Ok.” You chuckle. “I thought I would go see Jamie and Maya on their lunch break, but if you two want me to stay-”

“No! Baby, no. Go see your cousin and your girlfriend. They were missing you too.” Lena hands you your phone. “There’s a lot of texts from them.”

“Oh, a phone! God I haven’t had one in a while.” You smile scrolling through your messages, ignoring your moms questioning looks.

“So, maybe you could tell us how was your life there.” Kara asks, but you’re too distracted with your phone to notice. You haven’t used one in a while, not because there weren’t phones in Storybrooke, but because you didn’t need them. It was a super small city, you could find anyone easily, and because Emma and Charming were sheriffs, you all used radio transmitters to talk. “Hey? Little one, helloooo.”

“Sorry momma.” You put your phone down. “What did you say?”

“We want to know about your life there. I mean, for us it wasn’t that long, but for you it was a whole year. You probably did lots of things.” Kara says and you agree with your head.

“Yeah, I guess.” You shrug. “I used to help mom Emma out with the saving, and oh, mom Regina helped me with my panic attacks. And I’m a lot better at controlling them! Henry and I used to watch this awesome TV show that I probably won’t ever know how it ends now. And grandma taught me archery.”

“Oh, that sounds-” Lena thinks about it for a second. “Fun.”

“Yeah. It was so great. And every night all of us would get together at Granny’s diner and talk about our days, and sometimes I would go hang out with Belle in the library, so I read all the books there. And if I had stayed a little bit longer and turned 18 there, then grandpa would’ve taught me how to use a gun.”

“A little bit? It would’ve been a whole other year!”

“For me, I guess.” You shrug again. “Just another week for you. And I would’ve been cursed anyway, so it wouldn’t feel so bad.”

“Wait. Wait. Wait.” Kara stops you, looking confused. “You wanted to stay?”

“No!” You think about it for a second. “Not stay. No. Just-you know-If I had perhaps stayed longer then yeah, it would’ve been fun to learn that.”

“You can learn how to use a gun here!” Kara says, and Lena furrows her brows.

“No, she can’t.” She looks at you. “No, you can’t. Maybe when you’re older.”

“Right. Moms wouldn’t let me touch a gun either.”

“We are your moms.” It’s out of Kara’s mouth like she hadn’t given much thought to it. But you know she has, because she looks stung. You’ve noticed how she flinched every time you referred to Regina and Emma as moms, but it’s out of your mouth before you can stop yourself to think about it. For a year that’s what you’ve been saying every day. It’s hard to call them just anything else. Almost disrespectful even. But you don’t want to make Kara and Lena upset, so you have to watch out for that.

You try to say something after that. But it’s like your mind keeps erasing itself. ‘Ok, fine, sorry, sure you are momma!’ are all things that almost make it out of your mouth. Instead, you settle for, “Can I have some M&M pancakes?”

“Sure, babygirl.” Lena gets up and gets behind the counter. You go back to your phone, too embarrassed to look at Kara again. She doesn’t say anything about it either.

You talk about other things. They tell you how crazy it was to find you, and what they did all week while you were gone. Apparently it was mostly crying and blaming themselves for your disappearance.

“Hey, where are you going?”

“To school. To see Jamie and Maya.”

“Where are your glasses?” Kara asks and you touch your face to realize that you haven’t been wearing them at all.

“Ugh.” You grunt and mumble right after. “I hate those stupid glasses. Can’t believe I have to wear them again.”

You run to your bedroom and find an old pair tossed around. Stupid disguise. Stupid glasses. Stupid secret identity.

“Ok. Can I go now?” You ask when you make it back to the living room.

Lena lets out a forced smile out of her lips, and Kara gives you the most awkward thumbs up in history. Well, there’s a lot to unpack there. So maybe leave it for later.

“Hey!”

“No way in hell!” It’s Jamie’s first response when she sees you in front of your old school. “You grew taller in a week?”

“Something like that.” You smile finally looking down on her. Rao, it feels so good to finally be taller than Jamie. You’ve been hearing about it for years! “Hey, babe.”

“Holy fuck, look at you!” Maya says with the biggest smile on her face. “I don’t see you for a week and you show up here looking like a superhero!”

“Well…” You give her a little side flirty smile. “Is that a good thing?”

“You look great, babe.” Maya’s arms go around your neck and she tiptoes to kiss your mouth. You hold her by the waist, making it easier for her to kiss you.

“God, I’ve missed kissing you.” You let out after you part your lips.

“It’s been a week, stop being so melodramatic.” Jamie rolls her eyes, and you smile, letting go of Maya to hug her too.

“I’ve missed you too, dipshit.”

“Oh.” Jamie lets out a surprised sound. “I guess you’re not so dramatic then.”

You want to tell them, right there, about how it was not just a week. About your different life in the past year. But the girls from your school who used to bully you pass right next to you, and your heart beats faster anticipating the teasing.

But they don’t say a thing. In fact, what they say after they pass you, and you catch using your super hearing, is that you must be a new student. You smile, relieved. Getting taller and cutting your hair. You wish you had known it would make your life a lot easier.

“Ice-cream?” You smile at them and get positive responses at that. Two hours with them and it feels like you’ve never left. Feels good to be with them. It makes you remember that even though your life in National City is not always easy, it’s still pretty great. And that you shouldn’t take that for granted.

You and Jamie walk Maya home, and you’re not even scared of her parents' reaction anymore. It’s not like they’ll recognize you, anyway. And later, you fly Jamie back to her house. You say a quick hello to Alex and Kelly, then fly back home.

“Hey.” You throw yourself on the couch between your moms, with a smile on your face. You look at the box of donuts in front of them, just sitting there waiting for you to arrive and your smile grows wider. “Sorry I was gone for a while. But can I make it up to you both with some hugs and forehead kisses?”

“Oh! Me first!” Kara asks and you smile, throwing your arms around her, and resting your chin on her shoulders.

“You’re my mommy. No one will ever take that away from you.” You whisper in her ear, and feel Kara’s body fully relax in your embrace, while she lets out a relieved sigh.

“I love you more than words can explain it, kid.” You smile and let her go a little, just to look into her eyes.

“I know the words.” You rest your forehead against hers and smile. “You’re my heart.”

“You’re my heart, little one.”

“Can I get a sweet moment like this too?” Lena asks and you chuckle, pulling her close for a tight hug.

“You also don’t have to worry about anyone taking your place.” You say softly in her ear. “You carried me inside of you for nine months, and I’ll carry you inside of me for the rest of my life.”

“Oh God.” Lena says, choking up and wetting the back of your t-shirt with her tears. “I swear this is the loveliest thing someone has ever told me.”

“It’s true.” You smile and kiss her forehead right after. “I love you mom.”

“Oh, I love you, babygirl.”

“And we’re stronger together.” You say, and feel their arms go around you at the same time, in a family hug.

Sure you will miss being called ‘honey’ and ‘sweetheart’, but nothing beats being called ‘little one’ and ‘babygirl’. And nothing ever will. National City may not make you feel as good as Storybrooke did, but the people here surely make up for that.

#supergirl #kara danvers #supercorp #supercorpfamily #lena luthor #supercorp daughter #kara x lena #kara x reader #supercorp fanfic #lena x reader #reader insert

[viking-raider]

The Immortal Sky - Part VII *Mature*

Summary: It’s a battle to survive and not everyone will make it.

Pairing: Henry Cavill/You

Word Count: 17,431

Rating: M - Dystopian!AU, Futuristic!AU, Language, Dark Themes: Severe Angst, Violence, Torture, Kidnapping, Traumatic Death, Blood, Life Threatening Injures, Severe Trauma, Life Changing Events, Hurt/Comfort, and a teeny bit of Fluff

Inspiration: I’ve always wanted to write a futuristic fic!

Author’s Note: This is the final official Chapter of The Immortal Sky, I will be doing a short Epilogue to round things out though. I hope you enjoy this and thank you so much for all the love, comments and support! A super thanks to @wondersofdreaming​ for being a great support, listening to my crazy thoughts, giving me amazing suggestions and ideas, and just being an all around amazing friend!

You gasped, sitting up on your elbows, heart pounding and drenched in a cold sweat as the nightmare continued to dig its claws into your waking moments.

“Henry?” You called out, instinctively, before remembering he wasn't there.

Still.

Letting out a hard and shaky breath, you dropped back onto the mattress, damp from your sweat. You stared up at the ceiling, gripping the blankets in shaking fists as hot and furious tears dripped over your temples and into your hair.

“He isn't coming back.” You choked on your own snot. “They've captured and killed him, I just know it. He's died trying to protect me and there's nothing I can do to stop it. To make up for it, so his pain and death weren't in vain.” You took gasping breaths and only choked more on your tears. “I'm so sorry Henry. Oh my god, I am so sorry.” You wailed, crying without abandon.

You beat your fists on the mattress, outraged at your negativity and ease of giving up on him. Henry wouldn't have given up on you, he would have stayed strong and came for you, like he had when you ran away from him in London. Jerking up, you sat on the edge of the bed, the springs of the mattress creaking under your shifting weight.

“He's still alive.” You forced yourself to say out loud. “Henry is still alive, and I will find him.”

Resolved to this conviction, you stood up and dressed, pressing his shirt to your face and took a deep breath, inhaling his earthy and masculine scent, fortifying you, before slipping it on over your own shirt and finished tying your shoelaces. You weren't completely sure what to do or how to go about finding, and potentially saving, Henry. You weren't the amazing and seasoned High Marshal Henry was, is. You tried putting yourself in his shoes, hard as it was to fill size eleven boots. So, you started in the only place that made sense to you, the Black Bone pub, where your brother and his handler were known to frequent. So, locking your room, you trekked the six blocks from the hotel to the dingy pub, heart pounding in your throat as you entered.

“What can I get ya?” The bartender asked you as you approached the counter.

“Um,” You looked at the stained menu taped to the bar top. “A Virgin Mojito, please.”

The bartender lifted a brow at you, shrugged his shoulders and turned away from you. A minute later, he set the tall glass in front of you and held out his hand, wanting payment. Sighing, you dug out the meager change you had and slapped it into his hand, picked up your drink and took a seat in the corner, the same corner you occupied with Henry the day before.

You tried your best to look as inconspicuous as you possibly could, keeping your eyes on the tv, like Henry had, swirling your drink with the thin black straw inside of it and checking out everyone in the room from the corner of your vision. It was slightly more busy than it had been the morning before, but there was no sign of your brother, Knox or Henry. What your inexperienced eye failed to notice, was the bartender keeping his eye on you, for several minutes, before going to the back of the store room and making a phone call.

“Yeah, Ashe. It's me, Bruce, the owner of the Black Bone. You asked me to keep an eye out for a lady.” He rattled off your description. “Told me to call if I saw her around.”

“And?” Ashe replied, staring at the black, web-like, 3-D printed cast on the hand he busted in his fight with Henry.

“She's back.” Bruce told him, stepping out of the store room and peeking around the corner, to make sure you were still there, clearly ignoring your drink. “Sitting in a booth, right now.”

“Excellent.” Ashe grinned, wolfishly. “I'll be right over, let me know if she leaves.”

Bruce hung up with Ashe and moved back to serve his new customers, keeping his eye on you the whole time. You finally took a sip of your drink, the mint was refreshing to your taste-buds with the slight twinge of the lime's tartness, when the door of the pub chimed as it opened and from the corner of your eye you saw who entered, making your blood run cold, the man from the day before, who had given Henry the creeps and chased you both down the alleyway. Your hands shook as he glanced in your direction, a faint smirk on his thin lips, you noticed the cast on his arm and drew conclusions; knowing he and Henry must have gotten into a fight. Wishing you had the bartender put the rum into your drink after all, you gulped it down and tried to get up as casually and calmly as possible, eyes darting to the lopsided and hand written sign above the bathroom door and headed that direction.

The bathroom was big enough for a discolored and filthy toilet and a teeny window above that. Locking the bathroom door, you climbed top of the toilet, wobbling on the unstable tank to peek out the cloudy windowpane. There was another alleyway behind the pub, but you couldn't see where either end of it led out too, but you weren't going back out into the bar area with Ashe there, waiting to pounce on you. The window was wedged into the frame, sticking it into place from years of hard rains and freezing winters, swelling and warping the wood. Biting your lip, you started bashing it with the heel of your hand, the wood protesting and squeaking with each blow, until it suddenly flew open.

Glancing over your shoulder to the latched door as the dented handle started to rattle, you wasted no time, jumping and diving halfway through the window, legs flailing and kicking the dingy wall. Scrambling to get a footing and wiggle the rest of the way through the window, the rough wood scraping and cutting up your sides and ripping holes into your jacket. The bathroom door started to shake, a shoulder driving into it, you knew it wouldn't be long before Ashe busted through and hauled you out of the bathroom. Growling in frustration, you kicked hard at the wall, breaking through the crumbling drywall and used it to boost yourself up more. Punching more and more holes into the wall with your feet to you wiggle and shimmy through the window.

You gasped as your hips passed through the window frame and scrambled to get a footing on the other side, before you fell face first into a pile of two week old trash. You had just managed to flip yourself as you fell out of the window, landing on your butt on top of the overstuffed black plastic bags with a grunt. The eruption of Ashe charging through the bathroom door exploded above you, followed by his flurry of curses as his head popped through the window, the only thing small enough to fit through it.

“You fucking bitch!” He roared, pushing an arm through the window with his head to try and grab at you.

You struggled to your feet and stumbled away from Ashe and the window, out of breath and bleeding. Knowing he wasn't going to get through the window, Ashe jerked back inside and stormed out of the bathroom, shoving and knocking people aside as they came to see what all the commotion was about. Not waiting around for Ashe to reach you, you bolted down the alleyway, slipping on the slimy pavement and tripping over trash, just making it to the end, when two shadows blocked the way. Startled, you tried twisting around to run the other way, but they were faster than you were, grabbing the hood of your jacket and yanked you back, making you choke in the process.

“You ain't going anywhere.” One of them huffed as you were slammed chest first into the wall, scraping the side of your face on the rough surface.

Your arms were harshly yanked behind you and hands slipped through the loops of thick black cuffs, before your captor pressed a button on the handle connecting the cuffs and they automatically tightened around your wrists, painfully cutting off circulation and into your skin. They jerked you off the wall and faced you out of the alleyway, one of them clamped a hand down on your shoulder, making you whimper in pain and try to shrink away from him, only to be struck in the side.

“You should have stayed in London.” Ashe's angry voice growled as he approached the three of you, pinching your chin between his fingers. “Or just not have been born at all.” He hissed, letting go of your head with a jerk. “Get her in the van.” He ordered the two men, hitching a thumb over his shoulder, to the van parked at the curb, its back sliding door open and waiting.

You looked up and down the sidewalk as they pushed and shoved you towards the van, frantically hoping someone would see the four of you and rush to help you, stop them for kidnapping you. But, as you looked at the full street, you noticed everyone looking everywhere but at you, not wanting to get involved, knowing doing so would land them in the same hot water you were finding yourself in. But, to your utter shock, one face did look back at you, just as stunned to see you as you were to see them.

“Michail.” You mouthed, blinking like it was just a fragment of your frantic mind. “Mikey!” You screamed out, realizing it wasn't your mind toying with you, before you were thrown into the van and the door was slammed shut behind you.

“Let's go grab a pint.” Knox said, throwing on his jacket. “Come on, Keagan, one pint won't kill you. We have a load of time before your first big run.”

Michail sighed and rubbed at his face, his back ached from hunching over the map of his first run as an Adjutant Runner for Quinn. He had been staring at it non-stop for two weeks and the run was due to happen in three days. But, Knox was right, an hour's break to enjoy a frothy pint at the pub would do him and his brain some good. So, stiffly raising from his chair, he grabbed his own jacket and followed Knox to the lift and down the four floors to the ground floor and out onto the street. They chatted about the run as they walked down to the Black Bone, Knox's usual establishment for a good pint, hammering out more details and clearing up any misunderstanding about what was to go down, once it did happen.

But, they were interrupted by a small scuffle ahead of them, near the pub.

Looking away from each other and to the altercation, they saw three sizable men roughly handling a woman, her hands tied behind her back. Michail felt the breath in his lungs freeze and his heart drop out into his stomach as he met the woman's eye, watching her mouth his name, before yelling it out.

“Mikey!”

“Issy?” He whispered back, too stunned to manage anything louder before you were manhandled into the van.

“You know that woman, Mike?” Knox asked, his eyes panning between the speeding away van and him.

“She's my sister.” Mikey replied, his mouth hanging open, shocked and speechless to not only find you in Bristol, but being carted away by those ruffians. “But, she should be back in London.” He blinked, slowly regaining himself. “What the hell is she doing here in Bristol? Do you know who those guys were?” He asked, looking at Knox.

“Only one of them.” Knox replied, narrowing his eyes. “The blond is Ashe James, he works as a free agent, working several different jobs in every Sector.”

“Why would he take my sister like that?” Mikey asked himself, deeply troubled.

“We'll find out later, let's get that pint.” Knox answered, clasping Mikey on the back and pushed him towards the pub.

Henry spit nothing, but blood, as Emilio gave him another crack punch to the face; which was multicolored and inflamed. A cut high on the bridge of his bloody nose and upper lip, his bottom lip was split and bleeding as well, blood caked in his beard and curls, as well as his chest; soaking into the fabric of his jeans. His eyes burned from the unyielding and bright lights illuminating the room. He was spent and exhausted, leaning forward with his head lulling and eyes half rolled and swollen shut. A forest of marks and box cutter cuts littered his body, partiality around the surgical site of his artificial kidney. He was more than sure every one of his ribs were broken or cracked, making him wheeze and hiss with every breath he took.

Henry wasn't sure how much more of he could take, but that didn't mean he would break.

“I don't think you have much more blood in you, mate?” Emilio huffed, shaking his throbbing hand, his fingers puffy and bruised from hitting Henry so many times. “Usually, the people I—set straight—have given up by now. But, no. Not you, you're tough. I respect that.” He said, shrugging his sore shoulders.

“To a point.” He chuckled, slapping Henry in the back of the head, making him whimper. “Why don't you tell my boss where the girl is? Then, we can let you off. But, if you don't, you'll just end up dying here.”

Henry remained quiet, he had run out of witty and smart-ass comments hours before. So, he kept his mouth shut and reserved his energy and strength to withstand their assault on him. The one saving light was the thought of you safe and sound in your room. He knew, by now, you were freaking out and panicking. There were no clocks and only one mirror that Henry knew, without a doubt, was a two way, but he could catch a glimpse of Emilio's expensive watch. He had been in the room for nearly twelve hours, all night and most of the morning.

He sighed, grimacing as he swallowed another mouthful of blood that was pooling in his mouth from his bloody nose, cut lip and the cuts on the inside of his cheeks; his stomach cramped and twisted as he swallowed it down, adding to his discomfort. His mind started to wonder, his pain was beginning to numb his battered nerve-endings, he wondered how much longer he would survive, what blow would potentially kill him.

He counted each blow.

One.

Two.

Three.

The door came flying open and Benji waltzed in, the door slamming closed behind him, as he grinned and looked chipper after getting a good night's rest, having left not long after Henry's torture started. But, he seemed overly happy, too happy, for Henry to be comfortable with, he knew something. That's when Henry's fear finally spiked and his abused body tensed and his bloodshot, blue orbs widened with panic, showing that growing ounce of fear outwardly for the first time.

“Well, Mr. Cavill, I see that you are still alive!” Benji quipped with an amused smile, grabbing the back of Henry's sweaty and bloody curls, and jerked his head back, roughly. “I am quite impressed by your stamina. I bet the ladies love it.” He teased, lowering himself to meet Henry's gaze.

“I have a surprise for you, Henry.” He cooed, menacingly, his brown eyes darkening to a black hole of evil and danger. “I'm quite sure you'll be relieved to see it.” He said softly, running a finger over the freshly bleeding cut on Henry's brow, making him hiss as heavy beads of sweat mixed into it, then straightened up.

“Bring it in!” He yelled, moving away from Henry and turned towards the two way mirror.

The door swung open again, revealing Ashe, who pressed his back against it, to keep it open, and motion into the hall for someone to come forward. Henry's shoulders fell with his face, the last bit of his strength he had draining out of him as you were shoved into the room, stumbling and almost falling if Ashe hadn't grabbed the handle of your zip cuffs and steadied you.

Your mouth dropped open seeing the pitiful and terrifying condition Henry was in, covered in blood, bruises, cuts and god knows what else. You struggled to swallow down your throbbing heart and blinked back the searing tears that burned your eyes, biting hard into your lip to keep yourself from falling apart. Henry licked his split and chapped lips and blinked slowly at you, trying to keep himself together, but not to cry, but to not lose his temper, his muscles flexing as his anger flared and surged beneath his blue and purple, blood covered skin, straining in his restraints, like a bull seeing red.

“Two very different reactions.” Benji commented, watching the pair of you through the two-way mirror. “Interesting.” He hummed, turning on the heels of his expensive dress shoes. “I've been looking for you.” He said, stepping closer to you. “Thank you for making it so easy to find and get a hold of you.”

He smiled, touching the tip of his finger to your cheek and drew a smiley face on it.

In Henry's blood.

“Release her hands.” He ordered, snapping his fingers.

“Boss, is that a good idea?” Ashe asked, hesitating with the key to your cuffs. “She's pretty cunning.”

Benji's cool broke and slapped Ashe across the face, ripping the key out of his hand and releasing the cuffs from around your wrists. “I know what she is, you moron. But, what is she going to do? They're in my house, surrounded by dozens upon dozens of my men. Even if, they managed to get out of this room, they wouldn't make it out of the hall, before we either killed or incapacitated them. So,” He smirked at you, giving you a sour taste in your mouth.

“Let's leave them be.” He chuckled, making a motion with his hand and cleared the room, other than you and Henry.

You stood frozen for several moments, unable to move as you and Henry stared at each other, your silent tears finally escaping down your cheeks. “I'm so sorry, Henry.” You sniffled, gulping thickly.

Henry closed his eyes and sighed, groaning and gently shaking his head. He knew, he knew you had left the room to come look for him, the guilt and evidence of it was all over your face. “It's all right.” He finally replied, his voice dry and raspy. “I know you were scared.”

“I was worried.” You whimpered, slowly approaching him. “I still am.” You told him, dropping to your knees before him, looking over his battered body. “I'm sorry, Henry. I never meant for this to happen. I never wanted anyone to get hurt because of me. Least of all, you.”

Your emotions started to overwhelm you, reaching out to gently cup his face in your shaking palms and pushed up on your toes to touch your forehead to his temple. Henry frowned and nudged your face with his, trying to give you what comfort he could, while still tied to the chair. Your wet cheek smeared more blood on the both of you, as you wrapped your arms loosely around his bare waist.

“I told you to wait for me.” He whispered, meeting your damp eyes.

“I tried.” You protested, pulling back from him. “But, I-” You bit your lip and looked away from him.

“I told you, I'd come back for you.”

“How?” You snapped, incredulous. “You're tied to a fucking chair and practically bleeding to death!”

Henry narrowed his eyes at you. “I'll be fine, I just needed more time. I've done this before.” He told you, shaking his head, then regretting it.

“That doesn't make me feel any better or convince me, Henry.” You replied with a huff. “How are we going to get out of here?” You asked, lowering your voice, sure they were eavesdropping.

“I'll think of something.” Henry answered, looking around the room, but there was very little to aid you in that endeavor. “Just stay strong for me.” He added, turning his face into yours, his chapped lips brushing your ear.

“Nugget.”

Benji stood in the room adjoined to the interrogation room you and Henry were held in, watching the two of you interact and talk, when a phone started to ring. Flexing his hands, Benji turned on his men, glaring each of them in the eyes until one of them shied away from his gaze.

“Answer it, Luis.” He hissed at the smaller man. “Now!” He roared, making everyone flinch.

Luis slipped a shaking hand into his pocket and pulled out his mobile, flipping it open and answering it. “Hello?” He squeaked, his voice high pitched with fright. “Um,--” He shuttered, eyes glued to Benji. “It's Monroe, Sir. He's asking about the girl, why she was nabbed this morning.” He explained, holding his phone out to Benji.

“Knox!” Benji roared into the receiver. “Why are you asking about the girl?” He demanded.

“My new Runner, they know each other.” Knox replied, cool as ice, he was used to Benji's outbursts. “We saw Ashe and the boys dragging her out of the Black Bone, she saw us too, and called out Keagan's name. When I asked how she knew him, he answered that she was his sister.”

“Her brother?” Benji said slowly, turning back to the mirror and staring at you as you huddled close to Henry. “Bring him to me, I want you here within the hour.”

“You got it, boss.” Knox replied, hanging up.

“The bubble of intrigue just keeps growing around this girl.” He said, studying you. “I love it.”

“I just got a call from headquarters.” Knox said as he approached Mikey at their table. “We need to go in, they're having a Runner meeting we need to attend to get the new details on our run in a couple days.” He explained.

“All right.” Mikey nodded, wiping the foam off his upper lip as he finished off his pint. “Are we going straight there?” He asked, standing up.

“Yep.” Knox nodded, clapping him on the back and directing him to the door, waving to the bartender as they left.

They hailed a cab to the Hernandez building, it was the tallest building in all of Bristol, showing the power, presence and money they had, running their empire of drugs and violence. The twenty minute ride there was quiet, and Knox almost felt bad for Mikey, knowing the kid had zero clue what was about to happen to him, but he wasn't sorry for the fact he was related to you, who could possibly bring down the business that kept him employed and out of the Slums.

“Mr. Hernandez is expecting us.” Knox told the receptionist at the front desk.

Nodding her head, the receptionist picked up her phone, dialed a number and waited for it to pick up. “Mr. Monroe to see you, sir.” She said, then hung up. “He'll meet you at lift number three.” She told Knox, then returned to her paperwork.

“Come on, Keagan.” Knox called, motioning Mikey to follow him.

Mikey followed him, unaware and naive to what was about to happen to him, to what was waiting for him, as the lift doors slid open and revealed Benji and Ashe. It was seeing Benji and Ashe that Mikey got a strange feeling in his stomach, but he ignored it, figuring it was just nervous jitters from meeting the most powerful man in Bristol.

“Knox.” Benji smiled at his prized Runner, then settled his cold eyes on Mikey. “Mr. Keagan, how nice to finally meet you. I've heard so much.”

“All good, I hope.” Mikey gulped.

“Of course.” Benji chuckled, motioning for the two men to step into the lift with them. “Let's go to my office to speak.” He suggested.

The ride in the lift was silent and stiff, no one speaking or moving, not even making eye contact for the several minutes the ride took, until the ding announced their arrival to the floor and the sleek metal doors slid open. Benji stepped off first, followed by Knox and Mikey, with Ashe bringing up the rear. They walked down a long hallway and Benji stopped beside a door, scanned a key card and pushed it open, motioning for Mikey to go in first, wanting to see his reaction as he entered.

Biting his lip, Mikey did as he was told, a nervous sweat breaking out on his brow as he moved into the dark room, noticing the wall length window to one side. He stopped in front of it, looking through the two way mirror and felt his jaw and heart hit the floor.

“Issy.” He gasped, seeing you pacing the bright room, then noticed the large and beaten male tied to the chair in the room as well.

His shoulders slumped as it all clicked in his head, he had been lied to too and was now as much a prisoner as you and Henry were. A cold sweat broke out all over his body and his hands started to shake, gulping several times to try and keep his composure.

“What is the meaning of this?” He asked, eyes snapping to Benji as he watched Ashe lock and block the door, leaving Knox in the hallway.

“Who is that girl to you?” Benji asked, lightly tapping the glass of the mirror. “And answer truthfully.”

Mikey steeled himself. “I don't know.” He huffed, puffing out his chest.

Benji rolled his jaw and banged on the mirror, grabbing Emilio's attention. Smirking, Emilio pushed himself off the door he had been leaning against and strode over to you, startling you and making you stubble away from him.

“NO!” Henry and Mikey both screamed at the same time as Emilio grabbed you roughly by the hair, yanking your head backward and making you cry out as he shoved you closer to the mirror.

“Who is she to you?” Benji asked again, slowly.

“A friend.” Mikey whimpered, clenching his fists together as he felt and saw your pain.

Benji knocked on the window again. This time, Emilio twisted you around by the hair and slammed your back up against the mirror and wrapped his meaty hand around your slender neck. Henry jerked and squirmed in his chair, roaring with madness and cursing loudly as Emilio choked you, trying desperately to break free and pull him off of you, before it was too late.

“Stop!” Henry roared, letting his anger and frustration out in a violent scream. “Let her go! Do it to me!” He begged Emilio. “Let her be!”

Mikey doubled over, his hands braced on his thighs as he gasped for air, like a goldfish out of it's tank. “Please, stop this.” He begged Benji, in a wheeze.

Benji tilted his head as he watched Mikey, watching his distress as it mirrored your own. Curiously, he banged on the mirror again and Emilio, still choking you with one hand, drove the fist of his other into your stomach, making you yelp around his hand, incapable of more as you struggled for air. Mikey stumbled back into a shelf behind him, nearly losing his footing. Benji's fingers caught the underside of Mikey's chin and jerked his head back, thick strings of drool on his lips and chin.

“Tell me who she is to you?” He hissed in his face.

“Please.” Mikey begged him, weakly.

“Tell me, and I'll make him stop.” Benji told him, his face twisted with smug malice.

Mikey whimpered, hearing you struggling and Henry's desperate protests. “She's my sister.” He broke. “My twin sister.” He admitted, weakly.

“Your twin?” Benji echoed, intrigued. “So, you feel what she feels. Does she feel what you do, I wonder.” He let go of Mikey and knocked on the mirror twice, signaling Emilio to release you, which he did, causing you to collapse to the floor. “Ashe, go in there and tell me if she feels anything from him.” He ordered, keeping his eyes on Mikey.

Nodding, Ashe left the room and entered yours and Henry's, nodding at the mirror, so Benji knew he was in position. Smiling, Benji promptly drove his knee into Mikey's stomach and looked behind him and saw Ashe smirking and chuckling to himself.

“The connection between twins.” Benji laughed, amused to all ends. “I love it. Let's have a proper little family reunion, shall we!” He declared and motioned to Luis to grab Mikey. “Bring him.” He ordered, marching out of the room. “Good news everybody!” He declared, bursting into the room with you and Henry.

“It's family time!” He laughed, as Luis shoved Mikey into the room with the two of you.

“Mikey.” You coughed and rasped, holding your bruised neck.

“Issy.” He rasped back, crawling over to you. “Where have you been?” He asked, cupping your face in his shaking hands. “We thought you were dead.”

“I went looking for you, to try and patch things up with our parents, after the fight.” You explained, fresh tears dripping down your face. “But, I was caught by the Traffickers and was held by them. Henry,” You looked up at him, still straining in the chair, his blue eyes wild. “he saved me and I've been with him the whole time.”

Mikey blinked up at Henry, then narrowed his eyes at him. “Saved you?” He echoed your words, but not your sentiments and appreciation. “The only reason a person goes into a Trafficker's warehouse, if they're not merchandise, is to buy.” He hissed, his face darkening. “You bought my sister from a fucking Trafficker. Typical Upper, buying and enslaving us just because we were born in a lower Sector than you.”

“Mikey, it wasn't like that?” You panted, shaking your head at him, desperate for him to understand.

“How can you fucking defend him!” Mikey barked, gritting his teeth at you. “Unless he's already brainwashed you, convinced you that owning you didn't make you any different than him.”

“I don't own her.” Henry growled, low in his throat.

“Is that so!”

“It is!” You barked back, regaining yourself. “He never registered me for an Ownership Bracelet. Henry's never treated me like a Slave, or even a Slummer, for that matter. He's been good to me, Mikey.” You told him, cupping his tense neck in your hands and pressed your forehead to his. “He's been helping me to find you.” You whispered to him, holding his eyes.

“He's been protecting me.” You said quieter.

“I was originally meant to follow her until you were found, then bring you both back to London.” Henry added, his eyes on you. “So, she could testify against him.” He jerked his chin at Benji. “and to turn you in for your part in the Running business. But,” He paused and sighed. “But, I changed my mind and decided to just help her bring you back home, safely. Make up some story about why I didn't bring you in, then once she testified, I was going to release her to go back home to your family.” He explained.

Mikey opened his mouth to ask why a High Marshal would bother to do something like that, when he finally felt it, a warmth that came from you, and met your eyes and saw the cause of your warmth, towards Henry. You were in love with the High Marshal, and looking to Henry, he could tell that Henry felt just as strongly about you.

“I've been a complete brainless prick.” Mikey sighed, feeling guilty, if he hadn't decided to become a Runner, then none of this would have happened, the two of you and Henry would still be safe and sound in London, going about your lives as should be.

“I'm sorry, Issy.”

“Well, you're just a stupid boy, what do you know anyway.” You huffed, smiling softly and shrugging it off.

“Well, isn't this all well and sweet.” Benji huffed pushing off the wall.

“But, we all have an issue. The three of you are a threat to my business.” He said, folding his arms. “You, High Marshal, are on the case that threatens my business. You,” He looked at Mikey. “Being a Runner, know the routes and procedures of my business, and you,” He settled his eyes on you. “Are the witness to my operations and hold the key to ruining my business in London and putting away one of my best Traffickers.”

“I can't let you live.” He said, looking at the three of you. “So, we're going to play a fun little game.” He smirked, greedy and giddy, as he rubbed his hands together. “Luis, your gun.” He ordered, holding his hand out to the other man. “Ashe draw yours as well, and Emilio, why don't you untie Mr. Cavill over there, we do out number them with people and firearms, so I doubt either of them will be stupid enough to try something.” He said, motioning Emilio towards Henry.

Obeying, Emilio removed the key to Henry's bonds from his front pocket, while Ashe had his gun trained on him, anticipating any attempt Henry, you or Mikey might make to try and be a savior. Emilio unlocked the ties around Henry's chaffed ankles, then his wrists. Henry let out a relieved sigh as the strain and tension of his shoulders and arms released, almost slumping out of the chair.

“Henry!” You gasped, dashing forward to try and catch him.

“Ah, no!” Benji barked, stopping you in your tracks. “Leave him be.” He hissed at you. “Get up, Cavill.” He demanded of Henry. “Now, or I'll start putting holes in her!”

Groaning, Henry forced himself to stand, swaying on his throbbing and injured legs and almost falling, but caught himself on the back of the chair. Assured that Henry would be able to reasonably stand, then took the gun Luis was still holding out to him, Benji removed the clip from the firearm, checking how many rounds it had, reloaded the clip and cocked the slide, securing a bullet into the chamber.

“Take it.” He snapped, holding it out to you.

“No.” You whimpered, shaking your head and taking a step away from him.

“You either take it, or I kill all three of you now, starting with the High Marshal, then your dear brother and you last, so you can watch as your brother and the man you love, die.” He threatened, with an eerie calm.

Taking a shuddering breath, you stepped forward again and, with a shaky hand, took the heavy weapon from Benji's hand. You looked at Henry and Mikey with wide and frightened eyes, visibly shaking with terror. They both looked back at you with the same fright and worry.

“So, this is our game.” Benji grinned, licking his lips, like an evil serpent. “You get to choose who dies first, and get the honor of killing them.” He told you, grinning sinisterly.

“No.” You whimpered, slowly shaking your head. “No, I can't. Please, I can't.” You begged him, trembling, and staring down at the gun, like you expected it to swallow you.

“None of you are going to leave this room alive. So, you might as well put each other out of your own misery.” Benji tried to reason with you. “Do you want them to suffer because of your selfishness?”

“Don't listen to him.” Henry snapped, drawing your attention. “You don't need to do this, just give me the gun.” He told you, reaching out a hand to you.

“He's right, Issy. You don't.” Mikey agreed, holding his own hand out. “Just give it to one of us, we'll figure this out.”

Both Henry and Mikey knew why Benji had given you the gun. You would never have considered hurting anyone, with or without the firearm; unlike Henry and Mikey, who would.

Your eyes darted back and forth between them, unsure who to give it to. What would Henry do, if you were to give him the gun? Would he manage to kill Benji, Ashe, Luis and Emilio before they could do any real damage to the three of you? What about Mikey? Did your brother even know how to use a gun? What would he do once he had it? Should you even give it to them? What if one of them turned on the other, what if Henry turned on Mikey? He had originally been sent after you to bring you back to testify and take care of Mikey, because of his involvement with Benji and Bristol. Would Mikey try to kill Henry, because he was a High Marshal, maybe try to save face and show Benji he could be trusted, to save himself, and maybe you too.

You knew neither of them would turn on you or harm you in any way. You weren't afraid of them; you were afraid for them, and what they might do if they had the gun themselves.

It took all you had not to throw up, then and there. Everyone was staring at you waiting for your decision, but you couldn't decide, you wouldn't decide. You loved Henry and you loved your brother, you would rather kill yourself than one of them; and it was as if they sensed your mind go in that direction, for both Henry and Mikey jerked towards you, startling you.

“No!” Henry hissed, his eyes wide with panic. “Don't you dare.” He panted heavily, spots in his eyes as his advanced blood loss started to take its toll on him, on top of everything else going on. “Don't you dare turn that gun on yourself.” He whispered, half begging and half ordering you.

“Listen to him, Issy.” Mikey agreed, nodding his head. “Don't harm yourself. We can figure this out.” He said, eyeballing Benji over your shoulder.

Tears dripped down your face, like a waterfall after a heavy rain, it was too much, it was all too overwhelming for you to take. Mikey looked between you and Henry, he saw the absolute terror and worry in Henry's eyes, his pupils eating away the cobalt blue and speck of brown of his irises. Your own blown out pupils doing the same as you started back at him. It was something that Mikey wasn't used to. When things became scary and too much, it had always been him that you looked to in those moments, but this time, it was Henry you were seeking comfort and protection from.

“You fucking prick!” Mikey growled, trying to lung at Benji.

“Ah ah!” Benji barked back, grabbing Luis's wrist and forcing him to point his gun at you. “If either of you try and act a hero, Luis will kill her, out right.” He warned, meeting Mikey and Henry's eyes.

Biting his lip, Mikey took a deep breath and let it out in a heavy sigh, Benji had the three of you cornered. He was forcing you to kill one of the men you loved with your own life, while stopping Henry and Mikey from trying to save the day, by threatening to kill you, knowing they both would die to keep you safe.

What a twisted and poisonous web that was being weaved in the room. But, sooner or later, the strings of that web would start to snap and unravel, taking all of you with it.

Mikey took a hesitating step forward, his heart pounding and choked inside of his throat, his eyes daring between you, Benji and Luis. Reaching out, he wrapped his hand around your wrist, feeling the weight of the gun you held in that hand. The pounding pulse in your wrist drummed against Mikey's fingers, and he felt his own heart become attuned with yours. From the day the two of you came into the world, you several minutes before him, the pair of you were in sync, but as you grew older, you became less so. You had taken the right path, following the law, doing the job assigned to you, making the best of the life you had been dealt, without a complaint. While Mikey rebelled and became restless, wanting to be more, wanting the people he loved to be and have more than you already did, failing to see the wealth he already had, in you, your parents and little brother.

It was too late now to go back and fix those things, to see and cherish them properly, like Mikey now realized he should have.

The two of you synced together, heart beats the same steady, but pounding rate, breathing heavy and as one, flowing in a way that only twins could. You read his face, like it was the page of an open book and knew what he was doing. Your hand grasped the grip of the gun tighter, eyes widening and head softly shaking.

It's all right, Issy. His face and eyes said to you.

No. Your eyes begged back, blinded by collecting tears. Not like this. Don't do this. I can't live without you, Mikey.

You'll be fine, Sis.

He looked away from you, to Henry, who stood there, supporting himself on the back of the chair he had spent hours being tortured in. Henry looked back at Mikey, confused, just like everyone else in the room to what was transpiring between you, narrowing his eyes and frowning, shaking his head at Mikey, wanting to understand. But, Mikey looked back to you, squeezing your wrist and pressing his free hand to your chest.

You have the High Marshal to care for and protect you now. His eyes said to you. And he'll do a better job at it. He can give you the love, life and protection you need and deserve in life.

You shook your head at him, eyes screaming at him. Don't do this! What about our parents? Our little brother? What will I tell them? They will be crushed.

I'm no good and we both know this. Let me do this, and prove I still have some good left in me.

His hand slowly slipped down yours, gently prying your fingers from around the gun's grip, carefully taking it from you. Your hands shot out, gripping Mikey by the sleeves, one last plea for him to reconsider, to help you and Henry find a different plan and outcome, to give it a chance. But, he shook his head and took your arm in his free hand, leaned in to kiss your cheek, then gently shoved you in Henry's direction. Henry just managed to catch you before you stumbled over your feet, and himself from falling as well, blinking between you and Mikey, starting to realize what was going on.

“Mikey, n--” You started to scream as he raised the muzzle to his temple.

Henry's thick arms wrapped around you, somehow mustering the strength to hold you back as you struggled and thrashed in his embrace, trying desperately to stop what was about to happen.

A loud pop and a high pitched ringing filled your ears, muting out all other sounds that were being made, the sounds of your scream that you only knew was happening by how sore it made your throat, the warm spray of droplets against your face and neck, the world ending sight of your brother crumbling to the ground, the gun falling from his limp hand and slid across the blood covered floor, spinning under the chair at Henry's foot.

But, the chaos didn't stop there.

As Mikey hit the floor, Ashe came to life, using the distraction of Mikey's decision, to pull the gun out of his back waistband, smoothly flipping off the safety with his thumb, cocked and pointed it at Luis. All of it was in slow-motion, ears still screaming, as another pop filled the room, this time taking out Luis. Henry's body tensed up against yours as he watched Luis instinctively pull the trigger of his own weapon, the bullet whizzing towards you both. Henry wrapped his arms completely around you and threw you both down onto the floor; caging you in with his heavy and bloody body, using himself as a human shield as more muffled shots rang out.

You felt Henry's body jerk once against yours and the hot breath of him groaning against your neck, then a searing pain in your thigh, before the room went quiet and dark.

You started to come back around to the sound of Henry yelling your name, above the ringing that was still filling your ears and mind. You shook your throbbing head, feeling him pat your cheeks, trying to get you to open your eyes and respond to him.

“Can you hear me?” Henry asked, blinking down at you.

You blinked back up at him, only catching every other word he said. “A little bit.” You wheezed back, your thigh felt like an overfilled, hot water bottle as it throbbed.

“Good.” He nodded, then looked down the length of your body, just then noticing the slow puddle of blood pooling around your leg and cursed. “You've been hit.” He huffed, wrestling with his body's want to panic, but kept calm.

Spotting the tattered remains of his shirt, that Emilio had cut off, Henry grabbed it. “This is going to hurt, but, I need to control the bleeding before you lose too much.” He explained, carefully bringing your leg up, then wrapping the strip of his shirt around your thigh, just above the bullet wound, and tied it off as tightly as he could without causing any more complications.

You winced and whined as he did, gripping his bicep and digging your nails into his skin. “What happened?” You asked, out of breath, you couldn't see most of the room, Henry's body blocking your view, mostly on purpose.

“It seems, we have a friend.” Henry replied looking over his shoulder to Ashe. “We're going to get out of here.” He told you, fussing over your wound as a thin and steady stream of blood continued to flow from it, tightening his shirt more.

“We can't leave without--” You paused, remembering. “Oh god, Henry!” You gasped, it all rushed back to you.

“I know.” He frowned at you, crushed.

“We have to take him with us.”

“We can't.” Henry whispered, licking his cracked lips. “It'll slow us down.” He told you as carefully as he could. “I'll get him back for you. When we get back to London, I promise you.” He said, helping you sit up.

“Henry--” You sobbed, throwing your arms around his neck and buried your face into his sweaty and sticky chest.

“I know, love. I am so so sorry.” He whimpered in your ear, cradling you in his arms as you sobbed.

“We need to go.” Ashe's rushed voice came from the door. “Now, before the alarms go off.” He said, looking back into the hall.

He felt for you, he really did, never expecting all of this to happen, but now that it had, the three of you needed to put as many kilometers and as much time between you and Bristol as you could, because Benji's men would be coming after you in no time.

“Come on.” Henry grunted, pulling himself up to his feet and taking you with him, wrapping your arm around his neck, to support you out of the room.

Your breath caught in your throat as Henry helped you stand up, seeing Mikey's body laying there in a large pool of blood, but also Luis, Emilio and Benji's bodies as well. In the chaos of Mikey taking his own life to save you and Henry, Ashe had sprung, pulling his weapon and dispatching them in the confusion. Luis and Emilio let off several rounds from their own guns, one of them nicking Henry in the side and another going through your thigh.

“Is he on our side?” You wheezed, as you and Henry followed him down the hall.

“Yeah.” Henry nodded, shifting you against his side as you started to slip. “He's a Alpha Marshal, from London.” He explained to your questioning brow lift

“How did you not know that?” You asked him, frowning, you figured since Henry was a High Marshal, he would know all of the other Marshals.

“He finished Marshal training four years before I went in, and was recruited straight out of it to go undercover and infiltrate Bristol and climb the ladder as far as he could. Seems he got as high as being Benji Hernandez's personal enforcer.” He explained, stopping as Ashe secured the hallway around the corner.

“Which is damn lucky for the two of you.” Ashe commented, coming back. “The way is clear, there's a back service lift that goes down to the garage. I have a car there we can use to get the fuck out of Bristol.”

“Let's go.” Henry nodded, antsy.

You looked back down the hall, to the still open door to the room that held all that carnage, and shuttered. Henry looked at you, feeling the shiver and frowned, reaching up to brush your hair out of your sweaty and bloody face. He couldn't understand the level of pain and anguish you must be in, after watching your brother commit suicide to save you. But, he knew that Mikey would want him to protect you and get you the hell out of there, with or without his body, and that's what Henry planned on doing.

“You can do this.” He whispered to you, blood crusted fingertips brushing your cheek. “He would want you too.” He added even softer.

“I know.” You gulped down tears, pressing your forehead to his shoulder. “Let's go, before I lose my nerve.” You said, looking away from the door.

Nodding his head, you and Henry supported each other down the hall to the lift, leaning against the wall as it went down to the dark underground garage. Finding Ashe's car, he unlocked it and helped you and Henry get inside, before rushing around to the driver's side, tearing out of the garage and onto the street.

“Here.” You sighed and removed your torn and filthy jacket, revealing Henry's shirt beneath it, and took it off, seeing Henry's shiver.

“Thanks.” Henry whimpered, carefully pulling the shirt on his sore and battered torso. “How are we getting out of here, Ashe?”

“There's a gate out of this Sector that most of Benji's top men use for dealing with business outside of Bristol. I know the guard that works it, he'll let us through and keep his mouth shut.” Ashe explained, keeping his eyes on the road. “From there, I'll drop you both off at the drop location I use for sending my information into London.”

“What Sector is that in?” Henry asked, checking your makeshift tourniquet.

“Three.” Ashe replied, slowing his car down as they approached the gate he spoke about. “Let me do the talking.” He said over his shoulder, rolling his window down as a stocky male with a semi-automatic weapon approached the driver's side.

“James, it's been awhile. How have you been?” He asked, staring through the open driver's window.

“Been all right.” Ashe replied casually, as if nothing was amiss, like the two bleeding people in his backseat. “I need to run an errand outside the city, if you don't mind opening the gate and letting me through.”

“Sure thing.” the guard replied, chipper and oblivious to you and Henry, unable to see through the black tinted windows.

Stepping away from Ashe's car, the guard moved into a small booth beside the gate, turning a key and held down a large red button. The large and scuffed up gate groaned to life, screeching and protesting as it slid out of the way, revealing barren land and an uneven road on the other side. Waving back as the guard waved Ashe through the gate, he drove through, letting out a relieved breath as the gate closed behind you, everything so far going smooth.

“It's a two and half hour drive to your drop off location.” Ashe said, breaking the silence.

“That's fine.” Henry replied. “It took us nearly a week to walk here.” He added with a huff, that felt like a year ago at this point.

“What about you?” You asked Ashe. “What will you do now? Will you not come into London with us?” You inquired, interested, since his life and the long years he spent undercover in Bristol was now blown apart because of you, Henry and Mikey.

“I'm not originally from London.” Ashe replied, stiffly. “I'm from Chester. My father was killed in an accident and my mother couldn't take care of me. So, she had a smuggler bring me to London where I have a wealthy aunt. She took me in, adopted me and raised me as her own son, enabling me to have a better life. With her connections, I was able to attend the Marshal Council Academy, graduated top of my class and was recruited directly out of training to go undercover and infiltrate Bristol and the Hernandez family. I've been there ever since, running and doing whatever job Benji and his family tell me too, while sending the information back to London and half of the money I make back to my mum in Chester.”

“I've wanted to return to Chester for a long time, I haven't seen my mother, in person, since I was eight. So, I plan to go back there, after I drop the two of you off.”

“Won't they go looking for you there?” You asked, concerned for him, you had dragged so many people into this mess.

“No, as far as they know, all my family is dead.” He answered, glancing at you in the rear-view mirror. “My backstory was I was orphaned as a baby and raised on the streets of London, where I got in with Runners and came to Bristol to be more big time. So, I don't know who my parents are, let alone, know if I have any other family or where.”

“And they believed that?”

“For more than a decade.” Ashe chuckled, smiling at you.

The rest of the drive was quiet, you and Henry huddled together in the backseat, Henry's heavy head resting on your shoulder. His eyes were closed, but he didn't find any sleep, still too worked up to find it with the state you both were in. You rested your cheek on the top of his head and closed your own eyes, your head still throbbed and your leg was on fire, but had stopped bleeding so much. Both of you were worn, spent and weak, desperately needing proper medical attention and rest after everything that had happened.

“Henry?” You whispered softly into his messy curls.

“Hm?” He hummed back.

“What are we going to say, when we get back to London?” You asked him, biting your lip.

Henry sighed, picking up his head as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pressed his lips to your temple. That had been brewing in his mind for the last hour, trying to figure out how to explain all your injuries and absence to everyone that asked. The only person that truly knew the nature of your and Henry's disappearance was Reyes, and he didn't know what Reyes would do when the pair of you showed back up in London in the sorry state you were in, and without Mikey.

“We'll cross that road, when we get there, love.” He finally replied, kissing your temple again.

You crossed that road an hour and a half later, when Ashe pulled up to a door that had been built into the wall of Sector Three. He helped you and Henry out of the car and approached the door with you, pointing out an intercom box beside the door.

“The code is 8391, it'll ring whoever is working the door today, they'll come down and ask for credentials, tell them you're a High Marshal and you'll get all the assistance you need.” He explained to you, heading back towards his car.

“Ashe!” Henry called after him, before he could get into the car and leave. “Thank you.” He said, when Ashe turned back.

“We're Marshals, we're trained to look out for each other.” Ashe replied, nodding his head to you both and got into his car.

Henry waited until Ashe's car disappeared from sight, before limping up to the door and pressed in the code Ashe had given you. A buzzer went off and five minutes later, the door opened, revealing a Beta Marshal, who frowned between you and Henry.

“High Marshal Henry Cavill.” Henry told him, as the Beta Marshal started to open his mouth. “We require aid and you need to get a call into Supreme Commander, Dylan Reyes.” He said, grabbing your hand and pushing through the door.

“Now, Beta Marshal, before we finish bleeding to death.” Henry hissed at him, annoyed and impatient.

“Of course, sir.” the Beta Marshal squeaked, saluting Henry and showing you both to his service car. “Supreme Commander Reyes, this is Beta Marshal Grant, down at the Security Door. I have a High Marshal here, wishing to speak with you.” the Beta Marshal explained, as his call to Dylan connected over the car's speakers.

“Who would that be, Grant?” Dylan's voice asked back.

“It's me, Dylan.” Henry huffed, slumping in the seat.

“Henry!” Reyes's voice snapped in surprise. “You're alive!”

“For the time being.” Henry sighed, rubbing at his face.

“Do you have the girl and her brother?” He asked, sounding desperate and frantic.

“I have her, but not her brother.” Henry explained, glancing at you. “It's a very long story. But, right now, we both need medical attention. She's been shot in the leg and bleeding heavily and I've spent the last thirteen hours being tortured.” He revealed to his boss.

“Grant, get them both to the Marshal Council Hospital right this second and make sure they don't spare any medical intervention and assistance. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Supreme Commander.” Grant replied, with a hard nod of his head as he started his car and directed it towards the Marshal Council Hospital, in Sector One.

“I'll be there promptly.” Reyes replied, clearly rushing out of his office for the parking garage.

So much of the tension went out of you and Henry, you were finally back in the protective and safe walls of London, no more worry about people trying to find and kill you, no more filthy and bare essential hotel rooms and days of endless walking. You were home and free, and with Henry. Now, you both just needed to get looked over and have your injuries treated, then you could go back to the comfort of your own flat.

You and Henry were rushed into the hospital, dozens of doctors and nurses swarming you both, poking this and pulling on that, asking a barrage of questions too fast for either of you to answer properly. The leg of your leggings was cut all the way to your hip as they removed Henry's ripped and blood soaked shirt to examine your gunshot wound. You screamed in pain as they pushed around it, and apologized profusely for it, and became more gentle about touching it.

“Good news is, it went through, relatively clean.” The doctor explained to you, standing beside your bed.

“The bad?” You whimpered, biting your lip as you tried preparing for it.

“The bullet nicked your great saphenous vein, it's the longest vein in the human body, running the entire length of the leg; which is what's causing a lot of your bleeding. ”

“Am..” You gulped down a hot lump of vomit trying to surge up your throat. “Am I going to lose my leg?” You asked, frightened beyond belief and wished Henry was in the same room as you, but they had separated the two of you after coming in with Beta Marshal Grant.

“No.” The doctor chuckled at you, shaking his head. “We have a procedure that will stop the bleeding and help the wound heal in no time. But, I must warn you, it is rather painful.”

“As long as I don't lose my leg, I don't care.” You told him.

You had already lost too much.

“Excellent, I'll have the nurse bring in the instruments and we'll get down to treating you.” He smiled at you, sweetly, trying to be supportive and calming. “Do you have any questions, before we get started?”

“Yes, how's Henry—the High Marshal.” You asked, correcting yourself.

“High Marshal Cavill has lost a good amount of blood.” He told you, his brow creasing with his concern. “We gave him a blood transfusion and an army load of fluids, while we treated his wounds. He has broken and cracked ribs and sternum, a broken nose, a severe concussion and very deep cuts on various parts of his body.” He explained to you, as gently as he could.

“But, he will make a full recovery. He's a tough young man, and has the best medical care London has.”

“Good.” You sigh, relieved.

The doctor smiled at you, gently resting his hand on your shoulder before leaving the room to prepare your treatment. A nurse came in a moment later, pushing a cloth covered cart, then put an IV port into your arm and hung up a bag of fluids, antibiotics and blood; since you had lost so much blood from your bullet wound. You hissed as she gingerly rotated your leg and slipped a triangular shaped pillow under your bent knee, an oval notch cut in the top of it for your knee to rest comfortable and securely, while they treated you.

She removed the cloth from the metal cart she brought in with her, and you saw what looked like a short caulking gun, a tube with a fat nozzle and two packaged patches. Picking up one of the patches, she ripped it open and dipped it in a small bowl of solution, the patch absorbed some of the liquid solution and became almost rubbery and gel-like. She moved around to your stabilized leg and gently pressed the ice cold patch to the bruised and puckered hole on the inside of your thigh, where the bullet exited, more than halfway up. You hissed as the cold gel patch touched the heated and angry skin of your thigh, whatever the solution she dipped it in stung and burned like liquid fire as it covered your wound, adhering to your skin with a firm hold.

“This will keep your wound protected, clean and sterile. It has antibodies that will recognize any infections or foreign matter and attack it, preventing your wound from going bad.” She explained to you, pressing her palm to it and held it there with firm pressure.

“And that?” You asked as she let go of the patch and picked up the caulking gun-like device and slotted the tub into it.

“This is Nanite Gel. It has antibodies in it, as well as stem cells and biological Nantes, that will start working to repair the severed muscle, skin, tendons, nerve endings and tissue inside your leg; closing the wound right up.” She replied. “The doctor will insert the nozzle into your wound and slowly draw it out, while filling it with the Gel. The patch also works as a barrier, since the projectile went through one side and out the other, preventing the Nanite Gel from squirting and leaking out.” She described to you.

“Fantastic.” You replied, with a nervous sarcasm.

You gulped with anticipation as the doctor came back in, with an additional nurse, and pulling on a pair of latex gloves. He smiled at you, took his position beside your leg, and took the injector from the first nurse. The second nurse grabbed your ankle and the top of your knee, pinning your leg down as the doctor lined up the tip of the nozzle with your uncovered and slightly bloody wound.

“Deep breath.” The doctor instructed you, taking a deep breath with you. “Ready?” He asked as the first nurse carefully dabbed at the blood with a wad of gauze at the end of a clamp, keeping your wound clean, so the doctor had an easy time guiding the nozzle in, which was easily bigger than your actual wound.

“More than I ever will be.” You replied, bracing yourself.

Nodding his head, the doctor pressed the nozzle to the opening of your wound and started to push it inside. You tensed and jerked, screaming again, but the second nurse had an iron grip on your leg, keeping it still as the doctor continued to push inside. You had strobing spots in your eyes and your jaw was so tight it felt like your teeth were going to shatter at any second. The doctor barked at the first nurse to give you twelve micrograms of Fentanyl for your pain, and she scurried out of your room and came running back a minute later with a IV syringe full of the opioid, pushing it directly into the tube of your IV. Within a couple of seconds, the painkiller washed over your whole body, like a hot comforter out of the dryer, and allowed you to relax, going slack on the bed.

“Good.” The doctor nodded, seeing and feeling you relax and finished pushing the nozzle the rest of the way in.

Shifting his hand, the doctor pressed down on the trigger of the injector and slowly drew it out again, filling the tunnel the bullet made with the blue-ish gel. You didn't feel the pain of it, but you felt the pressure in your leg. Your eyes were heavy, glazed over and half lidded, you felt absolutely nothing and you were so sluggish from the opioid that you couldn't even form words to think, it felt nice after all the trauma and hardship you had gone through in the last week.

So, you let it take you, pulling you under the crashing waves of exhaustion, pain and the high of the painkiller, your body going totally limp. It alarmed the doctor and nurses for a moment, fearing you had blacked out. But, once they checked you out and determined you had simply fallen asleep, they relaxed and finished tending to your wound, filling it with the gel, then covering it with another patch, like the other one, and lightly wrapped it with a bandage.

They left you to rest, closing the blinds over the window and turned down the lights, before softly closing the door behind them.

“How is she?” Henry asked Reyes as he came into Henry's room; he had heard your screams of pain from his room, across the hall.

“She's doing fine.” Reyes assured him, patting him on the shoulder. “They treated her gunshot wound with Nanite Gel, gave her some strong pain medication and she's asleep now.”

“Good.” Henry nodded, relieved, but still wanted to see you, to be by your side.

“So, what the hell happened?” Reyes asked, pulling up a chair next Henry's bedside.

Henry started to heave a sigh, but stopped, clutching his rib-cage with an arm as his ribs screamed. “I chased after her, like I said I would. It took me nearly three days to finally catch up to her. She's crafty, in a good way. She'd make a great Marshal.” He chuckled, carefully. “I was going to bring her straight back to London to testify. But, she was dead set on finding her brother, so I went with her, figuring I'd kill two birds with one stone.”

“Get her back to London to testify and have her brother prosecuted.” Reyes nodded, understanding.

“Well, when we got there, we had no clue on how to find him.” Henry continued on, staring out his room window. “I recalled that a Beta Marshal that had been banished to Bristol for dealings with Runners and Crime Bosses. Ramsey Kellan. We found him in Sector Fifteen and he gave us the information we needed.” He rubbed the side of his face, he really wished he could just take a nap, but continued to fill Reyes in.

“Somewhere along that time frame, we were outed as being in Bristol, and looking for her brother.”

“Over a decade as an undercover, and your first blown cover happens with the girl.” Reyes laughed, greatly amused.

“Yeah.” Henry frowned, not finding it funny, if his cover with you hadn't been blown, so much of this wouldn't have happened. “As I said, our cover got blown in a pub in Sector Three of Bristol. Benji Hernandez sent his best guy to track us down there. I was able to get us out of the pub and down an alleyway, where I boosted her over a wall, to keep her safe, and faced the guy. We fought, he tazed the fuck out of me, and the next thing I knew, I'm waking up in a bright room, cuffed hand and foot to a chair.”

“They tried beating and reasoning me into telling where she was, but I refused.”

“Where was she, when this was going on?”

“The hotel room we got before going to the pub.” Henry replied with a sigh.

“But, she was clearly found.” Reyes pointed out. “How?”

“I told her I would return in an hour. When I hadn't returned by morning, she got worried and decided to try and find me. Which ended up with Benji's men, who had been keeping an eye out for her, capturing her and bringing her in.”

“And the brother?” Reyes pushed, leaning forward, his elbows pressed to his thighs.

“They saw each other as she was being thrown in a van to be taken to Benji. His handler, Knox Monroe, had found out that they were siblings and outed him, and he ended up in the room with us.” Henry replied, gingerly shifting to find a more comfortable position.

“So, where is Keagan?”

“Dead.” Henry replied, bluntly. “Benji gave her a gun and forced her to decide which one of us would die first.”

“She killed her own brother?” Reyes asked, stunned and gobsmacked.

“No.” Henry shook his head, the image still burned in his mind. “She couldn't do it. She wouldn't choose either of us, she almost turned it on herself. Before, Michail managed to take the gun from her.” He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to push the image out his mind, the sound of your screams as you were forced to watch.

“He took his own life, so she didn't have to choose.”

“And Hernandez allowed the pair of you to leave afterwards?”

“No, I'm sure he would have forced either her or I to kill the other, then kill the last one himself.” Henry answered, opening his eyes again.

“Then, how did the two of you make it out?” Reyes asked, tilting his head at Henry.

Henry looked at Reyes. “Do you know Alpha Marshal Ashe James?” He asked, his eyes scrutinizing his boss.

“I do.” Reyes nodded back, his brows drawing together. “My predecessor, Eric Banner, told me, when I took over his position, when he retired, that he had a man on the inside of Bristol and to expect his reports regularly.”

“He was the one that saved our asses.” Henry explained with a sigh. “He was the one that stunned me in the alleyway. When Mikey killed himself, Ashe took the opportunity to pull his weapon and dispatched Benji and his men.”

Reyes blinked at Henry. “Are you telling me that Hernandez is dead?”

“I am. Unless, there's some way Nanite Gel can repair a hole in the brain.” He replied, with slight sarcasm. “Which I know there's not. So, he's now out of the way.”

“This is great.” Reyes grinned at Henry. “That'll be a massive blow to the Hernandez family, their operations and Bristol. Especially, when she's healthy enough to testify against Twist and his trafficking business.”

“It will be.” Henry agreed, but the only thing he was concerned with was the two of you getting well again. “I'm guessing, they'll be postponing the trial for a few weeks.”

“I still have to call the Cleric and Royal Councils and report everything that's gone down. But, I'm sure they'll delay the trial, for at least, a month.”

“Good, I want to take care of her first.” Henry added, nodding and relieved.

Reyes frowned at Henry and leaned back in his chair. “What is it between the two of you?” He asked, he had the suspicious feeling in his gut about the two of you for a while, but had only just had the time and place to ask.

Henry's cheeks warmed slightly and glanced away from Reyes, making his boss laugh out loud, seeing it in Henry's body language.

“You're in love with her.” He blurted out, tickled at the notion. “The great Upper, Henry Cavill, is in love with a Slummer, that's meant to be his Servant and Slave.”

“She's not my Slave! And, don't fucking call her a Slummer, either.” Henry roared, huffing angrily through his nose, like a bull about to charge. “I never registered her, and I never will register her, either.”

“Oh, I know you never registered her for an Ownership Bracelet, Henry.” Dylan continued to chuckle at his friend. “I checked and I got a copy of the paperwork you both filled out for her Life Pin.”

“And, you didn't say anything?” Henry asked, surprised.

“Not my business what you do with your private life, Hank.” He replied with a sigh, and crossed his arms over his chest.

“But, you pressed me into buying her.” He hissed back, eyes wide.

“I did.” Reyes nodded, pressing his lips together. “We needed the paperwork, a trail to link Twist to trafficking, and to Benji. What you did, or didn't, do with her outside of that, was purely on you, and her.” He confessed, running a hand through his short black hair.

“I was also hoping you'd find a lover or mate.” He added, clearing his throat.

“You were what?” Henry barked, taken aback.

“I should let you rest.” Dylan sighed, getting up, then carefully rested his hand on Henry's shoulder. “It's good to have you back, and alive. You did good, taking care of her and everything else. Take all the time you need to recover, the Council will be here, when you're ready to get back into it.”

“Thanks, Dylan.” Henry replied, giving him a respectful nod of his head, still brewing on what he said.

“Do you want me to call your family?” Reyes asked as he stopped at Henry's door.

“No, I'll call them, when I'm ready.” He shook his head, feeling that new wave of stress hit him. “Last time you called them about me being in the hospital, I almost died, and ended up needing a kidney replacement.”

“Fair enough.” Reyes laughed, and saw himself out.

A day later, Henry slowly limped into your hospital room, across the hall from his, and found you sitting up in bed, eyes glued to the tv and eating a jell-o cup. Your eyes shot over to Henry as he came in, setting your cup down and turned off the tv, relieved to finally see him. The two of you had only been given random updates on each other through your shared nurse, who also, gratefully, passed messages between you as well.

“Henry, should you be out of bed?” You asked as he stopped at your bedside.

“Well, I wasn't the one shot in the leg.” He chuckled and grinned at you, before leaning in to kiss you. “I just had to see you for myself.” He confessed, brushing the back of his fingers against your cheek.

“How are you feeling?”

You took a deep breath, tilting your head into his hand. “Like I got shot in the leg.” You chuckled back at him.

“Other than that, Nugget.” He laughed, shaking his head at you.

“I feel fine. Sore, but fine.” You assured him with a nod. “How about you, Puppy?” You asked, looking him over in his hospital gown, a warm and playful smile spreading across your lips.

“Same. Sore and ready to go home.” He smiled back, his stomach full of butterflies.

“I'm ready to go home too.” You concurred with him, sighing at the thought.

The butterflies in Henry's stomach wilted and died, a nauseous, heart-shaped lump forming in his tight throat, hearing you wanted to go home. His shoulders dropped, trying to get a hold on his heartbreak, before you saw it and had your mood ruined.

“You know what I've missed about it?” You asked, looking up at him, just as he managed to hide his disappointment.

“What?” He replied, pained.

“Kal.” You chuckled at him, oblivious, until you saw his shocked face. “What? You think I would miss you, when we've been together practically the whole time?” You laughed, shaking your head at him.

“No.” Henry squeaked, confused and relieved at the same time. “I just thought..” He paused, looking away from you.

“You just what, Hen?” You frowned at him, seeing his face and became worried. “Henry, sit down.” You ordered him, becoming concerned for him as you put down the arm rail, so he could sit on the edge of the bed with you.

“Tell me.” You whispered, gingerly wrapping an arm around his waist.

“I thought you were talking about going back to your family's home.” He whispered, faintly. “When you said you were ready to go back home, and that you missed them.”

“Well, I do miss them, Henry.” You told him, pressing your cheek to his bruised and nicked shoulder. “I would love to see them again. But, I wanna stay with you.” You whispered, looking up at him.

“Unless, you don't want me too?”

“I do want you too.” He replied, quickly. “I love you and I want to be with you. I want you to come home and stay with me.” He confessed to you, nosing the hair at the top of your head. “And, Kal.” He added, softly.

“Your place has become more of a home to me, than my parents' place has ever been.” You told him, honestly.

You had grown a lot in the time you shared with Henry, and a lot had also changed you. You didn't get kidnapped in your own city, imprisoned in a pitch black and freezing cold cell, either not fed or fed food crawling with unmentionables, cut off from most contact with people, other than the traffickers that had put you there, when they dragged you out for another line up for another snobbish, stuck up and entitled Upper, or to beat you into submission, without something changing you.

You still had nightmares about being in that cell.

You also changed from all the things Henry exposed you too. New foods, tv shows and the luxury of being in the upper Sectors of London, like taking you to that Royal Dinner party with his family. Henry had taken the mostly naive and sheltered Slummer and opened the world up to you. You would always appreciate and love him for that, and for taking care of you and protecting you through the long months after saving you from Twist.

Henry and Kal had become your new home, and the three of you had made a new family.

“I love you, Henry Cavill, and nothing will ever stop or prevent that.” You told him, kissing his cheek tenderly.

“So, you'll come back home with me?” He asked, looking down at you, hopeful.

“I don't want to be anywhere else.” You replied, smiling back at him.

Henry's face broke out into a smile and cupped your face in his hands. “Neither do I.” He whispered, pressing his forehead to yours and kissed you.

“Henry!” A frantic voice came from across the hall.

“Mum!” Henry called back, breaking away from you. “Mum, over here.” He yelled out, limping to your room door as his mother rushed out of his empty room.

“Oh, thank god, Henry!” She cried, rushing him and throwing her arms around him.

“Easy, Mum.” He winced, but hugged her back. “How did you know I was here?” He asked, he hadn't gotten around to calling her and his family yet.

“A report came across my desk about you being injured in the line of duty with a Slummer, and that you were still recuperating here in the hospital. I was afraid it was serious, when you hadn't called me to tell me you were all right.” Marianne explained, shaking her head at her son. “What were you doing with some Slummer that caused you to get so hurt?” She demanded, upset.

“I hope they get the punishment they deserve for getting you into such danger.”

“Mum.” Henry snapped eyes wide and looked back at you.

Marianne blinked and looked into your room, seeing your sheepish and hurt expression, then looked up at Henry. “She's a Slummer?” She asked him, surprised, as she recognized you.

Henry took a deep breath, biting his lip. “We need to talk.” He said, stepping aside, so Marianne could enter your room and followed her, closing the door behind him.

“What's going on?” She asked, taking a seat as Henry sat back down on the edge of your bed, taking your hand in his.

“Several months ago, I was undercover in Sector Thirty-One. I was tasked with infiltrating a trafficking warehouse run by one of Benji Hernandez's men. I did so, with my usual skill and process, but after finally getting an appointment with the guy and seeing the people that had been imprisoned there, Dylan told me I had to—make a purchase—to nail the traffickers and for them to get properly arrested and prosecuted by the Councils.” He explained to her.

“One of the people they had kidnapped and had for sale, was her.” He said and looked at you, giving you a soft and loving smile. “So, I purchased her, and was meant to take care of her, until the trial happened and she testified.”

“So, you bought a Slum-”

“Don't call her that.” Henry hissed, angrily, but recalled himself. “Don't call her that.” He repeated, calmer.

Marianne took a deep breath, glaring at her son. “So, you bought her, in a sting operation, took her home and acted like none of this happened, taking her to events and other functions.” She summed up, studying the two of you. “When she is, technically, your Slave.”

“Yes. But, I don't and didn't want her as a Slave. That's why I never registered her for a Bracelet.” Henry replied, licking his lips.

“So, how did the two of you end up in Bristol, of all places?” She asked, looking between you.

“I ran away, to find my brother, who got himself into a situation, as a Runner, in Bristol.” You answered, before Henry could. “I wanted to go there to try and convince him to come back home. I didn't expect Henry to come after me, when he found out where I went.”

“But,” Henry sighed and bit his lip. “I did. I was worried about her safety, and Dylan asked me, unofficially, to bring her and her brother back here. So, she could testify at the trial and her brother could face justice for his hand in the whole thing.”

Marianne looked at you, her expression stern. “And where is your criminal brother?” She asked, stiffly.

You gulped and licked your lips, staring at your covered legs and picked at the fuzz on your blanket. “He's dead.” You whispered, choking up and tears filling your eyes. “He gave his life, so Henry and I could live and get away from Benji and his men.” You blubbered, crushed.

“Sshh.” Henry hushed you, wrapping his arms around you and hugging you against him.

Marianne blinked between the two of you, taken aback.

“They tried torturing her location out of me, that's why I'm so injured. They wanted to kill her to stop the trial against Twist and their operations. I refused, for obvious reasons. She tried to save me, but got caught. When they realized her twin brother was her sibling, they brought him in as well. He died for us, and she got shot in the leg during the escape. Another undercover Marshal helped us get away and back here, to London.” Henry finished explaining to his mother.

“That's what happened.” He sighed, his eyes still on you.

“You're in love.” Marianne blurted out, seeing it as plain as day now.

“Yes.” Henry nodded, looking up at her. “I don't care that she was born in the lower Sectors, mum. I love her, with my heart and soul, and she loves me.”

“I do.” You replied, gulping down your tears and clinging onto him.

Marianne sighed and pressed her lips together, she had waited, a long time, for Henry to finally find someone to fall in love with and share his life. He was the last of the five Cavill boys to find love, settle down and start a family. If she was honest, she didn't care about what social standing the girl he fell in love with was, as long as he was happy, and by the looks of it, you and Henry were more than happy and in love with each other.

“All right.” She whispered softly, nodding her head. “I approve.”

Henry lifted his head and blinked at his mother. “Really?” He asked, shocked to hear it. “You don't care that she's from the lower Sectors?”

“Honestly, Henry? No.” She replied, sighing and shaking her head. “Love is love, and nothing is stronger than true love, not even differing social status.” She told him, honestly. “But, you both know that if, and when, people find out about it, there will be issues. They'll gossip and make comments, some might even turn away from you, shunning you for being with a Sl—someone of a lower standing.” She said, looking between the two of you with an authority of a Royal.

“Do you think you both, and your love, can survive that?”

You and Henry looked at each other, a silent conversation happening between you, before Henry looked back to his mother. “Yes.” He answered, firmly.

The two of you had gone through a lot worse than people talking behind your backs and shunning you.

“All right then.” Marianne replied, standing up. “Then, you have my, and no doubt the rest of the family's, approval, respect and support in the choice of your relationship.” She approached the bed, hugging Henry and kissing his cheek, then turned towards you.

You gulped at her, like a mouse getting stared down by a hungry cat, before she leaned in and hugged you as well; you were surprised by her move, but gave her a hug back. Breaking the hug, Marianne left the room, leaving you alone with Henry again.

“That went incredibly better than I thought it would.” Henry commented, finally breaking the silence in the room.

“You can say that again.” You agreed with him, staring at the open door of your room. “What do we do now, Henry?” You asked, looking up at him.

“Now, Nugget.” He smiled, kissing your forehead. “We get you well enough to go home.” He said, squeezing you against him.

Four days later, with the help of some crutches, you left the hospital with Henry, going back to his flat in Sector Two. Kal was over the moon to see you guys again, Charlie having dropped him off at the flat that morning. Henry had body block the Akita to keep him from knocking you over and harming you, until you were able to sit down on the couch and he was allowed to greet you; pressing himself against you and licking at your face.

“Yes, yes!” You laughed, hugging his thick neck, trying to calm him down. “We missed you too, Bear. We missed you just as much.” You told him, kissing his face back and giving him scratches.

After getting settled back in, Henry carefully picked you up, making you laugh as he did.

“Where are we going, Henry?” You asked, wrapping your arms around his neck as he carried you through the flat.

“We are both absolutely filthy and need a proper shower.” He told you, going into the bathroom and setting you down on the sink counter. “Lucy!” He called out, looking up.

“Yes, Mr. Cavill?” His flat's AI replied.

“Start the shower on preset two, please.” He said, pulling off the clothing his mother had brought him, before you both left the hospital.

“Right away, sir.” Lucy replied, and the shower came to life.

“Here, let me help.” He said, grabbing the hem of your shirt and pulling it over your head.

“Thanks.” You smiled, then eased off the counter, balancing on your good leg and grasping Henry's forearm.

Marianne had even been kind enough to bring you clothes as well. So, Henry's hands dropped to the ties of your loose sweatpants and untied the knot, pushing them down your hips to pool around your bare feet. You half limped and half hopped under the spray of the hot shower head, making you moan and groan as it cascaded over your battered and sore body. Henry chuckled and stepped in behind you, wrapping his arms around you and kissing the top of your wet hair.

“I love you, so very much.” He whispered to you. “I'm glad you came back with me.” He added, even softer.

You turned in his arms, wrapping yours around his hips. “I love you too, Henry, and I don't want to be anywhere that you're not.”

“Neither do I.” He replied, kissing you gently on the lips.

Dried blood, dirt and grim swirled around the shower drain as you and Henry helped clean each other off. You scrubbed his skin with an exfoliating sponge, careful of his cuts and stitches, as he washed your hair, then switched, Henry washing you as you washed his hair.

“There's almost no better feeling than that shower clean feel.” You said, limping into Henry's bedroom and snagged one of his shirts out of his closet, slipping it over your head. “It's such a euphoric feeling.”

“What feels better than that?” Henry asked, coming in after you and pulling on a loose pair of pajama bottoms.

You smirked up at Henry, impishly. “I think you know.” You chuckled at him.

Henry laughed, cupping your face in his hands and kissing you, tenderly, but passionately on the lips. “I agree with that.” He said against your lips. “But, you know what else feels euphoric?” He asked, lifting a brow at you.

“Tell me?” You giggled at him.

“A nap in that bed.” He said, pointing to his bed.

“Oh yes.” You agreed, biting your lip and staring at it. “The clean and divine smelling sheets, the warm and cloud-like mattress and pillows.”

“It's an orgasm in itself.” Henry cooed, staring at his bed with a wanting lust.

“I vote we sleep in it for the next year.” You said, looking up at him.

“I vote, the next decade.” He added, looking down at you.

“Deal.”

Henry scoped you up, carrying you to bed, and laid down with you. Cocooned under the soft and clean sheets, both of you moaned, as you melted into the mattress, like warm butter. You snuggled together, wrapped in each other's arms, and almost sound asleep the moment everything settled in around you. 

“Lucy, go to night mode.” Henry mumbled, his body feeling like a ton of rocks, he was so tired.

“Yes, sir.” Lucy whispered back.

Everything went dark, heavy drapes closed over the windows, the lights went out, the doors locked and the air purifier went on, with the soothing sound of ocean waves filling the bedroom, and you and Henry were out cold within minutes.

You slept the rest of the day and well into the next, only getting up because your stomachs were growling for food and your bladders were screaming for release, then you both crawled back into bed and slept even longer. Henry was the first one to officially wake up from your long and deserved hibernation, he laid in bed with you, stroking your hair and the nap of your neck. He traced your face, placing delicate kisses to your eyes, between your brows, the tip of your nose, both cheeks and finally, softly, to your lips.

“Henry.” You whispered, a smile tugging on your lips, before your eyes fluttered open and met his sparkling blues.

“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” He asked, the tip of his finger ghosting over the shell of your ear.

“Warm, content and happy.” You answered, snuggling in closer to him and pressing a kiss to the side of his neck. “You?”

“The same.” Henry replied, nuzzling your hair. “We should go see your parents.” He said suddenly, biting the inside corner of his lip. “They deserve to know.”

You squeezed your eyes shut and pressed your forehead to his chest. You had been trying to avoid this, avoiding telling your parents that you had been kidnapped and sold by traffickers, to the man you were now madly in love with, and that their son was dead, having killed himself in the pursuit of saving you and Henry from the same outcome.

How do you tell them that? You asked yourself.

“I don't know how.” You mewled, squeezing his thick bicep, like it was a lifeline.

Henry frowned into your hair, stroking the small of your back. “With honesty.” He whispered back, his heart hurting for you.

You stood in front of the door to your family's flat and it felt alien, you didn't feel the familiar nostalgia of coming home, of seeing your family after a grueling and mindless fifteen hour shift at the supermarket. It felt like you were there for the very first time, as if you had never been there before and didn't belong. You could hear the noise inside the flat, your brother running around the place, playing with his toys.

Henry rested his hand on the small of your back and gave you an encouraging smile. Biting your lip, you mustered the courage to knock on the door, it didn't feel right to enter the pin and walk in. You fidgeted as you waited for the door to be open, absentmindedly rubbing your thigh as it throbbed with even the slightest bit of your weight on it.

Finally the door ripped open and Christophe looked at Henry first, his eyes growing with shock, then looked to you, where his face lit up with surprise.

“Issy!” He shouted, and launched at you.

“Fuck.” You snapped, catching him in your arms as Henry caught you in his, keeping you both from tumbling to the floor. “Easy, Christophe. I don't need any more injuries.” You tried to scold him, but only ended up laughing at him as he hung from his arms around your neck, feet dangling.

“Where have you been, Issy!” He demanded, letting go of you and looking between you and Henry. “Who's this?”

“Is mum and dad home, Chris?” You asked, smiling down at him, nervously ruffling his hair.

“Yeah!” Christophe nodded and rushed back into the flat. “Mummy! Dad! Issy's back!” He screamed running around the house.

You looked to Henry and took a deep breath, shoulders rising, rolled your eyes, and stepped into the flat. Henry followed behind you, as your parents rushed into the living room, hot on each other's heels.

“Oh my god!” Your mother gasped and scrambled to you.

“Easy.” You warned her, unable to take a second person jumping you, and motioned to your leg as she lifted a brow at you.

“What's happened to you?” Your father asked, blinking at your wrapped thigh.

“I was shot.” You sighed, figuring it was best to be open and honest, and not sugar coat too many things.

“What?” They both roared, horrified.

“You might want to sit down.” You said, motioning towards the sofas.

Looking at each other, your parents shooed Christophe back to his room and sat down on one couch while you and Henry sat on the love-seat, across from them. There was a long, and awkward, silence, before any of your spoke.

“I'm sorry, I've been gone for so long.” You started, squeezing Henry's hand for support and comfort. “There's been a lot going on, and I didn't, we didn't want to risk your, or Christophe's, safety.” You tried to explain the best you could.

“What are you talking about?” Your father frowned, shaking his head at you and Henry.

Taking a deep breath and letting it out, you came out with it. “After I went looking for Mikey, that day, I was tricked and taken by a group of Traffickers in Sector Thirty-One. I spent several months in their warehouse, I don't want to go into details, I think that's best.”

“Of course.” Your mother nodded, clutching your father's hand.

“Henry here, is a High Marshal with the Marshal Council.” You introduced him. “He was undercover, trying to get information on the people running the trafficking warehouse, when he—uh—“ You gulped hard.

“He purchased me from them.”

“You what?” Your father hissed at Henry.

“It was part of his job, papa.” You cut him off, before his temper flared too much. “He had to do it for paperwork and other Council stuff. After he did that, he took me back to his place in Sector Two.”

“Is that where you've been this whole time?” Your father asked, his eyes narrowed angrily at Henry.

“It is.”

“And you couldn't contact us?” Your mother asked, upset. “Sent us something to tell us you were alive and all right?”

“She wanted too, many times.” Henry finally spoke up. “But, her life was in serious danger, and if she contacted anyone close to her, like yourselves, you would have been in grave danger as well. So, we didn't contact you for that reason.” He explained to them, hoping to ease that conflict.

“And how did you get shot?” Your father asked, still angry.

“I found out where Mikey was going.” You answered, quietly. “He was heading to Bristol, to advance his training as a Runner.” You gulped and looked up at Henry. “I ran away from Henry, and went to Bristol, trying to find him. I knew he was going to be in a load of trouble and I wanted to try and prevent that; to make him come home.” You explained to them, starting to shake.

Henry wrapped an arm around you and hugged you against him. “You can do this.” He whispered into your ear, gently.

Nodding and clearing your throat, you continued. “Henry came after me, trying to get me to return to London with him.”

“But, she wouldn't come back without Mikey.” He added, nodding his head at you, his eyes only on you. “I was meant to bring her back, so she could testify against her captors. But, I was also meant to bring Michail in, for his part in the Running business.”

“When we got to Bristol and started looking for him, people were looking for me, and they found us.” You picked up the narrative. “They took Henry after he made sure I was out of the way and safe. They hurt him.” You said, looking at his still bruised and cut up face. “I tried to go after him, but they got me as well.”

“While all that was going on, they somehow found out that Mikey and I were related and brought him in as well, locking us all in the same room.”

You stopped talking, trying to keep yourself from getting overwhelmed and turning into a sobbing mess. Your parents sat there for a long time, watching you try to control yourself and got the feeling something very bad had happened, worse than everything you were telling them.

“Where is Michail?” Your mother asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“He's-” You licked your lips and shook your head, unable to get it out of your mouth.

“I am sorry to inform you both.” Henry replied for you. “But, Michail didn't make it.” He said gently, using his High Marshal voice, the only way he knew how to say it to your grieving parents.

“They were forcing me to decide which of the three of us would go first.” You sobbed, shaking. “Mikey made the choice to take his own life, so we could live.”

Your mother wailed and threw herself on your father, howling and sobbing, screaming at the top of her lungs about the loss of her beautiful and precious boy. You sat there with Henry, clinging onto him and wincing at each terrible and heartbreaking cry your mother made into your father's neck. Your father sat there, stoically, but silently crying as he held her and rocked back and forth.

“I'm sorry.” You whined at them, drained. “I tried. I tried so hard to bring him back.” You mewled at them, crushed.

Your father's eyes were on Henry as they both comforted the women they loved. “And you, what do you get in all this?” He asked, suspicious. “You bought my daughter, are you going to keep her from her family, still?”

“No, sir.” Henry replied, frowning back at him. “I love your daughter. I have treated her as my equal from the moment I saw her, and she will always be my equal. I don't want her as a Slave or a Servant.” He looked at you and wiped your tears away.

“I just want her.” He whispered, smiling gently at you. “Forever and always.”

#Henry Cavill #HenryCavill #The Immortal Sky *Fic* #The Immortal Sky #Henry Cavill/You #Henry Cavill x You #Henry Cavill x Reader #Henry Cavill/Reader #Language #Angst #Dystopian #Dystopian!AU #futuristic #Futuristic!AU #Henry Cavill AU #Fluff #Hurt/Comfort #Final Chapter #viking-raider fics #Trauma

[keanureevesisbae]

The alluring charm of Henry Cavill - Chapter 9

Summary: Adelaide is back home again, preparing herself for her newest movie with David Castañeda.

Henry Cavill x Adelaide Park (ofc)

Wordcount: 1.9k

Warnings: None

A/N: I wanted to add this to yesterday’s part, but I decided to give it a part of its own, since in my head, the chapter would be too choppy. After this only three more chapters 😭😭

Masterlist // Previous chapter // Next chapter

◎ ◎ ◎

When I earned my first million dollars, I bought a mansion for my parents, with elevators so my mom could be mobile and be everywhere in the house whenever she wanted.

The cab stops at the tiny roundabout I had built in front of the mansion and the driver helps me with my suitcases. ‘Thank you,’ I say with a quick smile, giving him a fifty dollar tip.

‘Are you sure, miss?’ he asks me.

‘Absolutely,’ I tell him. ‘Have a nice day.’

The front door opens and while the cab drives off, my dad rushes towards me. I’m nailed to the gravel, but tears still escape my eyes and roll over my cheeks.

I missed him so much.

‘Come here,’ he says, as he pulls me in his arms, engulfing me in one of the safest hugs in the world. No matter what happened, a hug from my dad always helps. When I scraped my knee when I was younger, when I didn’t get a part I really wanted and now.

A hug from my appa is sometimes the only thing that makes me feel a little bit better under shitty circumstances like this.

‘Appa, I’m so sorry,’ I whisper against his shoulder.

‘Don’t,’ he tells me. ‘You are here. I am here. Eomma and I love you very much, no matter what.’

He can’t be this sweet, not after what happened. ‘I screwed up.’

‘You did not.’ My dad holds my upper arms and forces me to look at him. He actually seems a bit pissed when he says: ‘He screwed up, not you. Never.’

I wipe my tears away, but the tap is open now, so they are replaced by others in a split second. He holds my hand tightly in his and pulls me inside, as we both carry a suitcase.

‘I’m happy you’re home,’ he tells me. ‘I missed you.’

‘I missed you too.’ And that isn’t a lie. I missed him dearly and holding his hand, brings me back tons of years ago, when I would hold his hand as he was wandering around the house, trying to ease his mind and not let his worries get to him. I barely took walks with him, so pacing around our tiny house, was the only time I could pretend we were like every other father-daughter pair: he would hold my hand as he guided me through life, my obstacles how significant or insignificant they seemed.

When I walk inside, I see my mom already waiting for me. I run towards her and hug her tightly. She presses a kiss on my cheek and says: ‘Where is this Henry? I have to see him, so I can run him over with wheelchair.’

I can’t stop my chuckle, but that chuckle turns into a soft cry. ‘I’m sorry,’ I whisper. ‘I let you two down.’

‘You didn’t let us down,’ she says. ‘Henry Cavill did. I thought he was nice. Good for you. He is an idiot.’

‘Don’t,’ I start, but when I see the death glare my mom sends me, I quickly shut up. Besides, who do I think I am? Sticking up for Henry when a) he can’t even hear me and b) he hurt me badly and lied to me?

What on earth possesses me?

The entire flight I thought about it. About Henry and me. I can’t believe I was this blind, I totally fell for it and just believed him. This is obviously partially my fault of course. Hadn’t I done this, hadn’t I been this blind, I would’ve just become friends with him and then my heart wouldn’t have been severely broken like it is now.

My parents and I go to the kitchen and we prepare some tea. I talk to them about the show and how they enjoyed most parts of it. ‘It was good to see you like that,’ my father says. ‘You don’t have to be so private and serious all the time.’

I simply nod, not knowing exactly how to respond to it.

‘We love you,’ mom says, ‘and we always will, dasom.’

‘I love you too.’ My phone starts to vibrate on the counter and I look at the screen.

David?

‘I have to take this,’ I say and while I walk out of the kitchen, I pick up the phone. ‘Hi.’

David Castañeda sounds cheerful when he asks: ‘Hi, Adelaide, how are you?’

‘You honestly have to ask that?’ I mumble, before I go to the conservatory and plop on a couch. I look over at the backyard, where the sprinklers are on.

‘Stupid question,’ he says. ‘I’m terribly sorry. Thought Henry Cavill was a real nice dude, but this was pretty shitty. You want to be distracted? I have pretty exciting news.’

‘Please, tell me something fun. I could really need it..’

‘I got the part.’

It takes me a few seconds before I understand it. ‘You got it?’ I ask, a smile creeping up on my face. A new project means distraction and distraction means not thinking about Henry. ‘Oh my, are you serious? This is amazing.’

‘I know right, so just when I cut my hair short again, they told me to start growing it out,’ he chuckles.

I start to laugh, as I envision him as I close my eyes. ‘I can’t wait to see you again,’ I say in all honesty, because it’s true. I can’t wait to see him again. I know David and I know what an honest and lovely guy he is. I could open up to Henry, but he didn’t deserve it. David does deserve my honesty and I know the he will never betray me like that.

‘I can’t wait to see you,’ he tells me. ‘Production starts in two months, but I sure hope you and I can meet up before that? I mean, if that’s okay with you?’

‘That’s more than okay, David. I really want to catch up. I don’t have much to do, so I can  meet up and start binging season two of the Umbrella Academy.’

‘You still haven’t done that?’ He scoffs. ‘Deeply insulted, Adelaide Park.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I say, ‘but I have been pretty occupied these weeks.’

David sighs deeply, knowing instantly what I’m referring to. ‘I’m so sorry that this happened during a live stream. Are you okay, though?’

‘I’m fine,’ I lie, but I’m not even convinced by that myself, so I quickly add: ‘Well, I’m not, but I don’t want to talk about it.’

‘Understandably so,’ he tells me. ‘I do have to go now, but I just had to tell you this. We’ll catch up soon, Adelaide.’

◎ ◎ ◎

Angela Bassett: Darling, I’m so sorry this happened to you. I spoke to Henry and while I understand you don’t want to talk to him, he really wants you to know he’s sorry.

Adelaide: You’ve been talking to him?

Angela Bassett: I have, yes.

Adelaide: Could you maybe tell him something from me?

Angela Bassett: Absolutely

Adelaide: That I don’t want to see him ever again, nor talk to him.

◎ ◎ ◎

◎ ◎ ◎

It has been two weeks since the terrible livestream. However, I do realize how insanely lucky I am with my fans. The once prior and after the Celebrity Project. I read so many comments about how I didn’t deserve this and that I’m better off without him anyways.

I just had my first event after The Celebrity Project and the responses to it were so overwhelmingly positive, my heart simply swelled when I was reading them. Sure, people were tagging Henry in it and that made me pretty furious, but I feel like I can actually overcome this.

I walk through the park, staring at my phone screen. David and I are supposed to meet up and he shared his location with me, however I can’t seem to find him. According to the app, he should be on my right, but I don’t see him when I look up. When I stare back at the phone, the bubble indicating where he is has moved and is now somewhere else. I growl out of frustration.

Does it really have to be this difficult?

‘There she is,’ I hear a voice saying me behind me and when I turn around, I see it’s David. A smile breaks out on my face and I run towards him. When I wrap my arms around his shoulders, he pulls me close to his body. ‘I missed you, Adelaide.’

‘I missed you too,’ I smile and I let him go to take him in. ‘Oh my, look at you. Are you excessively working out again?’

‘Diego Hargreeves is supposed to have a very low body fat percentage,’ he tells me with a cocked eyebrow. ‘But, I have been doing absolutely nothing these past few weeks, as preparation for our movie.’ He holds out a cardboard holder with two paper cups in them. ‘I brought you an iced cappuccino with vanilla syrup, just the way you like it.’

He remembered… ‘You are amazing, David, thank you.’ We take a seat on a park bench and I look to the side. ‘What?’ I ask him, when he looks at me.

‘You look good.’

‘Don’t even start,’ I say, before taking a sip.

He must sense I don’t want to talk about the whole Henry thing. ‘Tell me something else then: are you excited for the movie?’

‘Of course,’ I say with a smile. ‘And they are going to bleach my hair soon.’

‘Ah really? I love this color.’

‘I do too, but the director has a very specific type of journalist in mind for this movie. Besides, I think a refreshing blonde is a nice contrast when it comes to your brooding character.’

‘Brooding is what I do best.’ David takes a sip of his drink and closes his eyes, as he soaks up the sun. ‘Is there anything you want to do in Switzerland?’

‘I heard there was a special class to learn to do the waltz. Maybe you and I can do that.’

‘Dancing with the Adelaide Park? Sign me the fuck up.’

I nudge him in the side. ‘You’re an idiot.’ Before he can be even slightly offended, even if it were fake, I smile. ‘Joking.’

He smiles. ‘I know you don’t want to talk about the Celebrity Project, but I do have to say something.’

‘Better make it quick then and I have to warn you: I don’t want to hear his name.’

He nods. ‘I just wanted to say that it was good seeing you like this. I have always wondered what you were like. I mean, I knew you were nice, but you were so serious from time to time, so private, even after filming for so long and doing interviews together. I get that it can be hard to open up, but knowing these things about you now, after watching the show, made me realize you have been putting on a brave face for way too long.’

I take another sip. ‘Well, I’ll try and do better.’

‘Don’t try and do better,’ he says. ‘Try and be yourself, because being yourself is better.’

‘Oh, how wise,’ I chuckle, rolling my eyes.

‘Should I write this down and post this with an inspirational picture on Instagram?’

‘To delete it twenty minutes afterwards?’ I slap his arm. ‘Hopeless, David, very hopeless.’

He smiles. ‘Just pinky promise me you can try to be honest with me. Practice being open and yourself around me, okay? I won’t judge.’ He holds out his pinky and I chuckle, when I hook my pinky through his and say: ‘Pinky promise.’

◎ ◎ ◎

#henry cavill #henry cavill x ofc #henry cavill x oc #henry cavill x adelaide park #henry cavill x asian ofc #asian ofc #adelaide park #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fandom #the alluring charm of henry cavill

[slashingdisneypasta]

Horror / Six: The Musical AU (X Reader) || Headcanons

Explanation: So all the songs are being sun by different readers with different Henry’s (The Horror Villains of course) instead of one Henry. I think its pretty straight forward apart from that! I hope to make a second part to this where the readers actually meet up and complain about their times with their respective horror villains. This is fun XD Had the idea a couple months back and I posted it and one blog commented saying Six is their favourite musical, so this is basically for me and them haha XD 

Character Included: Michael Myers, Chucky / Charles Lee Ray (And Tiffany Valentine), Bubba Sawyer, Norman Bates, Mayor Buckman (And Harper Alexandre) and Jason Voorhees. 

Warnings: Murder of the readers (By respective Horror Villains and a non-explicit difficult birth in Bubba’s), birth / pregnancy, toxic / abusive relationships, sexual harrassment / maybe rape (All You Wanna Do- Buckmans), language, suggested mother / son grossness (Norman and Norma of course). 

I laugh in the face of those who would subdue my mad ideas. 

‘No Way’ (Reader as Catherine of Aragon): Michael Myers as Henry

My name's Catherine of Aragon Was married 24 years I'm a paragon of royalty, my loyalty is to the Vatican So if you try to dump me You won't try that again 

You were in a, of course, very unequal relationship with the shape of Haddonfield. He saw you one day, was completely taken by you, and decided to let you live. He would come by and use you however he liked, kill the people you loved when they got your attention over him, etc. Like any other Michael Myers x Reader.

And, years and years later (Because it’s not like Michael finds someone every day that he gives even a bit of a shit about like he does - did, - you) he comes upon a new person. Someone he, like he was you, is drawn to.

And he tries to drop you like a hot potato.

And this infuriates you. You are not about to let go! He has ruined your life! You have no friends, no family, no life, because of him! All you have, is (regrettably) him and you are going to be his for the rest of your life. That’s what he wanted, that’s what the bastard’s going to get.

(Many, many years with him has caused your courage against him to grow spectacularly. You can say nearly anything to him)

|- ‘You must agree that, baby, in all the time I been by your side

I've never lost control’

‘I've put up with your sh- like every single day’ -|

You give him one more chance- if he can tell you one thing that you have done to him to legitimately hurt him… then you’ll leave willingly.

…

But he has nothing. And he doesn’t care.

|- ‘You got me down on my knees

Please tell me what you think I've done wrong

Been humble, been loyal, I've tried to swallow my pride all along

If you can just explain a single thing

I've done to cause you pain, I'll go

No?’ -|

//

|- ‘You wanna replace me? Baby, there's

N-n-n-n-n-n-no way

You made me a wife, so I'll be queen 'til the end of my life’ -|

He ends up strangling you to death when you won’t shut up.

‘Don’t Lose Your Head’ (Reader as Anne Boleyn): Chucky / Charles Lee Ray as Henry (And Tiffany as Catherine of Aragon)

I'm that Boleyn girl and I'm up next See I broke England from the church Yeah, I'm that sexy Why did I lose my head? Well, my sleeves may be green but my lipstick's red 

Chucky and his filthy ass catches sight of you. Young, French and vivacious and he’s got heart eyes on the spot. He wants you, but he also doesn’t really want to lose Tiffany.

So... yeah, you end up living with them both for a while and its very awkward and a very hostile situation.

|- ‘Here we go

(You sent him kisses)

I didn't know I would move in with his misses

(What?)

Get a life

(You're living with his wife?)

Like, what was I meant to do?’ -|

You don’t like it. No one likes this. Chucky! Make up your mind!

|- ‘Three in the bed and the little one said

If you wanna be wed, make up your mind

Her or me, chum

Don't wanna be some

Girl in a threesome

Are you blind?’ -|

Tiffany is of course Catherine, and the fandom (The people of Britain for the sake of this AU) loves her (As we all know), so when you come along and insult her because Chucky is now your man (Supposedly.) and of course you two aren’t getting along with each other in the first place because of him … you get a bad name.

|- ‘Ooh, why hasn't it hit her?

He doesn't want to bang you

Somebody hang you

(Wow Anne, way to make the country hate you)

Mate, what was I meant to do?’ -|

When eventually Chucky is able to grow the balls to boot Tiffany out (My heart hurts writing this, trust me), he pulls a ‘Once a cheater, always a cheater’ kind of shit and has no loyalty to you or respect for the sanctity of your relationship, and starts having one night stands here, there and everywhere. He tries vaguely to tell you you’re being silly and that’s not true- but he has lipstick on his shirt collars and perfume smell all over him.

Its not a nice living condition.

So you, still very much being the vivacious bitch that he ‘fell in love with’, go and flirt with some other guys. Just to make him a teensy bit jealous! I mean, its not like he’ll really care, right? You just wanna spark the fire again!

|- ‘Henry's out every night on the town

Just sleeping around, like what the hell?

If that's how it's gonna be

Maybe I'll flirt with a guy or three

Just to make him jell’ -|

But he finds out as planned… and is p i s s e d. He threatens that if you do that again, he’ll fucking kill you.

You, not going to let him talk to you like that, flirt with one more man. Just to be disobedient. 

|- ‘Henry finds out and he goes mental

He screams and shouts

Like so judgemental

You damn that witch

Mate, just shut up

I wouldn't be such a b-

If you could get it up’ -|

And you find out that he very much meant it when he said he would kill you.

|- ‘And now he's going 'round like off with her head (No)

(No)

Yeah, I'm pretty sure he means it’ -|

‘Heart of Stone’ (Reader as Jane Seymour): Bubba Sawyer as Henry

Jane Seymour the only one he truly loved (Rude) When my son was newly born, I died But I'm not what I seem or am I? Stick around and you'll suddenly see more 

You were an intended victim of the Sawyers, but like with Stretch, Bubba crushes on you instead. The difference here, is that you see the gentleness to him compared to his brothers, and how scared he is when one of them yells at him, and all the other little signs that he’s not as vicious or evil as his first impressions might convey. You have a big, brave heart, and you realise right there that its death and cannibalisation or understanding and caring for this man and you choose to love.

|- ‘You came my way, and I knew a storm could come too.’-|

//

|- ‘You've got a good heart

But I know it changes

A restless tide, untameable’ -|

So you take his hands in yours, all shaky and meaty as they are, and promise him that you will never leave him. You’ll protect him. You’ll take any mess he and his family can throw at you- you’ll always be with him. Your promise.

|- ‘But I took your hand, promised I'd withstand

Any blaze you blew my way

'Cause something inside, it solidified

And I knew I'd always stay’ -|

And he believes you, of course. Its so nice to be looked at so softly, especially by someone as pretty as you.

I- ‘You can build me up, you can tear me down

You can try but I'm unbreakable

You can do your best, but I'll stand the test

You'll find that I'm unshakeable

When the fire's burnt

When the wind has blown

When the water's dried, you'll still find stone

My heart of stone’ -|

And you prove yourself. You prove over and over again that no matter what he, or the twins, or Drayton, or even Grandpa throws at you- you’ll survive and you’ll stay, and you’ll never stop looking at him in that lovely soft way.

|- ‘You say we're perfect

A perfect family’ -|

You get pregnant of course because everyone in the Sawyers / Hewitts family has a breeding kink and you can’t tell me otherwise, and the birth is of course very difficult because Drayton isn’t about to pay for hospital bills. So you’re in their home, in all the mess and the dirt and with no sort of aesthetic, and…

|- ‘Soon I'll have to go

I'll never see him grow’  -|

You don’t make it. Your babies born fine and healthy, and you bring another strong Sawyer boy to the family, but you’re gone.

‘Get Down’ (Reader as Anne of Cleves): Norman Bates as Henry

Ich bin Anne of Cleves Ja! When he saw my portrait, he was like Ja! But I didn't look as good as good as I did in my pic Funny how we all discuss that but never Henry's little- 

So, one day, Norman decides its time to properly settle down (Long after his mother… ah… ‘dies’) and get a partner, and because there isn’t really anyone around where he lives to date or, even, who wouldn’t get creeped out by him and his taxidermy, he turns to online dating.

He meets you there. You own and run your own hotel in the next state over, you don’t mind his taxidermy at all, and your profile picture looks… hauntingly familiar (If you look nothing like Vera Farmiga go by the original movie- she was but a skeleton there so she really could be anyone).

|- ‘Sittin' here all alone

On a throne

In a palace that I happen to own

I'm not fake 'cause I've got acres and acres

Paid for with my own riches’ -|

And you two get along great over messages! You online date for a good year before Norman proposes you elope and come to live with him! You think you’ve known him long enough, and you trust him!

So you fly right over, and he meets you at the airport, and…

He’s disappointed.

Like, ‘sorry, nah, you don’t look enough like mama so this isn’t gonna work’. In a more fidgety, quiet, subdued kind of way though. He’s so awkward with communication that he even suggests that you doctored your profile picture.

I- ‘You, you said that I tricked ya

'Cause I, I didn't look like my profile picture’ -|

And, understandably, you’re p i s s e d, and disgusted! But ya’ll already got married over the internet, so theirs no stopping that! This is your husband. You realise you’ve made a huge mistake and go right back to your home and your hotel to get divorce papers drawn up.  

You’re the queen of your own fucking castle, who needs him?

|- ‘I'm the queen of the castle

Get down, you dirty rascal

'Cause I'm the queen of the castle’ -|

You are understandably, very very mad. And you say some things to Norman about he and his mother, that… may be true… but that he certainly doesn’t appreciate.

When you finally get the papers, and you’ve been separated long enough for it to be legal, you go back to the Bates Motel to get Norman to sign them and stay over a night. You’ve calmed down enough that you’re able to have a pleasant conversation with him, and you decide that you’re too tired to take the plane back home right away so you take up Normans offer to stay in one of vacant rooms (*Cough* So you basically have the run of the place. Or they do. *Cough).

Norman is also pretty calm about the whole thing as well, like you! But… Norma, is still seething.

You don’t wake up the next morning.  

‘All You Wanna Do’ (Reader as Kathrine Howard): Mayor Buckman as Henry (And Harper as Thomas)

Prick up your ears, I'm the Catherine who lost her head (Beheaded) For my promiscuity outside of wed Lock up your husbands Lock up your sons K. Howard is here and the fun's begun 

Right, so, you haven’t had good luck in love throughout your life, so you decide to give up on boys entirely. 

|- ‘So I decided to have a break from boys

And you'll never guess who I met’ -|

… And meet a man, not much later. A man in power; A mayor. A man who’s been married before and has a beard (So you know; He’s a man. XD No little boy.). This is of course Buckman. He calls you love, and you get a job in Pleasant Valley that keeps you comfortably busy. You feel like, finally, you’re where you belong. You feel fulfilled- no committed relationships are necessary.

|- ‘Globally revered

Although you wouldn't know it from the look of that beard

Made me a lady in waiting

Hurled me and my family up in the world

Gave me duties in court and he swears it's true

That without me, he doesn't know what he'd do

He cares so much, he calls me love’ -|

But then Buckman tells you that he cares about you. You have a connection. He doesn’t feel just ‘friendly’ feelings towards you- he wants more. And, though you are a little disappointed that your solitude didn’t last, you decide that he’s decent enough (’He is rather kind to me, and he does makes me smile a fair bit’, you try to reason with yourself that this is a good idea) and so you start to go out. Its not long before you’re married.

|- ‘So we got married Woo…’

Woo…’ -|

But being married to him isn’t easy. Not at all. You’re not use to politics; There are so many rules now, and he’s always too busy to help. And the rest for Pleasant Valley are a bit… odd. And you just don’t fit in. And this is wear Harper (Thomas) comes in.

|- ‘With Henry, it isn't easy

His temper's short, and his mates are sleazy

Except for this one courtier

He's a really nice guy, just so sincere

The royal life isn't what I planned

But Thomas is there to lend a helping hand

So sweet, makes sure that I'm okay

And we hang out loads when the King's away’ -|

And he’s so lovely and caring towards you (Never more then when Buckman leaves for business in other towns), helping you through the transition from your old life to this one. He’s a good friend, to you. And that is most definitely all he is, on your side of it. A friend. You don’t feel attractions towards him at all apart from that, and he doesn’t try to make any moves. Its wonderful!

|- ‘This guy, finally

Is what I want, the friend I need

Just mates, no chemistry

I get him and he gets me’ -|

… Until one day when Buckman has been away for a month, he tells you he cares about you. You have a connection. He doesn’t feel just ‘friendly’ feelings towards you- he wants more.

|- ‘He says we have a connection

I thought this time was different

Why did I think he'd be different?

But it's never, ever different’ -|

Lets just say one things leads to another, despite you at first turning him away and saying no. He’s so insistent, and a little scary, and you’re lonely because your husbands’ has been away so long, and… something happens that you regret and feel gross about.

|- ‘Squeeze me, don't care if you don't please me

Bite my lip and pull my hair

As you tell me, I'm the fairest of the fair

Playtime's over.’ -|

You tell Buckman when he gets home, and you watch as every bit of warmth and love in his eye disappears, just like that.

Its not long after that that his jealousy and betrayed rage takes over… and… you die with a rope around your neck and your feet swaying above the ground.

|- ‘Playtime’s over’ -|

(Alternatively, Sheriff Hoyt as Henry and Thomas as Thomas)

‘I Don’t Need Your Love’ (Reader as Catherine Parr): Jason Voorhees as Henry (Your last love was Jason when he was alive)

Five down, I'm the final wife I saw him to the end of his life I'm the survivor Catherine Parr I bet you wanna know how I got this far I said I bet you wanna know how we got this far Do you wanna know how we got this far then? 

So, you’re like the leader of the ‘Slashers Ex Squad’ because you, unlike the others, survived your time with Jason. This is because Jason did, truly, love you (To an extent- not enough to let you go and live your life without him or be free). None of the others really did. Not like he did.

|- ‘Became the one who survived’ -|

Your story:

You and Jason had an adorable little 11-year-old puppy love relationship when he was alive. You were his only friend, and he had it bad for you because of it. Pamela loved you, too.

When he died you were of course devastated, and years later when you were 30 (Making him also thirty- not that you know that. You still think he’s dead at this point) you’re taken by the need to go back to Camp Crystal Lake and pay your respects to your childhood love / friend. Its just one of those nostalgic days.

When you go, and you set flowers down by the lake, Jason catches sight of you. He thinks about killing you… but then your features start to make sense to him. He recognises you, and for the first time since his mother was killed, he feels his heartbeat speed up and swell with hope.

Jason of course kidnaps you then, and keeps you hostage for himself. He missed you. He doesn’t want to survive anymore time without you. You’re all he has left!

… After you realise that this is Jason Voorhees, you quickly learn that this Jason is, of course, not the boy that you cared, and care, so deeply about. He’s done horrible things, and he is never going to stop; And frankly, deep inside… he scares you.

But its not like you can leave him! He would never let you, he’s made that clear. You are all he has, and now, he is all that you have.

|- ‘I don't have a choice

If Henry says "it's you", then it's you

No matter how I feel

It's what I have to do’ -|

So you write a letter to the old Jason (And your old life), saying goodbye, in admittance to the fact that you’ll never be able to get away from this new Jason. This is you letting go of your freedom and any preconceptions that anything will every be the same- with Jason, or otherwise.

|- ‘It's true I'll never be over you 'Cause I have built a future in my mind with you And now the hope is gone There's nothing left for me to do’

'Cause I have built a future in my mind with you

And now the hope is gone

There's nothing left for me to do’ -|

You never stop hating him for how he’s changed (How he’s taken your Jason away, and wont even attempt to go back) and how he’s stolen away your freedom.

|- ‘I'd say "Henry, yeah it's true

I'll never belong to you

'Cause I am not your toy, to enjoy till there's something new

As if I'm gonna give up my boy, my work, my dreams

To care for you"

"Ha, darling, get a clue”

But I can't say that

Not to the king’ -|

You eventually die of natural causes at, like, 60.

#Horror Villains x Reader #Horror / Six: The Musical AU #Horror #Horror Villains #Six: The Musical #Jason Voorhees x Reader #Jason Voorhees #Mayor Buckman x Reader #Mayor Buckman #Norman Bates x Reader #Norman Bates #Bubba Sawyer x Reader #Bubba Sawyer #Chucky #Chucky x Reader #Charles Lee Ray x Reader #Charles lee Ray #Tiffany Valentine #Harper Alexandre #Michael Myers #Michael Myers x Reader #Headcanons

[sillyrabbit81]

Her Heavy Cross

Summary: Three years after tragedy hits, Lana she decides to start dating again. She meets Will through a dating app and they begin an online romance. After months of constant requests, Lana relents and agrees to meet and go on an irl date with Will. But is Will who he says he is? Lana is quickly pulled into an intense relationship forcing her to confront her tragic past. Will Lana face it or will she close her heart forever?

Pairing: OMC x OFC

Word Count: approx 4k

Warnings: mention of sexual assault, swearing, smoking, implied smut

Authors Note: The story started as a Henry Cavill fanfiction but I changed it to be an original character, but shades of Henry are still there. Hope you enjoy the story and thanks for reading.

Part 18 Part 20

Part 19

It took over two hours to get ready. I don't know how celebrities did this all the time. I enjoy dressing up, but not when I know the pictures will be circulated widely, and every time someone types into google "Liam Cross's girlfriend", images of tonight will come up. It freaked me out.

I trusted Liam when he said the dress was right, and I trusted Jen. She had only just started dating Riza when Andy and I got married, so although she hadn't done my hair and makeup, I had seen her work and the brides always looked good. So when I asked her to do my makeup for the premiere, I didn't think twice. I regretted that when Jen took the pins out of my hair.

"Jen, I look like Orphan Annie," I complained.

She just laughed and said, "trust me." She started to work a brush through my hair while humming Tomorrow. I groaned.

But as she worked the brush, the curls started to join together, and beautiful waves appeared in my hair.

"You're a genius," I said to Jen when I finally worked out what she was doing.

Jen blushed and just kept brushing. "I have always wanted to do this to your hair. You have such a timeless facial structure. I knew it would be perfect for you and for tonight."

She did my makeup in a beautiful smokey eye and deep red lipstick. It was not too dissimilar to what I would do for myself, but she added fake lashes, brushed and plucked my eye-brows and did some light contouring. She even checked my legs and arms for marks and bruises, covering any she could find.

Jen helped me dress and double-checked everything, including any visible panty line. I couldn't see how it would be possible to have a panty line since I had gotten the smallest underwear I could find, which was a string attached to a triangle of lace.

When I was ready, I looked in the dressing room's full-length mirror. I almost cried in relief. I felt like I would fit in and not look like I had a face like a dropped pie. Jen had done a fantastic job with my hair, and I looked like a cross between Rita Hayworth and Jessica Rabbit. I adored the old Hollywood style. I thanked her a million times, and she went downstairs to get Liam and Riza.

I paced the bedroom waiting for them to come back. Being alone in the room had allowed my anxieties to creep back in. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, in through my nose and out through my mouth. The dress was tight, and I couldn't quite breathe deeply enough. But I was not going to ruin this night with my anxiety. I was not. My guts didn't care what my brain was telling itself. They churned and flipped in my belly until I thought I was going to be sick.

"Lana," Liam said from the doorway. He was alone. Riza and Jen must have waited downstairs. I gasped as I took him in. The was wearing a black woollen three-piece suit with a black tie and crisp white cotton shirt with onyx cuff links. He had was clean-shaven and had his hair combed down in little waves. He looked like he had stepped off the movie screen. He looked so perfect.

"You look incredible," I tell him.

He laughed, "No, Sweetheart. Not next to you, I don't." He crossed the space between us and took my hands, spreading them wide to get a good look. "You are a vision."

I blushed and said, "I feel sick."

Liam shook his head, "you're going to do great." Liam lead me to the dressing room and stood behind me in front of the mirror. "Sweetheart, look at yourself. Look at your hair," he touched it cautiously, just above my ear, as if scared his feather-light touch would ruin it.

"Do you know how much money some women would pay to have hair as spectacular as yours? And your body, the way it curves and moves with such grace. Your skin is so delicate and as smooth as silk." Liam ran his finger down my neck until I shivered and smiled. "And that smile, my Sweetheart, You don't know what lengths I will go to for that smile. It would make Helen of Troy hang her head in despair."

"Thank you," I said. "I needed that."

"It's true." Liam kissed my forehead tenderly, his lips just barely brushing my skin. "I want to kiss you. But I'm under very strict instructions from Jen not to. But be prepared for an attack after the red carpet." He kissed my neck with as much care as before and sighed. Then he seemed to shake himself off and asked, "are you ready to go?"

I nodded. "As ready as I'll ever be."

"Ok, let's go downstairs. Apparently, we have some pictures to take."

The drive to the cinema was short, but the limousines' line was long. I barely remember anything until our car was the next in line. Liam had been going through a last-minute rundown of what should happen.

"Remember, I will get out first and wave a bit.  Just wait until I turn around, and I will help you out of the car." I nod, and he continues. "Then we will both stand in front of the car. I might wave again, but you don't have to. Just smile. Once we get past the initial photographers, there will be fans, and then there may be some interviews. Do you remember what will happen there?"

"You will sign some autographs and take some pictures. I'm to follow you. You're going to hold my hand the whole time through that part, right?" I asked.

Liam took my hand and lifted it to his lips, pressing a kiss into my palm. "Nothing could make me let it go." He said sincerely. "If there are interviews, they are usually very short, only a few questions. They may ask you who you are, and I'll introduce you, and you smile and say hi. I doubt they will ask you anything other than how you're enjoying the night, but if they do, I'll handle it."

"Ok," I murmured. "I wish I had a ciggie."

Liam smiled, "If you still want one when we're done, I'll find you one. The last part is where the main paparazzi photos will be taken. They will want photos of both of us, but they will also want ones of just me. Usually, they will call out something like "fashion", and that means you can walk to the cinema and some publicists or assistants will take you into the foyer, and you can wait for me there. Ok?"

I nodded and felt bile rise in my throat. I swallowed hard, but it wouldn't go away. My mouth filled with saliva, and I kept trying to swallow it.

"Lana?"

"Air." I gasped. "I need air,"

I put down my window just as Liam shouted, "no, Lana! Don't!"

The roar I heard was like being at a footie Grand Final. I was confronted with hundreds of screaming faces lining the road opposite the cinema. Their eyes were wild. Their bodies bounced and writhed in joy and excitement. They lifted posters and toys, screaming for Liam Cross.

Liam leaned over me and, waving at the crowd, quickly pressed the button to put the window up.

"What the fuck was that?" I yelled.

"Fans."

"You didn't tell me they would be on both sides!"

"I didn't think you would put your window down."

"Your life..." I started.

"Isn't normal." We both finished.

Liam laughed, "on the plus side Lana, you have your colour back. Do you still feel sick?"

I shook my head.  "No. Now I'm just terrified." The limo started moving.

I gripped Liam's hand as if we were nearing the top of a roller coaster. He ran his thumb over my knuckles and said, "We can still go home if you want." He cupped my cheek and looked at me. The car stopped.

I shook my head. "Just don't leave me."

He smiled and kissed my neck. His skin felt different, having shaved, but his kiss was still the same. "Never." He whispered.

The door was opened, and Liam got out.

I breathed deeply, trying to calm. The dress was bloody tight. Then Liam's hand was there, and I took it.

His eyes found mine, and I fell into them. He smiled his most beautiful smile, the one where his cheeks and eyes crinkled and his teeth flashed. I found myself unable to stop my smile. How could I not smile when he looked so happy.

As I stood up, his hand came around my waist, and he pulled me tight. He leaned into my ear and said loud enough to be heard over the roar of the crowd and the shouts from the photographers, "Thank-you for doing this, Lana." He kissed my ear so swiftly I thought I had imagined it.

The procession down the red carpet went as he said it would. The fans were electric and not as frightening as I thought they would be. Some even tried to talk to me, which was awkward because I had no idea what to say. I just tried to be polite and smiled.

Liam was amazing. He never let go of my hand. One-handed, he signed autographs, shook hands, gave hugs and took selfies. He was so charming, looked the fans in the eye, seemed genuinely happy and interested to hear what they had to say. He even blushed when some of the fans oohed after he had run his fingers through his hair. Just watching how much he seemed to love this part of his job made me forget a lot of my own anxieties.

Liam was a bit different with the interviewers, more alert and guarded. But his charm and wit were still there. A few interviewers, mostly the more gossipy outlets, asked about me. The film focussed ones largely ignored me. I hoped I gave coherent responses, and Liam was as good as his word and stepped in when he needed to and took control of the interviews. I couldn't believe how many times he had to answer the same questions, and he answered each with as much enthusiasm as he had the first time he was asked.

Quicker than I thought, we stopped for the last row of photographers. They shouted for Liam's attention and were almost as loud as the fans. When the time came for Liam to do photos on his own, he brushed his lips against my neck and said in my ear, "Lana, you were perfect. Go on. I'll be with you in a minute."

I went to the end and was greeted by the publicists who ushered me into the crowded cinema foyer. I found a quiet corner and waited for about five minutes before I saw Liam practically barge his way through the crowd, his eyes searching until he saw me.

He grabbed my hips and kissed my mouth so hard I thought they would bruise.

"Lana, that was perfect. Thank you for doing that with me."

I smiled a genuine, relaxed smile for the first time in hours and asked, "so it's over?"

"It's over," Liam confirmed.

I exhaled with relief and said, "you'd have to be the only person in the world I would ever go through that for."

Liam kissed me again, softer this time, lips playing against mine, "you don't know how much that means to me." He hugged me tightly before staring at me and smiling at his goofy grin. Then he said, "come on, Sweetheart. I have a few people I'd like to introduce you to. If you are up for it, that is. Do you need more time?" I shook my head, and he led me into the crowd.

Liam grabbed my hand and moved fast through the crowd, briefly saying hi to some people on the way.

I saw Myra come in from the red carpet, and I pointed her out to Liam. Liam waved her over, and she waved back then held her hand up in a 'give me a second' gesture. She went to the corner I had been hiding in and kissed a man I assumed was her boyfriend and brought him over.

I liked her instantly. She was bubbly and happy. It was like she was famous enough to be bored by the goings-on around her, but still new enough that she hadn't developed the jaded 'here we go again' attitude that you would expect.

"Phew! That was crazy tonight. I'd say that's your fault, Liam. No one else here is big enough to pull a crowd that big." She leaned over and kissed his cheeks in the European style. "Thanks for doing it, mate. I mean, it'll be good for Stones but still, it'll help with this movie too."

Liam smiled, "Don't mention it." Liam pulled me closer and introduced me.

Myra smiled widely and pulled me into a hug. She was a few years younger than me, and she was beautiful. She had gorgeous thick dark hair, cheekbones to die for under radiant umber skin, which appeared to be without a blemish and striking sea-green eyes. She was very tall, almost as tall as Liam, but very thin. She felt so delicate when I hugged her back, but it was evident from her speech and body language; she wasn't a shrinking violet.

"Hey babes, so good to meet you. I've heard so much. You look so good. That's from Maticevski, right? Great choice. I love him." I usually cringe when I hear the word 'babes'. I think of Married at First Sight for some reason. However, coming from Myra, it just sounded sweet.

"Thanks. Liam has spoken about you too."

"Yeah, Pop has been good to me," Myra said, throwing a look at Liam that made his eyes roll.

"It's twelve years, Myra, hardly Grandfather territory."

"It's not your age. It's your attitude." She said in a snarky but playful way. "Anyway, this is my Damo. Well, Damien, but nobody calls him that." Damo smiled awkwardly and shook our hands.

Myra wrapped her arms around his waist and said teasingly, "Aww, he's shy." From the look Damo gave Myra, I'd say smitten was a better way to describe him. He's tall like Liam, and though muscular, you could tell it came from physical labour, not a gym. He had a surfie look about him with his sun-bleached shoulder long hair and tanned skin.

"I'm going for a smoke before the movie starts," Damo said to Myra.

"Can Lana have one?" Liam asks. "She has quit, but she said she would like one." I looked at Liam with gratitude, and Damo and I went behind the theatre where a smoking area was set up.

We could still hear a lot of activity going on out the front, but it appeared most of the excitement was over. Damo lit our cigarettes, and I leaned against the wall, relishing the nicotine flowing through me.

Damo laughed, "you look how I feel. Over it."

"Yeah, it's full-on, isn't it?"

"Yeah, it's bullshit crazy."

"So, where do you live? How did you meet Myra and get wrapped up in this bullshit?" I asked with genuine interest. He seemed even more out of place here than I did.

Damo told me he was from the Northern Beaches and was in the year above Myra at school. He had asked her to his Year 12 formal, and she accepted, but she had cancelled to go to Melbourne for her first major acting role. "So, I don't hear from her for years, but she finds me on Instagram through old mates from school, and she tells me that I owe her a date."

"That's kinda cute."

"Yeah, surprised the fuck out of me, though. Like, why'd ya wanna go out with a sparky from the Northern Beaches."

I smiled at him, knowing the feeling. "Maybe all this bullshit gets to them, and they want someone real? Someone who doesn't want anything from them except their time and affection."

Damo smiles and nods his head. "I reckon you're onto something. So what's your story?"

I don't tell him all the details but that we met online and I didn't know who he was until I met him. "It was a complete shock when I found out who I'd been talking to."

"Fair dinkum? You met him three weeks ago?" I nodded, "It took Myra five months to convince me to go to one of these things."

I laughed, "Yeah, well, I just thought better get it over with. The sooner people can get over that Liam has a new girlfriend, the quicker I can get back to normal and not worry about it."

Damo nodded and said, "yeah, I hope so too. Myra's life can get pretty crazy."

We finished our cigarettes and went back inside. We had hardly gotten through the door when we were whisked away by our partners because the movie was about to start.

After the movie, there was a small after-party for industry people only. The people who had won tickets or were friends of friends weren't invited. Liam, of course, was invited and had planned not to go. Myra pleaded with him to stay, so when he looked at me asking the silent question, I nodded, already getting the feeling not many people could say no to Myra. Myra bounced around and hugged us both.

Liam introduced me to a few other people, including Boyd, who turned out to be an outrageous flirt and a shit-stirrer. He seemed harmless and just enjoyed taking the piss out of people. He also told me something interesting about Liam that I planned to bring up with him later.

Liam also introduced me to the showrunner Arianna, who was essentially his boss. Finally, I was introduced to Naomi, who was to play Boyd's love interest, and she was also in the movie we had just watched. The Australian film industry is pretty small.

Naomi was the opposite of Myra, friendly on the outside but was one of those people who always seemed to be looking around when you talked to them to see if there was someone more interesting or more advantageous she should be speaking to. She had icy blue eyes, bombshell blonde hair, amazing breasts and a nose that was so perfect it had to have been a nose job.

She flirted hard with Liam, touching his arm, letting it linger that little bit too long. She ignored me mostly, except when she threw me some side-eye. Liam seemed to take it in his stride, polite but not friendly, until she 'accidentally' brushed her breasts against his arm.

Liam seemed to have enough, and his eyes went dark. He put his hand to my back and practically pushed me out, saying we were leaving. His tone didn't leave much room for argument, but I wanted to know why he left so suddenly when things had been going well, and I actually enjoyed the party. I was also feeling bad that I didn't say goodbye to Myra and the others.

Liam's limo was waiting outside, and he ushered me in quickly. Liam texted Myra to say goodbye and to let the others we left. "Myra won't mind. She knows how I feel about Naomi."

I said hi to our driver before turning to Liam. "Is there a history there?" I ask. My voice was small.

Liam scoffed, "she wishes." He sighed and stretched his neck. He took his jacket off, opened his vest and loosed his tie. I looked at him expectantly. He taps the driver on the shoulder and apologises, but he's going to put the screen up.

When the screen was in place, Liam started to roll his sleeves up. It seemed like he was stalling. Eventually, he said, "I suppose I had better tell you. Naomi was cast a couple of weeks ago. The original actress playing her part fell pregnant and didn't want to commit to a series. She comes in for a table read, and I felt bad for her coming in late because the rest of the main cast had a couple of months together already. Myra knew her and said to avoid her, but I thought, well, I have to work with her should get to know her. We had a chat after the read, then she follows me back to my dressing room and long story short, she takes her shirt off and grabs my cock."

"What did you do?" My green-headed monster was in full battle mode. He better have a good and believable answer.

"I threw her out ." He shrugged. "Shit like that happens all the time. What she doesn't know is that word gets around, and soon she will be seen as toxic and won't get hired. Although I think she aims to bag a guy with money and never work again."

I believed him. I was going to have to get this jealousy thing under control. It was new to me. I don't think I had ever been jealous before, even with Andy. I looked out of the window, letting the night beauty of Sydney calm me down.

Liam put his arm around me and rested his chin on my shoulder. "So was it so terrible?" Liam asked dramatically. "The premiere, I mean."

I looked at him, his blue eyes bright again. "Not all of it," I smiled at him.

"What were the good parts?"

I ran my finger across his jaw, his skin was so smooth. I missed the three-day-growth, but he looked just as amazing without it. "I liked meeting Myra."

He smiled, "I knew you'd like her."

"And the movie was good."

"Anything else?" Liam ran a finger across my collarbone

"The free popcorn and drinks."

Liam chuckled, and his finger ran up my neck. "Anything else?"

"They have great chairs in the theatre," he was turning me on. I heard it in my voice. My heart started to beat louder.

"Is that all?" He asked with his rough, horny voice. He lifted my chin.

"The bathrooms were good too."

He traced my lips with his finger. "Is that all that was good about tonight?"

"Tonight's not over. Ask me again in the morning." He slipped his finger into my mouth, and my body was on fire. Even after all I had been through, the stress and panic, my body still responded to his touch. I sucked his finger gently, and his eyes widened.

"You're very naughty, Lana." He said as he withdrew his finger and shuffled in his seat.

"I'm not bad. I'm just drawn that way," I said in my best Jessica Rabbit imitation.

Liam's eyes widened then narrowed. "What did Boyd tell you?"

"Tell me? Nothing?" I tried to look innocent, but I'm not an actress.

"Never mind." Liam blushed.

"Hang on, who is your favourite Disney Princess?"

"I'm not a child, Lana." He looked a little uncomfortable.

I pouted. "Come on. Everyone has one."

"Who is yours?"

"Moana, although I don't know if she counts as a Princess cause she's a chief's daughter. My second is Belle. Tell me yours."

"Ariel." Liam looked out the window.

"Favourite spice girl?"

"I don't like pop music. " I raised my eyebrow at Liam. He paused a long time before answering. "Geri."

"Which one of John Snow's girlfriends was hotter with Ygritte or Daenerys?" I was having fun with it. I don't think I'd ever seen him squirm so much.

"Ygritte, Lana, do you mind?"

"No, no, just one more." I was trying not to burst out laughing. I knew I must have had a huge smirk on my face, "Mary-Anne or Ginger?"

"For fucks sake, yes, ok, I have always had a thing for redheads."

I couldn't hold it any longer, and I burst out laughing. I laughed so hard, Liam eventually had to join in. "I'm sorry." I said, "What are you going to do to Boyd?"

"Unfortunately, Lana, it looks like I will be busy for the next 25 years because I will have to kill him."

Part 20

#original character #original story #original fiction #romantic story #happy ever after

[the-fiction-witch]

Yes My Queen P2

TV SHOW: WOLF HALL COUPLE: RAFE X READER RATING: SWEET

I Smiled as I sat in the drawing room and doing my knitting trying to ignore the other girls as they whispered among themselves doing their embroidery and knitting, I didn’t want to talk with them or to have their comments in my ears. I couldn’t help but glance up to the young lady, the one my husband coverts, the one he takes on scenic walks though the gardens and fucks in the king’s chamber late at night. She often gave me a side eye from the seat by the window, she sat sewing I never responded, almost ignoring her as I sat by the fire knitting. 

“My lady? What is it you are knitting?” she asks 

“I don’t quite know just yet. I shall knit until something comes to me” I answered faking a smile to her��

“That's lovely My lady, I would have thought by now the king may now have blessed you”

“No, shouldn’t be long now” I said back she nodded with a sly smirk, 

Oh darling go along, report back to my husband, go and have your fun with my husband. I hope you enjoy him, he’s twice your age and the gap shall only grow as he enters his silver years to come, enjoy his tiny prick. I’ll let you two have your fun, thinking you're hiding your times from me, I’ll just stay here on the throne, in this beautiful castle, while I enjoy the company of my own little plaything. Who adores me, cares for me, pitches me woo at all opportunities, who fucks my royal pussy like he was born to do so, three times the size of my husband and twice the stamina.

You go and enjoy my husband’s fat body sweating over you while he tries to find your pussy because he can’t get it up enough to slip inside.

I’ll just be in my chamber, having my third orgasum, with my sweethearts blonde head between my legs, taking the time to pleasure me and to care for me feeding me compliments at every moment, fighting off his desire towards me at times forcing his erection away from me so he doesn’t make a fool of himself or all over me again. 

“My lady a Letter from my Lord Cromwell's household” A messenger says handing me a scroll 

“Thank you” I nodded taking a look at the letter and the seal I knew who it was from and I didn’t want to open it here in front of the ladies of the court 

“What new’s my lady?” My handmaiden asked me 

“Business I’m sure” I smiled as I stood putting the scroll and my knitting in the pockets of my dress “Ladies, If you’ll excuse me” I bowed before I headed out of the drawing room. 

I hurried to the library, checking it was empty as usual, so I locked the door behind me, I made sure to note the seal and ties hadn’t been broken and it hadn’t been tampered with, I opened it breaking the sweet wax seal. 

I unrolled the letter seeing his beautiful handwriting and reading the sweet words as I sat by the fire.

“My Queen, it is with a grave hand I inform you of the business within the clergy and with the struggles to the south, I know how you like to keep informed on these matters. 

Enough with the petty excuses and covers. 

My Queen, words can not express the deepness of my desire to see your perfect face again. I would sell my soul to the devil himself to be with you, for just a moment just long enough to see your smile. I sit here now , my bedchamber, the household fast asleep, and I cannot help but think of you. Not a moment of my day goes by I do not think of you, but moments like this when I'm alone my mind floods of you. The sweet walks in the gardens with you beside the roses even if you always smelt sweeter and looked more beautiful, sitting on your bench hidden away from everything as if you and I where all that mattered in the world the sweet contours of your beautiful hands being call I am able to explore without risk of exposure and even then it makes my heart beat like a jack rabbit. The afternoons in your library, with the rain beating at the windows flames flickering our shadows dancing in the firelight sharing in stories from your books between the gentlest of kisses, feeling the softness of your lips, the warmth of your mouth, the sweet taste of you, I crave to be with you to hold you in my arms again, to whisper the sweetest nothing's in your ears, to be close enough I can feel your skin, I can kiss your lips, I can feel the heat of your body, the sweetness of your scent, the sugar of your taste. As I sit here writing this my lady, I shiver, I quake, I shudder with the meer thoughts of you. 

And I cannot even bare to begin the thoughts of you when I am alone in my bed. My bed feels so large without your body to share it, my arms so empty to be devoid of you, I cannot prevent the thoughts of you flooding my mind. 

Your delectable skin between the cotton covers, the feeling of moving my hands against your smooth skin, of kissing your skin gently, of hearing your gasps, of feeling those unforgettable bosom within my hands, of feeling your body against my own, of feeling my hands on your positiour, of hearing your gasps, of hearing your moans, of feeling my fingers… inside of you. Of feeling your lips connected with my own, of feeling your skin against me, of feeling your lips around my manhood, of feeling yourself around me, of our souls in the heated throws of ecstasy, fighting of our desire for each other for moments more, of the waves of pleasure only you can supply me with my queen. I fear that I have been forced in the morning light to pleasure thinking of my queen with me but my hands do not compare to yours. Often I have mornings whispering your name among my sheets and well, making a mess of myself. I cannot bare us to be parted by one single moment more my love, I beg of you the king is sending lord Cromwell and his son to france to discuss things with him, so the king and my Lord will be gone, I beg of you, visit me, here secretly. I promise my love I shall express in all that ways I can my love for you and how much I have missed you.``

I stopped putting my hand to my chest gasping at the intensity of the letter, I almost wanted to fan myself.

"Ohh Rafe, you do know how to make a lady feel desired" I smiled.

I smiled as I stood at the end of the bed tieing my corset, I glanced up seeing Rafe sat on the edge of the bed smiling at me as he watched me. "You look so perfect my queen,"

"Not as perfect as you my love" I smiled to him

"I am somewhat happy the king's eyes wonder, if they didn't I may never have gotten to touch the queen" he smiled standing and wrapped his arms around me 

"You wouldn't, sometimes I wish that I hadn't been married to the king, then I could marry you" 

"You… could always if you wanted to"

"What?"

"We could run away, elope together. Or you could let the king have his whore and we could be together" he smiled 

"We could, but I don't think it would be so easy" 

"Perhaps we should give him a reason" he smirked untieing my corset slowly pulling off my ties letting my corset fall 

"Like what?"

"Like… perhaps I should give the king exactly what he wants?"

"Oh? And that is master Sadler?"

"A pregnant wife" he smirked tugging my undergarments off me 

"That is what he wants, I'm not sure he'll like that another man put an heir in me"

"He'll accept it or he'll just have to let me have you won't he" he smirked caressing my skin 

"He will" I smiled tugging him to bed.

I sat smiling as I held my baby bump the king was thrilled but he still took time with his lady but I didn't care I spent time in my library, 

"Rafe stop it" I giggled petting his hair

"I'm sorry my love, I can't help it. Listening to him kick is so peaceful"

"I know" I smiled kissing his head “shouldn’t be long now,”

“I hope not. Y/n… what are we going to do?”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t want the king raising our baby, it’s our child. What will we do?”

“If its a girl, He’ll throw me away he’ll want nothing to do with me, if he’s a boy then I don’t know” I explained “perhaps if its a boy we should run off”

“Perhaps? Just give the word and I’ll get it organized my darling” He smiled kissing my head “I shall obey my queen without question, the moment you ask it off me then I shall do it”

“Without question? Anything?” I giggled

“Anything you ask my love” he smiled cradling my stomach smiling even wider as the baby kicked “If my queen asked it off me, I would match myself to the gallows at her command, I would walk barefoot over a blazing fire, I would crawl from portsmouth to scotland if you asked it off me,” 

“I would not ask such things of you rafe, I only ask that you stay with me”

“Then I shall my lady” 

I smiled as I laid in my bed almost in tears holding my little baby boy, the women who helped me now all returned to the business, leaving me alone with my sweet boy as he cried. My door quickly opened revealing the king, Lord Cromwell, the chancellor and Rafe. He hid himself away trying to not look too excited while everyone else was here.

“Where is my son?” Henry smiled as he came to me seeing the baby “Good girl” He smiled kissing my head “he’s strong? And healthy?”

“Yes my king”

“Good,” “A Perfect chain of events my lord” The chancellor nodded

“The image of you my king” Lord cromwell nodded 

“He shall be named. Paul” 

“Perfect my lord”

“Excellent choice”

“Come! We must celebrate” He says pushing them all out the room to go and drink, I laughed playing with my little boys fingers, and a few moments later rafe creeped in and rushed to the bed 

“Hi”

“Hi” I giggled

“How are you?” he asks holding my hand 

“I’m alright” I smiled giving him a kiss “Look at our little boy”

“He’s perfect my darling,” He smiled giving his head a kiss “Paul?”

“No we are not keeping that”

“How about… Lucas?”

“I like Lucas,” I smiled “You want to hold him?”

“Of course I do” 

“Okay, gently” I smiled passing him over 

“He’s so perfect, you did brilliantly my love” He smiled kissing me gently “hi little guy, don’t you worry daddy’s going to take such good care of you” 

I sat on my little bench feeding little lucas, it starting to hurt a little where he was nursing so hard, I liked being in the garden it was a nice place to nurse as it took so long and often knowone wanted to see anyway, 

“Oww” I complained as Lucas sucked extremely hard “You know what lucas sometimes you are just like your father” I sighed “won’t let go of my breasts once given the opportunity of them, Umm yeah, I have to prize your daddy’s hands off me with a crowbar somedays” I giggled just then I heard something behind my little bench people were moving 

“Are we alone?”

“Of course, knowone comes out the the gardens”

“What is it? What is this news you bring?”

"The Prince Is not the King."

"what?”

"he can't be," 

"Henry's got nothing, Lady Of Norwich said so, he bedded her daughter and nothing,"

"Then the queen?"

"The queen has been bedding another"

"Who?"

"A maid heard it was one of Cromwell's boys"

"The prince is not a Tudor. He's a Sadler" 

"are you sure? it could be a Cromwell? it could have been his boy Gregory"

"He looks exactly like sadler"

"Do you think she knows?"

"Of course she does, she has to." 

“What proof other than his looks and hearsay have you got?”

“Many have seen Master sadler coming and going from her room,” 

“And… he’s confessed it, He has been bedding the queen and the young prince is fruit of him” 

I quickly pushed lucas way fixing my dress hurrying to my room where I saw the king beside the crib 

“I have heard rumours.”

“What rumours my king?”

“Rumours that you think me a fool!” He yelled “You will confess to me. And confess to me now. Have you bedded another?”

“....Yes” I admitted 

“Is the prince. My son?”

“... No”

“Then who is he!”

“Master Sadler”

“Who!”

“Master Rafe sadler.Ward and assistant to Lord Cromwell”

“Does cromwell know?”

“I do not know”

“How long has he bedded you?”

“For as long as you have bedded The lady of Estlen”

“I have-”

“Do not lie to me Henry. I know you have bedded her, and I know of the child she now carries from you, I know you seek to supplant me, to replace me with her. I did no more wrong than you, atleast I love him, I care for him, and him for me. This baby is a sadler. And I have no intention of giving him or my baby up”

“Then he goes to the gallows”

“I will not allow it”

“You may be the queen. But I am still your king! And if I say your toy boy goes to the gallows then he shall go!”

“Where is he”

“The tower. I knew you hid something from me, I knew he had something to do with it, he didn’t even take much to crack” he smirked “Come we shall see him” he smirked pushing me along to the courtyard of the castle where the gallows stood tall rope swinging in the wind crows cawing in the mist. The king took his throne and I stood beside him with my baby.

“What is it you hope to achieve?”

“To keep my bride in line”

“Why is it I must be kept in line for something you had already done”

“I didn’t have the seed of another settled”

“No you settled your own in an unwed woman, not your wife, not even your lady” I said “If we hadn’t of confessed you would never have known”

“I would” “Would you? You couldn’t tell until rumours came” “I knew something was wrong, That child looks nothing like me”

“He’s the spitting image. Of his father” I said “you don’t have to do this. I will go take my lover and leave your castle, you can have your lady and her child. I will not bother you again”

“It cannot be allowed, my wife bedded another, birthed a child of sin. Examples must be made” He says as he nodded to a man who brought out Rafe, shirtless, in chains, his ankles had been broken, his wrists bloody and bruised, I didn’t want to think of the horrors they would have done to him in the tower to make him talk. 

“Please! My lady! My queen! I beg of you!” He screamed before the guard slapped him to the ground 

“Let him hang” 

“No please” I begged as they dragged him to the gallows kicking and screaming 

“He must die”

"I'll grant you a divorce!" I said 

"what?"

"I will grant you a divorce. I will go. I will take my child. Please... just let him live"

"I will not have my name be made a mockery, I have heard the rumours, I have heard the whispers, my wife in bed with another man, Birthing his child, consorting in the dark castle corners. I will not have it be known across this land I let him live" he explained “string him up”

“NOOOOO PLEASE!” Rafe screamed as the guard forced him to his feet wrapping the noose around his neck 

"How are you any better than me, the women in dark corners, your own chamber to touch and bed these girls, I only did what you did." 

“He must die”

“I’ll grant you an annulment”

“What?”

“Freely, I will grant you annulment”

“Drop him!” He ordered

“NOO!” I screamed as the floor dropped, luckily it didn’t break his neck he was alive gasping for breath struggling against it kicking his legs in desperation

“I will grant you annulment, I will take my son, and my lover, I will go leave england, you will never hear from us again, I will never return, it will be as if I never existed, you can take the lady as you’re wife and she will have her child, tell the country I died with my child, tragically young from complications.”

“I’ll never hear from you again?”

“Never” “He won’t come back in another ten years looking for a home or money”

“No, I promise” “Cut him down!” He ordered and the guard cut the noose dropping him to the floor gasping and coughing 

“I give you all until sundown to leave my home. I see any of you again it’s the gallows for you all” he explained and I nodded “You may go to him”

I smiled and ran helping him up where I could 

“.... am I dead, my angel?”

“Not dead rafe your alive. We can go, come on let's get you cleaned up” I smiled 

I smiled as I finished up with the stew for dinner, the smell radiating through our little cottage I slipped off my gloves and headed outside leaning on the door looking out to the little island we lived on, we managed to find a little island with not a soul living here, it was only just away from sweden, we built a little cottage here and worked on making it a little farm for us, “Lucas!” I called 

“Coming mama!” He giggled as he ran in from the little rabbit hutch and run where his little rabbits are “what is it mama?”

“Dinner time sweetheart” I smiled “where’s your father?” 

“By the beach” He smiled 

“Come on kiddo, let's go find your daddy” I laughed so we headed down the little path towards the stone beach “Rafe” I giggled he quickly stood and came over

“Aww hello darling, Hey kiddo” he laughs picking lucas up 

“How’s your neck today?” I asked gently touching his scars from the rope 

“It would feel better if I got some little kisses” he suggested 

“You only have to ask my love” I smiled kissing him sweetly “Come along both of you boys, it’s dinner time” 

[baekchelor]

𝕕𝕒𝕪𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕕𝕖𝕔𝕖𝕡𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟

pairings: George Mackay x reader genre: romantic comedy rating: pg13 synopsis: on the set of his new film, golden boy George Mackay learns a basic human truth: that the heart is deceitful above all things.

❝ have  you  ever  been  in  love? horrible  isn’t  it?  it  makes  you  so  vulnerable.  it  opens  your  chest  and  it  opens  up  your  heart  and  it  means  that  someone  can  get  inside  you  and  mess  you  up.❞                                                                                                                         ―neil  gaiman

ONE | SCRIPTS & BONDS ◄ ᴘʀᴇᴠ

The first read-through for Dharma happens three weeks later at a film studio in London. Although George allowed Daisy to sleep at his place last night, he didn't even say goodbye when he walked out on the girl deeply asleep on the wrong side of the bed. He wanted to be early as usual, and leaving coffee ready on the kitchen counter didn't fall bellow a No-Strings-Attached relationship, so he didn't bother. There are only Greta Gerwig and some staffers to greet when he's ushered into the venue.

"Y/N isn't here yet," George observes, tired blue orbs scanning the room.

"Don't worry," Alma smiles. She's already slipped a coffee cup into his hand, the way she always does in work mornings when she's well aware George is still half-asleep. The boy snickers to himself, his manager is so predictable. "She'll be here."

"She's probably still with Henry," George surmises. Y/N isn't known as The Witcher’s princess for nothing.

Alma shrugs, encouraging to slurp his Americano and mind his own business. George is well aware this chat makes him look foolish and inexplicably jealous. Thankfully, Alma gossips along, "I don't doubt for a second she may have slept with him last night. But she won't be sleeping in, I can guarantee you that." George tilts his head, asking for more in tell. Alma's red-stained lips stretch open in a yawn. "She always comes on the dot, apparently. Never early, never late."

More interested than he should, and with an amused grin, he consults the time on his phone. Nine o'clock. "Thirty more minutes, then." He places the iPhone on the table in front of him, next to his script. "Let's time her." Alma chuckles, shaking her head. George plays dumb, opting to dramatically smell his coffee before proceed and take another sip from his cup. He picks up the thick white booklet, lines already colour-coded per actor, and starts to read through it.

Dharma is set in 1857 India. Aakesh, a penniless Hindi boy —portrayed by Dev Patel, the main lead— has always known his social standing is a consequence of wrongdoing in his past life. Y/N plays Marina, a wealthy Spanish girl Aakesh believes to be his past life love and the trigger of his attempts to clean his karma. George's character becomes involved when Colonel Edmund Thorn (Michael Fassbender), concerned about the safety of his fianceé, Marina, assigns James as her personal guard. They fall in love.

Thumbing through the middle section of his script, where the plot starts to thicken, it suddenly dawns on George how much acting this movie is going to require of him. His character demands him to declare his devotion to Marina with mere gazes, words few. Still, each movement of his body vociferates a heartfelt love, deepest that any he's ever impersonated.

George closes his eyes, trying to get in character. He imagines himself having this conversation with someone he desperately loves. He pictures Daisy in his head. Her thick, ash blonde hair and smiling eyes, the pink warm of her cheeks and the heat of her mouth when he kisses her.

It feels like cheating, though, because his character is supposed to be in love with Marina, and although Daisy is a girl he enjoys spending time with, he is not in love with her.

George's sigh exits in a long, laboured stream of breath.

"Everything all right?"

The voice is sweet, with an upward lilt to it. It sounds hesitant too, but like it's trying not to be.

The boy looks up. Y/N is studying him, dark-haired and flushed, the expression on her face shy.

"Oh, hello there," George smiles, clearing his head of its haze. He rises from his seat and extends a hand. "I'm George."

"I know," she giggles, holding it. Her palm is cold, whereas George's is warm. "I'm Y/N. I really admire your work. I’m a big fan… Probably had seen all your movies."

George can't help feeling a little sheepish at that. "Thank you," he says. Their arms fall back to their sides. "Same here. Without the 'I'm Y/N' part," he jokes, and he wants to slap himself for being that lame.

"Geo’s friend is a big fan of your boyfriend," Alma quips from behind her. She's too practical to ever get star struck. "I'm Alma, by the way. Geo's manager."

Y/N smiles charmingly as she shakes Alma's hand. And George finds himself in a daze, he loves the way she behaves, how her voice sounds like and the welcoming aura she irradiates.

<< The fuck is wrong with you?>>

"Nice to meet you, Alma." She turns back to George and smiles wider. She has small, pink lips; like petals. "I can arrange a meet and greet if you'd like."

"Thank you," George says, smiling back in spite of himself.

Y/N's eyes twinkle as she coyly shrugs her shoulders. She's wearing a tight little skirt George is sure Daisy owns too. It just doesn't look as good on her as it does on the girl who's currently in front of him.

"Whoa! Look at us getting along," she cheers, eyes transformed into two crescent moons, "Must confess I came prepared to try to break the ice." She seems to check herself then, pursing her mouth and laughing all of a sudden. "Sorry, that made it sound like we're going on a blind date or something."

George laughs along because her giggles are contagious and it is kind of funny. "We kind of are? We're playing star-crossed lovers and didn't even do a chemistry test. I'm pretty much going into this thing blind."

"Aren't we?" Y/N looks like she's glad to find someone in the same boat. "I was just telling--"

"Henry" George quips. His mouth stills awkwardly over the last syllable. He's not sure why he's letting himself be so familiar with this girl when they've only just met.

Y/N doesn't seem to mind, though. "Oh, no, no," she rolls back on her heels, "Henry and I are kinda...well..."

It puts George at ease for some reason. "Oh I see," he says affably with absolutely no bite to it, and Y/N's soft smile flashes again. "You were saying?"

"I was saying," she continues, "I was telling Dev about the no chemistry test thing, and he goes:" her voice fakes a man's voice, heavy British accent and everything, "you guys don't need it. Look at you both! Would look so good together.'" Y/N shakes her head a little, chuckling as she exhales. "I wasn't sure how to react."

"My friend Dean said the same thing," a smile creeps without George's consent as he confesses Dean's mischief. Y/N lets out a soft Oh. "I guess we just, I dunno-"

"You just have natural chemistry," Greta pipes up out of nowhere. She softly squeezes Y/N's cheek fondly. "Still on time, uh? You never change."

"It's all on Vanessa," she giggles with equal fondness. Vanessa is her manager slash personal assistant. George thinks the actress relationship with Greta is reasonable since they've worked together before in a movie he can't remember the name, but she stared alongside Timotheé Chalamet.

The director strikes up a bit of small talk about Y/N's last movie, The Selection, where she and Tom Holland bring the book to life in Netflix's screens. If George remembers it correctly, Holland plays a prince and Y/N portrays a commoner who is selected to compete for the prince's heart. The movie seems a cringe, but for some weird reason, George has decided to watch it once he gets home. Hopefully, Daisy will be gone by then, and the boy would stop at the convenience store to buy beer and popcorn.

George picks up his phone. Stealthily, he checks the time. Nine thirty-five. He and Y/N have been talking for approximately five minutes.

<<On the dot>>, he thinks to himself, recalling Alma's words. Then he hears his name. "Pardon?"

Y/N is saying, "I'll go sit with Dev. Catch up with you later?"

"Yeah, of course," due to his actor demeanour George can hide the disappointment trapped between his words. He understands she has to sit with Dev, their characters interact throughout the entirety of the film. "Do what you have to do."

"Talk to you later then," she shoots him a bright smile, her pink gums gleaming inside of it.

Greta is calling for the rest of the cast to take their seats around the square actors' table. Call it luck, but Dev and Y/N's sits are right across the chair labelled Mackay. The brit places his phone back on the table and slides into his chair.

"By the way," she says, turning around again. "Do I call you, George? Or..."

"Or?" flipping back to the first page of the script, he folds the cover back neatly as he questions the girl with his eyes.

"Your manager called you Geo." Y/N returns her inquisitive gaze. "That's your nickname?"

"Sort of," George laughs. "Very few people call me that way."

"May I?"

He shrugs, "Sure." As he rubs his palm over the script, he decides, on a whim, to try something new. How James, his character, calls her: "Ms Marina."

The crinkles in the corners of Y/N's eyes make the risk worth it.

"Okay," she says, walking backwards with her hands entwined. "Let's have fun today, Geo."

"Flirty Thirty” A gleam of the eye, a quirk of the lip, and it isn't Marina talking anymore, is Y/N tittering.

The room erupts in laughter. George's laughing the hardest of all.

"Y/N," Greta scolds half-heartedly. "Don't break character."

"Sorry, G," Y/N apologizes sweetly. "I thought I would break the ice."

Somehow, George finds himself smiling.

Today marks the fourth official Dharma read-through, and the tenth time they've gone over the entire script. George gets why Y/N is antsy; he is too. He can't wait to start filming in Mumbai, to smell the air of the streets, hear the whir of traffic and fast-paced Hindi. He can't wait to feel James in his bones in every take, the character encasing him, flesh and blood.

Fact is read-throughs are boring. So d*mn repetitive. George is just glad he's got perfect girl Y/N Y/L/N around to make things bearable.

Gerwig sighs in resignation. "Let's break for lunch," she says, addressing the entire group, "Reconvene in an hour."

George catches Y/N's eye and mouths, Padella? Y/N nods vigorously, flashing two thumbs up and a bright smile. The one the boy has grown fond of.

"I'm dying," George tells her a few minutes later as they walk to the restaurant. Luckily for both, it is near the film studio.

"Same here," she agrees. "One last read-through then India, here we come!"

"But we go through the script three times each meeting," George is half-whining, half-sniggering at the way Y/N's eyes roll to the back of her head. "We'll probably take even longer than usual today because of your little adlib."

"Sorry..."

"It was fun, though." Quickly, George reaches out to ruffle the hair on the top of Y/N's head. He wants to touch her. He just doesn't know why nor how and he doesn't want to make her feel uncomfortable. He cares too much for her. "Not a lot of laughs in this love story of ours."

Y/N doesn't bother smoothing down the mess. "Can you imagine loving someone as much, Geo?"

"Uhm..." George brushes a fingertip against his own fringe. He needs to get it trimmed before they start the live shoots. "I don’t know. Their love is something out of this world.”

"Yeah," Y/N watches the movement casually. "It is."

They get to the restaurant and the waiter, who is clearly a fan of hers, greets them enthusiastically.

"You two are so good looking," she gushes, but George knows the compliment is directed at Y/N. The waiter, who's tag reads Flo, merely is trying to be polite by her use of pronouns. "You get more and more dashing every time I see you." Y/N gives her the prettiest smile, and Flo enthusiastically looks at George, beyond happy for the reaction she got out of Y/N. George would be thrilled as well if the prettiest girl at Padella smiled at him in such a way...

<<What?>>

Padella has become a familiar haunt. They'd gone after the first read-through —when George discovered Y/Ns favourite food was any type of pasta— and every read-through after that, always ordering a dish they haven't tasted before and two glasses of wine. Not exactly in keeping with the diets, but George reckons these cheat days won't hurt. He and Y/N have taken to exercising together too, fitting in the gym sessions between their Dharma meetings and other schedules.

"I gained weight when I was a teenager," Y/N admitted during one of their workouts. "I had to work out to keep the weight off. Not like you." She'd smiled her sweet, bright smile, and George could imagine her being just as likeable with double the meat on her bones.

"I grow a beer gut like that," he'd told Y/N, snapping his fingers. "So I have to work it off, too."

In record time, Flo brings their dishes, leaving a courtesy starter on the table. George grabs his fork and swirls it through the fettuccini. It makes a pleasing, gooey sound as he incorporates the Pomodoro sauce.

"Oh, right, if I may Ms Marina," George says, giggling. The actress hums in return, mixing the contents of her own plate. "Do you want to come over for dinner tomorrow? My sister is cooking carbonara, your favourite."

"Oh my god," Y/N looks up from her dish, mouth-watering at the mere thought of her favourite food. "She won't mind me crashing your dinner?"

"No," George replies, slouching over his bowl. "She asked me to invite you."

"Really?" her orbs go a little round. "Why?"

A mouthful of bolognese disappears into George's mouth with a slurp, "I might have mentioned your love for Italian food."

Y/N takes a sip of her rosé, "Won't you mind me crashing your sibling dinner?"

"Nah," he smiles. “We're friends." He swallows the food he's chewed into the side of his cheek and tries not to meet Y/N's eyes. "I kind of like hanging out with you."

"Oh," she answers instantly, so blasé, pink across her cheeks. George adores it. "I kind of like hanging out with you, too."

George glances up then, and they share a knowing smile before going back to their food. It's oily and red, a little salty. George knows he's going to have to wash his teeth and throw a box of mints into his mouth before they go back to the read-through, but he doesn't care. It's delicious.

Their comfortable silence is broken when Y/N's phone rings inside her Rebecca Minkoff’s bag. She pulls it out, glances at the screen, and gestures to George that she's going to take it outside.

"I'll be right back," she says; tongue running over her teeth. The boy nods, just as Y/N answers the call and turns.

"Hey, H," George hears her say as she pushes through the door. "What's up?"

Cavill, he thinks to himself, sucking up to another curtain of fettuccini.

Fleetingly, he wonders if he should tell Y/N to bring a date—as in Henry. But the idea is pushed to the back of his mind when Flo comes by their table to ask if they would want more wine, and it doesn't resurface, not even when Y/N strolls back in from her private call.

In her pale silk blouse and tight little skirt, the one Y/N owns too, Daisy looks every bit as gorgeous as she does in her Basic House ads. George gotta admit. Yet he feels a little itch when he looks at her, it bothers him, so he focuses his attention on the other Daisy in the room. His sister.

She's setting down a plate of sour bread on his dinner table, her hair tied back in a ponytail. Luhan watches her lazily, admiring the classy decoration of the table. It looks out of a restaurant. Much better than Padella's.

"Since when my sister's become a chef?" he says playfully. His sister giggles in response, her attention too immersed in the preparations. She wants it all to be perfect. Scratch that, more than perfect.

Only then George returns his gaze towards the other Daisy, and he notices she's staring at him, a pout on her pretty red lips.

"Why not?" she asks. George wants to roll his eyes, but he's too polite to do so. He lets her continue the tantrum, "You know I used to have a poster of Henry Cavill in my old dorm, right? The whole time I was in University?" George barely nods. "So please, please, please, please, please... Please, George. Let me meet his girlfriend, hmm?"

"No," he answers. The hurt in Daisy's green eyes confirms he's been too harsh. He reaches up to tuck a loose tendril of hair behind her ear. She lets him do it, wearing a small and sweet smile. "I'll get jealous, baby," he lies in an attempt to soften his previous words.

She laughs, hiding her face as it turns a flattering shade of crimson. She's always been flattered by stuff like this and George doesn't understand why. They're not a couple, to begin with.

"Okay," she circles the table, fingers lacing into George's as she sits on his lap. She plants a kiss against his lips, "I'll get going then. Call me later?"

"Yeah," he pecks her on the tip of her nose and her eyelashes quiver.

The moment Daisy leaves, her namesake, George's sister Daisy, pops his head from the kitchen.

"You know, Henry is my celebrity crush too," her feet express her enthusiasm in small jumps. "I'm so excited!"

"You what?" George's nostrils flare, "Why every girl I know is infatuated with him?"

The doorbell rings before George can retort any further. His eyes flick over to the wall clock on impulse. 8PM. Of course.

"She's here," Daisy smiles, hands flapping at her sides. She combs back her hair, pauses, and repeats the action two more times.

It reminds George of the time he'd run into Brad Pitt backstage at an award show in Los Angeles. He was already famous by then, but he'd still tugged at the sleeves of his tux obsessively, hoping the jacket was sitting squarely on his shoulders, right before he'd said hello.

He walks to answer the door as Daisy places the pasta on the table. Y/N's standing in the corridor with a bottle of red in one hand.

"Ms Marina," George drawls, "Is that you, in my humble home?"

Laughing, Y/N kisses both his cheeks in greeting. George chuckles, taking the wine, and suddenly, he feels his face burning hot. "On the dot, as always."

The girl blushes. At least he's not the only one.

"Come on in," George waves her through the door. "My sister is dying to meet you." He can hear the hissed Geo! like a whip slicing through the air.

Y/N snaps her knuckles, a smile pulling up evenly on both sides, "Hello, Daisy."

A demure, cotton-soft voice replies, "Hello, gorgeous. It's so nice to meet you.”

"Likewise,” the actress beams.

Save for a few bites of pancetta, the serving plates look as though they’ve been licked clean.

"That was so, so good Daisy. The best carbonara I've ever had" Y/N compliments the cook. "Thanks for letting me try it."

"Any time" she replies, looking like a kid who's just been handed a present. George smiles at her, pouring both girls another glass of wine.

The night has gone well. Being the outgoing type, Daisy wasted no time in making Y/N  feel comfortable in her brother's home. She'd seated her next to George at the table, fussing over them both as she peppered Y/N with questions about her last two projects. She'd let slip that she'd watched every season of The Tudor's and Y/N's smile had been bashful.

"I loved Henry's work," Daisy had admitted, and George couldn't help but giggle at how quickly his sister's face coloured in bright pink.

George offers Y/N the last bit of burgundy in the bottle. When the latter declines, licking at the wine-stained seam of her mouth, he pours it for himself.

"You don't have to be so formal with me," Y/N tells Daisy, her tone already fond. George can tell she likes that. "I'm a big fan of Henry too. I had the biggest crush on him before I even met him." Her face is still a little rosy. She blushes really easily, and George likes it.

“It still feels weird. Henry is your boyfriend!”

"It's totally fine. Trust me," Y/N reassures her. "We can fangirl over him as Geralt every time you want. I don't mind."

Daisy squeals.

"Okay, enough girl talk." It isn't jealousy what makes George scoff. At least that's what he tells himself. He reaches into his pocket for cigarettes. "I'm just gonna go for a smoke, okay?"

Daisy’s pretty face pinches, "I wish you'd quit. Those things are horrible for you."

"I'll just have one," he bargains, sweet as honey. He pats his belly, crafting a compact sound. "I need it. You fed me too well, sister."

Y/N sniggers and Daisy rolls her eyes. Pointedly, she asks, "Do you smoke?"

"Sometimes," Y/N answers. “But I agree, it’s nasty.”

George watches as Y/N —the traitor—agrees with his sister, "Anyways, you should come with me so I can show you around."

"You shall," Daisy encourages.

“I don’t know,” the actress murmurs but George has already hooked his fingers behind her elbow and is half-hauling her out of her seat. "C’mon, let's go."

"Fine. Lead the way, Geo."

They take the elevator down to the pool area on the fifth floor, where smoking is permitted. George puts a cigarette in his mouth, holding his lighter in front of it, so the flame ignites it.

Y/N takes a long sigh. "Daisy is great," she says quickly. "She's so much like you."

"Thanks. I guess?" George exhales, the smoke curling in a ribbon of diaphanous white. "You’re still seeing Henry, uh?"

The other smirks. "You say that like you know it for sure."

"Alma likes gossip” George licks his lips. They taste of wine and olives.

The girl shrugs. "It’s kinda..." she answers. "It's on and off."

"Oh?" George blows a few smoke rings, rounding out his mouth and flicking his tongue to create the hole in the centre. "Mind if I ask why?"

"No particular reason," Y/N rushes the answer. "I��d rather not talk about it. Sometimes it... it just doesn’t work, ya know?”

Without thinking, George makes an offer he didn't realize was on the table. "Whenever it doesn't work," he says, "you should just hang out with me," he quickly continues, a little freaked, words rushing out, "and Daisy. Me and Daisy."

Y/N laughs, just once: its all gums and perfect pearly teeth. "Do you feel sorry for me?"

"Hardly, Mrs Prettiest Face On TV," George retorts mildly. Y/N laughs again, and George can't tell if she's sarcastic or earnest. Not that it matters. "It's just you and my sister got along really well, and I–"

"Thanks," Y/N cuts in. Her eyes are particularly feline in this light, and her voice is a degree more gentle than it was before. "I'll take you up on that."

She watches him smoke in silence for a few more minutes, the night air clouding with the filmy exhaust of his cigarette. When Y/N yawns, George stubs it out. Then he loops his arm around her waist.

Unconsciously, she leans into the touch. "It's weird," she observes, "that we didn't know each other two months ago."

"Really weird," George concedes, slightly buzzed from the wine and only half-aware that something has lifted between them. "I’m glad it's two months later."

In the days leading up to India, dinner at George's become a regular thing. Every two nights, Y/N will show up with something to add to the table: wine, desserts and beer, a floury baguette wrapped in paper or a basket of fresh fruit.

Sometimes Daisy joins them, and the conversation flows like blood through veins. At around midnight, Y/N will excuse herself to give the siblings their space but not before George extracts a promise from her to work out or watch a movie the following day. (She happens to love cinema as much as him.)

Other times, when Daisy is out with her boyfriend and the other Daisy isn't smouldering George with text messages asking him to dine with her, go to the movies with her, come to the theatre to see her, bla bla bla; George will chat idly with Y/N until the wee hours of the morning. The ice in their drinks will crackle and melt, diluting their colour, as they discuss their childhood dreams and the trajectory of their careers. They recount their upward climb in show business, the slow decline of some of their peers, and the fear that they might someday be in the same boat. They joke about their management and how both companies have long given up on damage control when it comes to their love lives.

George tells her more about caring, candid Alma, and Dean, his co-star and now best friend.

"Blake and Schofield are real-life BFF's?" George’s companion asks incredulously, "I stan so hard."

In turn, Y/N confesses him Sam Mendes is her absolute favourite director, and George promises to introduce them. She also voices about Henry, their ups and downs and the fact half of their circle of friends categorize their relationship as toxic.

"Keep that to yourself," Y/N adds after a brief lull. "I've never told anyone about it."

"They won't hear it from me," George swears, taking a gulp of watered-down Pilsen. He doesn't even tell his sister.

Dharma begins its live shoots three months after the first read-through.

Y/N and George are scheduled to film in Mumbai for four weeks. Alma informs George it's likely they will extend to six due to Greta Gerwig's infamous obsessive compulsiveness. His actors often end up filming simple scenes over and over again for days, because the director doesn't think the natural light or the colour of a couch or the feeling is quite right.

"Already cleared it with the boss," Alma shares brightly. She means the head of his management, who happens to love George, as all CEOs love their biggest star.

"Fine with me," the actor says. "I don't mind staying in Mumbai a little longer." He's worked with less pleasant directors than Greta before, and a little OCD won't take the fun out of filming with Y/N.

He's pleased to discover that the other feels the same way.

"Let's press for six weeks," Y/N says as they climb into the luxury car waiting for them at the airport. She speaks in a natural tone of voice, as though there isn't a swarm of fans screaming outside the vehicle. "I had only been here once, years ago, I lived in a small city near Mumbai called Pune for almost two months.”

"How come?"

"School stuff... I can't wait to rediscover India. Have you ever been?"

"Nope," George says, sliding off his sunglasses and running a hand through his hair. "Count me in on the exploration."

The way Y/N looks at him like he's her closest person in the world right now makes George's insides warm.

ɴᴇxᴛ►

@loulouloueh​

#George mackay #George mackay x reader #1917 #Henry cavill #william schofield #schofield #thomas blake #blake #dean charles chapman

[welcometothebookreport]

In 2020, I read 40 books (with maybe a few more to be added after I post this) after discovering my love of reading all over again. I am not a very hard reader to please, so it will be rare for me to rate a book with a low score, so I doubt you’ll ever see any criticism from me. So, here we go!

A few things before I start: There are three series in this list (but technically only two, because I’ve only read Serpent & Dove so far) but I’ve limited myself to no repeat authors. That must have been the hardest part for me. Since Jessi went the extra mile and ranked them in order, I’ve decided to make myself suffer the same. And while most of these were not published in 2020, they were read in 2020.

I am (sometimes) a picky reader, but any book that is on this list, I have loved. I chose not to rate them because honestly, they would have all been high. I give ratings easily, and try not to pick things apart even for books I truly did not like.

Please keep in mind that I do my best to add trigger warnings, but you should always check for certain triggers before reading. Triggers vary for everyone.

10. Saint Anything by Sarah Dessen

Warnings: There’s a male character that’s a creep and you’ll spot him as soon as you crack this one open. This tale deals with Peyton being sentenced to prison, and their mother practically glossing over what he’s done by victim blaming.

I have read Dessen’s books since I was 13 and I truly still enjoy her stories as much as I did then. While this was a re-read for me, it’s a tie for my favorite book of hers. It’s tied with Along For the Ride.

Sydney is left in the aftermath after her older brother, Peyton, is sentenced to prison after a drunk driving accident that paralyzes a boy. Formerly in his shadow, Sydney struggles to discover what it is she wants, and how she wants to be seen as her own mother seems to gloss right over her. It’s a YA read that always feels like more than the romance that originally interested me.

9.  Serpent & Dove by Shelby Mahurin

Warnings: Misogyny. The church and religion plays an extremely heavy part of this plot, which was hard for me to get into. It’s clear that some characters do not value women in their actions and words toward Lou. It made me uncomfortable in spots because I just wanted to get past it, but I plan to read this one again since I know that it won’t bother me this time! Still, there is: violence in parts, religious zealots (in case that’s something that makes you uncomfortable like it did me), derogatory slurs toward women, and again, misogyny.

I finished this one two days ago, and I sincerely cannot wait to dig into the sequel. Lou is a witty, snappy character that was such a breath of fresh air from the normal. You usually see the male lead that’s a bit crude, a bit quick to pull the trigger, and the one that’s harder to crack. Is that what happened here? Absolutely fucking not. Shelby Mahurin took something I loved, enemies to lovers, and kicked its ass. Forced marriage? UM YES. A witch and a witch-hunter? Mortal enemies? Characters that can never possibly love each other? DONE DONE DONE.

It’s hilarious in parts. Serious when it needs to be. A bit spicy too, while not a lot, which I certainly appreciate. Reid’s character development is a wonder to watch, at least for me, and by the end of the book, I am so in love with him that I don’t know what to do with myself. I have so many annotations for this novel.

8. The Shadows Between Us by Tricia Levenseller

Warnings: There’s a fair bout of murder. Women are expected not to take lovers before marriage while men are not held to the same standard. Gross. Allessandra is continually underestimated so let me say: let the women do the work.

It’s called the Slytherin romance we’ve been waiting for, and I agree. While this is a shorter read, and a standalone, I was pleased with it. Both characters are incredibly ambitious, but it’s Allessandra that steals the show. The plan? To enter the palace, woo the king, and then kill him in order to take his kingdom. She’s wicked in all the ways I love.

I loved this book, and each page, but this was the line that will make me return to it: “I’m not a trollop,” I announce to the empty room. “I’m a sexually empowered woman, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

The Folk of the Air Series by Holly Black

Warnings: Aside from murder, there’s nothing that stands out to me as a trigger.

A series! The first! There’s something interesting about this series for me, and it’s that I didn’t fall in love altogether, all at once. It was gradual, like wading into water until it went right over my head. By the final fourth of The Cruel Prince, I was fully invested in this world and I absolutely needed to know how Jude and Cardan would become, well, Jude and Cardan.

As a YA series, I was not expecting the sheer amount of mystery, political intrigue, and plot twists that came with this series. However, I never knew what was going to happen, and if I did guess what was coming, Black had at least two more twists to send me for a loop. The Queen of Nothing was likely my favorite book of the series, with The Wicked King as a close second.

6. Red, White & Royal Blue by Casey McQuiston

Warnings:  Discussion of attempted non-con assault, forced disclosure of sexuality

I laughed until my eyes watered and I nearly cried in this book. Delightfully funny, and snappy, RW&B delivers on everything I didn’t know that I needed. I had never read a book where LGBTQ was represented in such a positive light. As someone raised in a more conservative household, I’ve known my own sexual orientation for a long time, but this book made me feel like I could relax in my skin because this story was stunning.

Alex and Henry left me with so much hope that it’s impossible to ever put the lid back on. I’m so happy I read this.

(oh, god, we’re in the final five.)

5. The Caraval Series by Stephanie Garber

Warnings: Physical and emotional child abuse.

I could dedicate multiple posts to this series. Maybe I still will. While this is at number five, it’s my favorite series I’ve ever read. If I could only have one series to read for the rest of my life, I would choose this one. Hands down. Full stop. These characters live in my head constantly and I would give an obscene amount of things to read it all over again for the first time. I actually read this with two of my closest friends in our many book club, and we all loved it.

Doused in magic, this world is unveiled to us with excellent descriptions. Truly, Garber owned my heart within a few chapters. Scarlett is the elder sister, Tella the younger, and if you don’t love Tella by the end of Caraval, I promise you will. I know because I was skeptical, but here I am. I’ve said it to my friends, but Scarlett is the one who holds my hair while I have a hangover. Tella is the one that helps me start the bar fight.

With non-stop turns, and magic, everything comes to life on these pages. And the romance, the romance. Please, please give me my great love in this style. It’s not too much to ask for, is it?

4. Letters to the Lost by Brigid Kemmerer

Warnings:  loss of sibling, loss of parent, alcoholism, mention of infidelity, mentions of previous physical and emotional child abuse.

Mae sent this recommendation to me, and I devoured all of Kemmer’s books post-haste. Declan and Juliet fall in love without knowing who the other is, while also not liking the real version of their penpal. Juliet has lost her mother, and she’s treading water, but not well. Declan has suffered in the years that follow a family tragedy, and he’s not adapting to life with his new step-father.

But he opens with CemetaryGirl (Juliet) and it’s raw in the best of ways, and the openness between them that eventually moves from their bubble to reality is one of the most pleasing things to read. I’ve read it twice this year. I will read it again next year too.

I also read this twice this year and will for sure be reading it again in 2021.

3. The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern

Warnings: Child abuse.

This was another novel that I fell in love with as I went, and that’s definitely because of the non-linear narrative. It was a little confusing, but I’m going to read it again someday since I know everything now! I read this to follow-up to Caraval with my book club pals, and it’s just what I needed to leave Caraval behind. Marco and Celia are incredible and I absolutely believe that the ending of this novel is one of the best endings I’ve ever read.

My book club has not finished this book entirely this so I’m not sharing any spoilers, but I would like to share one of my favorite quotes. “What did you wish for?” “I wished for her.”

2. Next Year in Havana by Chanel Cleeton

Warnings: Cuba is in the middle of a revolution, and it’s tense in parts. There are some bittersweet elements and I think the parts of the ending are like the punch in the gut you need in order to wake you up and remember to live.

This was my first read once I really dug back into this hobby in August. It was picked by Reese Witherspoon for her book club, and she always picks good books. This is a dual timeline romance, and mystery. It’s an absolute stunner of a book. It’s a dear favorite to me now. I’ve never been to Cubs, or heard stories, but Cleeton manages to make you feel like you’re right there feeling saltwater spray across your face.

The romance made me feel breathless, but truly it’s the strong familial ties that make this such a beautiful gem. It leaves you with hope even in the dark and with love in the absence of it. I could scream about this book for the rest of my life, which I absolutely intend to do.

Favorite line? “You’re going to be difficult to walk away from, aren’t you?” “I hope so.”

1 In A Holidaze by Christina Lauren

Warnings? There are none that strike me. This is a lighthearted read that pulls at the heartstrings, but it’s by no means short on the laughs. And, I’m sorry for the long wall of text below.

In A Holidaze is the story of a woman stuck in her ways of never going after what she truly wants until a stray wish lands her in a time loop over the holidays. It's only after repeating the same day a few times that she quite literally says "fuck this," and starts living for HER. I really expected this to just be a Hallmark kind of read, but it was SO MUCH MORE. You should read it, even if it's after the holidays.

It's witty, and heart-wrenching, and it's just everything I didn't know I needed. Mae is snarky, and brave when she figures out that there is nothing stopping her, and the romance is - GODDAMN. Andrew. I need an Andrew and a fan.

It's not quite a love triangle, which was what I expected and I was so pleasantly surprised. I have grinned like a goddamn fool all day. I have giggled all day in front of customers, and my co-workers. I have nearly CRIED in my bedroom when my heart fell out of my ass and landed somewhere near my ankles, because hello, it's gonna get you.

This is going on my yearly re-read list for the holidays.

In the two days since I’ve finished, I’ve convinced my two friends in book club to read it, convinced Jessi to order it from Book of the Month Club, convinced another friend to read it, and bought it for Mae on Christmas day because her library had a six month hold and that was simply unacceptable.

#kelseyreads #2020 Top 10 Reads

[babbushka]

Mine

Charlie x Reader

word count: 2.5k

warnings: cheating/affairs, nsfw, minor angst 

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

“Hey Charlie,” The bartender greets him when he steps out of the yellow taxi cab, “Your table’s all set up for you.”

The bartender’s having a smoke outside, barely visible in the dark of past-midnight as he’s leaned up against the old brick wall of the building.

Charlie stands in front of The White Lily, tips the cabbie before the car drives away. Tips the bouncer as he walks through the door, cuts in front of a long line of people. The bartender follows him.

“Thanks, is she here?” Charlie asks, attention zeroed in on finding you.

“Yep, already ordered your drinks.” The bartender replies, and Charlie tips him too. “’Appreciate it.” The boy says.

“’Course.” Charlie replies, grateful for the boy’s willingness to accept cash.

Can’t use the credit cards for anything – no record, no trace.

He hangs back a little, finally having spotted you. You don’t see him, gazing off into the distance somewhere. It’s dark in the club, nothing but soft neon lights filtered through a thick haze of smoke illuminate the space. He lights a cigarette, adds to it. It’s one of the last bars in the city that allows smoking.

The whole place looks like it never grew out of the 1940s, all the old fixtures and furniture kept in pristine condition. There’s a jazz band on stage, a four-man group that’s there every Friday when Charlie slips away from his life and meets you here.

You’re waiting for him, but not anxiously, he can tell.

He can tell by the way you’re sitting, how relaxed you are. Your head is leaned back, resting against the high-backed cushion of the booth. You’ve got a smile on your face, listening to the trumpet, soothed by it.

You look good, wrapped up in the brass music, golden notes kissing your skin.

He wants to kiss your skin.

He reveals himself to you, walks towards the booth and slides in right next to you.

Nicole never let him sit next to her, always had to be across. You welcome him with the brightest smile, arms already reaching to slip around his shoulders and hug him close.

“Hello handsome.” You can’t help but laugh, joy so clear on your face.

It hurts, how happy you are to see him. Reminds him that he could have had this for years.

“Hey gorgeous.” He smiles right back at you, his hands not wanting to let you go as he pulls away enough for you to shift yourself to face him, tuck yourself against his side. Your dress struggles to contain you as you do, as you cross your legs and lean into him. “Is this new?”

It’s beautiful, but then again, everything looks beautiful on you. The way the lights hit it makes you look ethereal.

“No, you just haven’t seen it in a while.” You laugh, sadness creeping into the corner of your eyes, your smile wavering, “You haven’t seen me in a while.”

He admires you for a minute, simply rests his head against the cushion of the booth and looks at you, looks into those eyes of yours. He’s always blown away by what he sees, by how much you care for him. He’s thankful that you’re never jealous, just observant.

“I kept trying to get away.” He replies earnestly, and you duck your gaze just the smallest amount, collecting yourself.

He grabs a hold of your face and tilts your head back up to face him. He hates the wetness he sees in your eyes.

“You’re here now, that’s what matters.” You say, and he hears in your voice how you mean it, how you really mean it. “Are you doing okay?” You ask, and he doesn’t know how to answer that.

Was he? How could he be? With his life crumbling around him. It was time, it had been a long time coming, but the fallout wasn’t easy, wasn’t clean. He hated how messy it is.

He hasn’t seen Nicole in days, hasn’t seen Henry in just as long. The courts, they’re not being cooperative, the lawyers are vultures. He doesn’t remember ever yelling this much in his whole life, the way he yells when he’s home.

He can’t even call it home anymore.

Not anymore.

He takes a drag of his cigarette.

“No.” He says finally, says instead of all that. You hear it anyway.

You always hear him.

“Anything I can do to help?” You offer yourself for him, in that way you always do, selflessly giving and giving and giving yourself to him.

He’s so afraid to take advantage of you, but you let him, you beg him to. He’s never been very good at resisting you, resisting his feelings for you.

He doesn’t want to.

“Just let me hold you for a little bit?” He asks in return, a silent plea.

You know just the thing he wants, and you nudge his thigh with yours.

“Come, dance with me.” You say, “You can hold me all you’d like.”

He licks his lips, stands up and offers you a steadying hand so you can stand too.

You walk to the small dance floor, populated by couples who were escaping their own lives, living in their own heads as they swayed to the music.

Charlie wraps his arm around you waist, holds your hand in his as you lean your head against his shoulder. He’s got you so close, he can smell the way your shampoo curls in his nostrils. He brushes his nose along your cheek, kisses the shell of your ear softly.

It’s magic, the way he gets to hold you like this. He’s never held anyone like this.

Not like this.

He closes his eyes, sways along to the trumpet. He tries not to dwell on how lonely it sounds, how lonely he feels whenever he’s away from you.

You lift your head off his shoulder, and he rests his forehead against yours, noses softly touching as they slide against one another. Your lips are right there, his for the claiming.

He stops moving his feet, heart thudding in his chest. It’s always so risky, kissing you.

There’s always a chance, a chance you won’t want him anymore. A chance someone who knows him will see, a chance someone will tell. There’s a chance that this isn’t real, that this is just one big figment of his imagination as he’s laying in his cold empty bed on the other side of town.

Or even worse, as he’s laying in his cold bed with Nicole.

He takes the chance, kisses you anyway.

You’re real, you’re worth the risk.

He loses himself in the kiss, shudders against you, against your tongue. It makes his stomach swoop, like he’s free-falling. He wants to never do anything else, only wants to kiss you. Your eyelashes tickle his cheek from where they brush against him. He can feel you shaking.

He knows that you know it’s a risk too.

“Charlie, what are we gonna do?” You ask sadly when he pulls away just enough to breathe.

“She wants to move.” He says, making you freeze. “California.”

“And you?” You whisper, terrified for a moment.

“I’m staying here.” He says quickly, holds you. He only ever wants to hold you, to kiss you, “I’m staying with you.��

“I can’t ask you to do that, you know I can’t. I won’t.” You shake your head, and already he can feel hot tears sting at the corner of his eyes.

What a mess, what a fucking mess.

“I know, but you’re not. I know what I want, and it’s not LA.” He holds your face in his hand, kisses you again.

“They don’t have clubs like this, in LA, do they?” You ask against his lips, and he huffs out a laugh.

“No, they don’t.” He says, and you smile.

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

Charlie takes you back to his apartment, calls for a cab and sticks his hand up your skirt the second he’s got you in it.

He fucks you until dawn, not that dawn was too far off to begin with. He’s drunk off the feeling of his own orgasm, drunk off of the feeling of your warm cunt around his cock.

He refuses to pull out of you for a long time, even after he’s come, even after he’s gone soft. He just can’t bare the thought of not being close to you.

You, thankfully, don’t mind. You’re more than content to have Charlie drape himself over you like a big sweaty blanket, an even pressure of his weight pressing you into the mattress.

“You okay?” You ask, when he’s gone silent.

He marvels at how you can always tell.

“I was just thinking…” He replies, finally pulling out of you and rolling onto his feet.  

“What about?” You wonder aloud as he snaps the condom off, ties it and drops it in the garbage.

“You – I’m always thinking of you.” He says, standing at the foot of the bed.

The sun has started to peek up above the horizon, golden light washing you. God you’re gorgeous, he thinks to himself as you sit up against the headboard, the covers pooling at your waist exposing your breasts to him. He counts the bruises and bite marks that litter your flesh, that mark you as his.

“Good thoughts I hope?” You ask, all of your sadness fucked right out of you, leaving behind the beautiful after-glow and that teasing, playful nature of yours that had made him fall in love with you all those years ago.

“Only the best.” He nods, makes his way back to the warm spot he left, climbs under the covers and settles between your legs, rests his head on your stomach. “Nothing but the best for you. It’s the least I can do, the least I can give you.”

“You don’t have to give me anything, I already take too much.” You say softly, carding a hand through his hair.

“You don’t take anything I don’t want you to have.” He shakes his head, kisses your stomach, props himself up so he can suck at your tits, your nipples.

You melt under him, slide back down so you’re flat on your back. He can already feel himself getting hard again – it was so easy to get hard for you.

“What about me were you thinking?” You ask, breathy moans as he lets his hand wander down to tease at your cunt, slow even strokes of his fingers.  

“Hm?” He asks, drunk, he must be drunk. His brain catches up to him, and he fingers you as he speaks.  “You don’t look real, you’re too pretty. How are you so pretty? I’m afraid you’re gonna disappear into the sunlight and I’ll wake up and it’ll have all been just another dream. It’s like I’m seeing you in black and white – some old Hollywood star right in front of me. Like someone smudged the screen, turned all your edges soft.”

“I’m not gonna disappear, I promise.” You say, voice catching on a gasp as he curls his fingers and brushes them against your g-spot.

“Good, you can’t, not now.” Charlie whispers, kisses you as he fingers you, makes you cry from it, makes your thighs shake around him, “You can’t leave me now, not when I’ve finally got you.”

“Does she know?” You ask, and he sighs.

“No, I don’t think so anyway.” He says.

You were both so careful, you didn’t want to hurt her, didn’t want to ruin her life. You were so aware of it, so acutely aware of what you were doing, how objectively bad it was.

It didn’t feel bad when you gasped underneath him. To Charlie, it felt like the most absolute correct thing there could ever be. That was the problem. 

“You’re going to have to tell her eventually, you owe her that much.” You say anyway, and he nods.

“I know.” He replies, and you move on – for now anyway.

Your arms loop around his neck as he rubs steady circles on your clit, your chest heaving as you silently beg for more friction. He knows you won’t come like this, knows it’s only enough to keep your veins on fire, to keep the curl in your toes. He’s meticulous, knows what he wants.

He pulls his hand away all together.

“You know what my favorite version of you is?” He asks, and you blink up at him, hair fanned out across his pillow.

Is he dreaming?

“Hm?” You ask, frowning, wanting to come.

“You in the morning.” He says, “The way you hate the sun on your face, how you shy away from it.”

You hum and tuck your face behind one of your arms as the light dapples across your cheek – not even realizing that you’re doing it.

Your inner thighs are hot, wet, as your cunt drools for him.

“I love the way you laugh in the mornings, when the day’s bullshit hasn’t set in yet. It’s my favorite.” You say, simply because you can, because you can’t really think of anything else that isn’t fuck me.

“I only laugh in the mornings with you.” Charlie points out.

“When do you have to go to work?” You ask, wiggling your hips, and he rolls his eyes playfully, as if you’re the most demanding thing on the planet, as if it’s a chore fucking you.

It’s not, it never has been.

“Not for another hour, let me have breakfast?” He asks, already shuffling down the bed, kissing down your chest and stomach, tugging apart your knees and getting a mouthful of you.

“Mmmm.” You moan, finally satisfied as he spells his name with his tongue, wanting to own you even here.

He swallows you down, all the come that’s been waiting for him all night. He drinks you down, nudges his nose against your clit as you cry above him.

“Fuck, you’re so good.” He says against you, biting hard at your inner thigh.

“Yeah?” You gasp, a hand fisted in his hair.

“Best damn pussy I’ve ever had.” He says, and it’s the truth.

It’s the truth.

He eats you out until you’re coming for the last time, finally, finally gushing down his throat. He’s got fingers in you, pumping in and out, and when you’ve coated his whole mouth with your come and slick, he smears it against your thigh.

“Charlie!” You grin when he bites too hard, you pull away from him with a laugh.

“No get back here, you get right back here.” He laughs back, hooks his arms around your legs and pulls you all the way down the bed so you’re eye level with him, so he can kiss you. “You’re mine, you know that? All mine. Mine in the mornings, in the afternoon, at night. Mine when I’m at work and mine when I’m at home.”

“I’m yours, all yours.” You laugh, laugh and laugh, he kisses you all over, tickles you with them. You laugh like this is the most fun you’ve ever had. How fucked up is that? “Are you mine?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever belonged to someone the way I belong to you.” Charlie says, and though he doesn’t laugh when he says it, he means it.

He means it.

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

Taglist: @dreamboatdriver @kyloxfem @solotriplets @tinyplanet-explorers @inkstaineddaughter

#reader insert #charlie x reader #marriage story #my writing #kylo ren x reader #im only tagging this because the charlie tag is kind of nonexistent right now lol #dont come for me

[evelinamox]

Human No More (Levi x MC) Part 3

Forgive me Diavolo for I have sinned by writing this.

Smut made this thrice the length of what I originally anticipated. Sorry not sorry. 😅

Really though it’s roughly 6k words.

NSFW. Also there's cursing.

Haven’t written smut in years please don’t kill me.

Anyone want to count how many times the word "fuck" is said? 😅😅😅

Found image on Runo’s Pinterest. Go check them out!

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After what felt like hours of trying to sort out the mess, you realized the brothers were all just as into rumors as a group of high-school girls. Not that any of them other than Asmo would admit it — especially Lucifer.

No matter how it was sliced though, coming home wearing NOTHING but Levi's coat looked extremely suspicious.

Satan was easiest to convince, putting together the pieces before everyone else. When considering the full moon being the prior night, their lack of planning leading to clothes being destroyed, and the light smell of dog that now intertwined itself with your normal scent, it made perfect sense.

Lucifer was next to understand, remembering that humans can be infected with lycanthropy unlike demons, and in fact most that become infected find their way into Devildom for a cure.

All the others followed suite, though Mammon was still hurt, mostly because he was tricked. He declared that as an apology he was to keep the stink bombs he actually did buy for you, which once again you didn't expect to receive them anyways.

Taking into account Levi and yourself didn't get much rest out in the forest, Lucifer made an agreement to excuse both of you from any classes that happen the day after a full moon.

Being a werewolf actually made Levi a smidge less of a recluse when it came to RAD. He'd go with instead of doing classes online because he thought it was fun to watch how much you've changed. He also enjoyed it because it felt a lot like "I've Become a Werewolf and Must Now Choose Between My Love Life and Freedom." So of course he'd want part of the action, even if it meant he wasn't the main character.

Before the change usually one of the brothers would need to accompany you in the halls to keep you safe. Now that you could stand a chance in a fight against lower levels they didn't really need to as much. Levi would still come with at times but hang back enough to either watch events unfold or be back up, because who was really going to mess with you AND the Avatar of Envy at the same time?

He was all but rolling with laughter one day in the cafeteria when a lower leveled demon cornered you, thinking you were still human. The look on that demons face was priceless when you took hold of his wrist and twisted it to the side till he whimpered in pain and begged to be let go.

Wasn't much longer till most left you alone, but Levi would still stick around "For the luls" and because "You never know who might gather a party to take you down like the boss you are.." Which he would say while blushing and looking to anywhere else but you. His excuses to stay around always brought a smile to your face. You weren't going to call him out as he could end up changing routine, but you knew he wanted to stay close to be with you.

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A few days before an upcoming blood moon, Satan stopped you and Levi in the hallway as the both of you were going to Levi's room to watch a TSL spin off.

Satan stated that he personally wanted to come for this moon.

Both you and Levi were somewhat dumbfounded. You were wondering why he would want to go when one of the creatures he represented/held a bond with was wolves. Levi though was more concerned about the inevitable awkwardness of you being naked when transforming back. Atop that Leviathan was growing envious of the idea that someone else would be stepping in on a situation that only him and you experienced.

"Why would you want to go?" You questioned him, your tone more defensive than intended.

Satan held out a book between the three of you. The scent caused you to unintentionally sneeze, leather being a smell your improved nose would almost always react to. You wanted to ask him to put it away, but instead just tilted your face up away from it.

"This book and every other that studies werewolves are missing one thing. What happens on a blood moon. It's rather peculiar don't you think?" He asked while shifting his hold on the book so it'd be under his arm.

Looking back at him once the book was away, you couldn't help but show that you were surprised. "There's no shortage on werewolf books, are you certain?"

Satan nodded in answer. "Indeed I am. I would like to come with. This research would be groundbreaking for all who wish to study lycanthropy."

Levi was still upset at the idea. You came to him when this started, he was the first and only one to ever see your transformations, and he's the one you've been dating. Why does anyone else get to encroach on that?

Annoyed with his brothers idea, Levi crossed his arms. "Why don't I just tell you what happens the next moon?"

Satan lightly smiled at his elder brother, not a single bit deterred by this quip. "They say seeing is believing right? And fortunately for me I wasn't asking you." His gaze fell upon you again, knowing that you were more likely to agree.

Though he wasn't in demon form, it was as though you could feel Levi's tail wrapping around your wrist protectively, trying to convince you to disagree. Unfortunately for Levi and this strange feeling, you had to side with Satan. "I agree. I'm going into this one blind, but I can already feel some effects and the moon isn't for a few more days." You paused and looked up to Levi whom clearly looked dejected. "This information could be good for anyone else that becomes infected in the future."

Satan gave a satisfied smile to your agreement, while Levi let out a displeased groan. "Why can't I just tell him then?" He huffed and looked away from both of you, almost reminding you of a kid throwing a tantrum. "This is soooo not fair." He whined, which unintentionally brought a soft smile to your lips thinking it was kind of adorable.

The feeling was there again but stronger like he really was wrapping his tail around your hip, you had to actually glance down to make sure it wasn't holding you.

"I'll have to make it up to him later." You told yourself as you studied his downhearted profile.

"We will meet fifteen minutes before dusk." You informed Satan before parting.

You took hold of Levi's hand and pulled him in direction of his room.

Reaching his room, you could feel how hurt he was at your agreement with Satan. The both of you sat silently for a few minutes before you gave up waiting for him to talk. Instead of finding words to get a reaction, you laid out across the small couch you both sat on and rested your head on his lap.

Looking up at him from that angle, he was trying to not pay you any mind by resting his chin on his palm, looking over at Henry 2.0.

"No fair, no ignoring!" You thought while bringing a hand up to his cheek.

"Levia-Chan." You called to him in a sweet sing-song tone.

His fingers moved a bit as he suppressed a smile, but he continued looking anywhere but at you.

Lifting a hand you gently placed a palm on his cheek. "No fair ignoring me, Levia-Chan." Making an exaggerated pout.

He looked down at you for a brief moment while blushing, but then looked up at his television screen.

"Fine then." You sat up then started walking towards the door. "I'll just go talk over the plan with Satan."

Just as you were about to leave the couch you felt the phantom tail tugging at your hand again, followed by him finally speaking up. "Wait! Please stay..."

You shook your hand from the feeling then kindly smiled at him. "My favorite otaku actually wants to spend time with me? A Normie?!" You teased while turning to him.

Before he could answer you, you did something you've never done to him before and straddled his lap. It mostly was so you could hug him while apologizing, but the idea of watching him become flustered was adorable too.

"Uhh??!" He stiffened under you noticeably as he stammered. "W-what are you doing? This some Normie tactic?!”

Ignoring his questions, you wrapped your arms around his torso and laid your head against his chest so you could more clearly hear his heart that was rapidly beating. "I'm sorry," You started while closing your eyes, taking in the warmth from his body. "I know you don't want others around, being together during full moons has become our thing.."

You paused for a moment planning out your words. "But if there's no recorded information for blood moons, maybe it'd be good for someone to be there to record it. After this time it'll be just a you and me thing again."

Levi slowly brought his arms around you, realizing this was an apology, but he hasn't experienced these types of physical interactions in a long time.. if ever! So it left his mind more than a little befuddled.

"Levi?" You carefully asked while curiously studying his face.

Coming out of his stupor he tightened his hug while hiding his face against your neck. "You mean it right? It'll be just us again, right?" He prodded while his breath danced across your skin.

You started to blush at the slight feeling of blood starting to surge in you, making your breath catch as the sensation began to creep through you, bringing out a longing for more. Despite the chills he just caused, you put up an effort to hide how you truly felt. "O-of course I mean it!" You reassured him. "Just us after this one time. I promise!"

He lifted his face from the crook of your neck to peer into your eyes. "Sounds," he choked on his words slightly, "perfect!" He beamed at you before leaning in, crashing his lips against yours.

"Success! No more upset Levi!" You thought to yourself as you presses into the kiss.

Feeling bolder than usual today, like an invisible tether of desire pulling you to him, you pressed your tongue against his lips, trying to tease his tongue to meet yours.

Levi wasn't expecting that either, it took a moment for him to fully let go of his inhibitions considering he's gotten over you sitting across his lap, he was aware enough to part his lips to meet your tongue with his.

His mind was swimming more than it ever had while drunk, the only thing holding him ashore was the thought how no one else would be able to do this with you.

You weren't as shy as him but this was quickly becoming uncharted territory for the both of you.

Pulling back for air, you reached for his hand and slowly lifted it to your breast, taking your time with the movements to watch his expressions shift from confused to absolutely embarrassed. If there was ever a moment his face and ears were brighter than Beel's hair, it was then.

He glanced at his hand then lightly shook the breast his hand cupped. Even through the fabric he could see them jiggle, causing a light yet astounded "oh." To escape his lips. He gawped for a short time as he took in the sight.

"If you take a picture it'll last longer." You awkwardly teased as he brought his other hand up to your neglected breast and just starred with his mouth agape.

You then felt something twitch against the inner part of your thigh, when you realized what it was you gasped from surprise.

Levi in an instant lifted both his hands away and panicked. "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to it's just—"

Before he could continue what could easily turn into a thirty-minute mix of panic and self-deprecation, you interrupted him with another kiss while wrapping your arms around his neck. It couldn't be denied that it caught you off guard, but you were excited to know he seemed turned on.

As you felt his rush of anxiety melt away under the sweet kiss that could've easily lasted forever, you finally pulled back from the kiss in hopes you suppressed his urge to rant on himself.

"I don't mind.." you sheepishly told him while looking at his chest to avoid his gaze.

"Y-you don't??!" He was astonished but his hands were still up by his head as though his body was still saying "I'm innocent I swear!"

Leaning into him and placing your face in the crook of his neck, a devious smile formed. "I don't mind if you don't mind me doing this."

"D-doing what?" He stammered then choked back a moan as you lightly nibbled and sucked on a sensitive part of his throat.

“H-hey! Th-thats cheating!" He finally forced out as you stopped.

You studied his expression again and poor guy was so flustered, his whole body was probably red too.

A wave of regret washed over you at the sight, feeling as though you were forcing him to deal with your shenanigans. "I'm sorry.." you looked down feeling ashamed of yourself. "If you don't like it then I'll stop."

You started to push yourself off him when he gently took your shoulders in his strong hands. "I.. I d-didn't say th-that." He didn't sound too confident in himself but he would've been lying to say he didn't enjoy what he was feeling.

Your eyes grew wide at his unexpected admission.

Was he really interested in going farther?

“O-okay." You breathed out before reaching for his hands but this time sliding them under your shirt.

He stopped letting you guide just before they reached your bra, he appeared troubled. "Wait.. I-I know this is stupid but are you sure about.." His words trailed off as your lips and his inched closer with each word. His breath catching softly as your soft, tender lips gently caressed his at first, but slowly building into a passionate kiss that sent thrills through you.

As his hands grasping onto your breasts and gently kneaded them, your own hands teased their way under his shirt.

His body tensed briefly as your fingertips trailed his abdomen, but in response he tightened his grip, causing a moan to escape between kisses.

You were a bit surprised to feel the set of abs hidden underneath but then you remembered the time one of the brothers sent a picture of him topless in a group chat. Seeing on a phone and feeling in person were two completely different things though.

Slipping off your shirt then tugging his off, you both took a moment to admire each other.

Still not done with your soft mounds, he moved his hands under and pushed them upwards a bit before squeezing again. That's when his golden orange gaze landed on a silver clasp in the middle of your chest, reflecting the light from Henry 2.0's tank against his face. "What's this?" He quietly asked while fumbling with it between two fingers.

Before you had a chance to explain it wasn't for decoration, the clasp he was fumbling with clicked open, causing the bra to open in the front. Levi's curiosity caused a grand scene for him as your bra revealed your breasts fully to him.

"Holy shit it does th-that!" He yelled as he was awestruck at your fully bare chest.

You let the bra fall off your shoulders and hit the floor. As he gawped at the view you felt his growth twitching in his pants against your thigh again in response.

Another nervous giggle escaped as you arched your back to better display yourself to him.

In response he did something so daring you were at a loss. He took hold of your hips then leaned forward taking a nipple into his mouth. You shivered in pleasure as he lightly tugged and sucked the sensitive nub, flicking it with his tongue.

"L-Levi?!" Your voice cracked mid whimper, the warm feeling of each movement his tongue made making you melt.

You began lightly grinding against him, causing a groan in pleasure escape him before switching to the other nipple.

Your hands began exploring his abdomen again as they trailed down to his pants. Being his casual joggers, it could be so easy to pull the front of his pants down a bit and reveal what you've been craving more and more since him whispering against your skin earlier. Just as you started to tug at his pants, Levi took hold of your wrist to stop you.

Much to your breasts disappointment he stopped teasing your nipples and looked to meet your gaze, a slew of complicated emotions covered his face. Even while he was red from being so aroused, his breathing and heartbeat said they wanted more, but his bright almost glowing eyes held concern. "Are.. are you sure you'd want to do this? With an o-otaku like m-me?"

You nodded and gave him a loving kiss on the cheek. "I wouldn't be here like this if I didn't want to."

His eyes were saucers at your words. They held so much meaning to him that if for even a moment he forgot his insecurities. He grabbed your face and fiercely made out with you, becoming sloppy and even accidentally snagging your bottom lip with a fang. The pain was a surprise but it caused a moan in pleasure to crash upon his lips. His unusually daring actions in the heat of the moment made your core needing him to the point it ached.

So he can be bold when he feels accepted huh?

Resuming what you originally had in mind, your hands fumbled with the fabric till you tugged them out of the way, revealing his throbbing erection. As you sucked on his bottom lip, your fingers gently traced the head of his growth spreading the pre-cum before wrapping your fingers around the shaft.

"Fuck.." he groaned louder than expected. He balled a fist in your hair while the other hand that was placed on your hip found its way under your skirt, tightly holding onto your ass over your panties.

The feeling of his fingers digging in earned a mewl from you as you began pumping his shaft rhythmically.

Looking at his size you couldn't help but wonder if all demons were more impressive compared to what you knew of human men, but how important is that now that you weren't technically human anymore? Ignoring the curious thoughts, you were ready for him, but was he for you? Biting your bottom lip, you turned your focus back to his lusty gaze.

Though no words were said, his nod of assurance was all you needed to know he was ready too.

Pulling your already damp panties to the side, you raised yourself over his erection before slowly lowering onto it.

As you took in the whole length a hiss in pain escaped. You sat with your eyes closed for a moment as you adjusted to the feeling.

"A-are you okay?!" Levi nervously took his hands off your body again.

"I'm fine," You huffed. "Just never really done this before." The admission reddened your face as you looked anywhere other than to him.

Hearing Levi's heartbeat speed more, you began questioning if you were going to kill him on accident by the time you were done with him.

Levi's was perplexed but in a good way. Before learning this he was a little envious of whoever taught you how to take lead and keep going, but was excited to know it was all you. At the same time this frightened him to know you liked him enough to make him your real first. He wasn't about to admit it soon if ever but knowing this he began to realize he might actually love you.

In response he pulled you into a careful hug. It felt good feeling your body shift atop his erection, but unsure how to process both his emotions and thoughts, a hug was all he could think to do.

Wrapping your arms back around over his shoulders, you didn't need words to have an idea how he felt. You two not so secretly anymore dating for the past few months, somehow you learned how to read the silence.

As your need for him persisted you began grinding against him while still hugging onto him, your chest rubbing against his with each movement.

"Fuck." He murmured at the stimulation as you tried to not moan too loud.

As you changed rhythm with your hips, your mouth trailed kissed from his collarbone up to his mouth. The feeling of his cock pulsing inside you brought more moans as his position under you was perfect for sliding his head against your sweet spot, you could feel yourself climbing closer to an orgasm.

Levi must've noticed you were getting closer as your moans were getting higher, he took hold of your backside and held on while you rose and dropped repeatedly on his shaft. His mind was swimming in ecstasy, tongue rolling with yours in lust, and penis throbbing inside of a person. If someone told him this was a dream or that he died, he would've believed it.

As your hips fell upon his repeatedly you felt your core tighten as you rapidly approached your peak. Your lips parted from his as you wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers intertwined in his hair, lightly tugging. "Levi I-" a moan slipping through your lips cutting off your words. Your back arched as you climaxed. "Oh fuck." You whimpered as his hands on your hips helped you ride out your orgasm.

The feeling of you tightening around him, he was soon reaching his end too. He was aching wanting, no, needing to cum.

Pulling together what small sanity that remained he choked out a warning. "I-I'm about to.."

"It's okay!" You choked out, cutting him off before he could finish his warning.

Heeding your words he threw his arms around you and held on tight while he moaned in euphoria, ejaculating inside harder than he could ever remember. By the time his streams were done he was dazed and too overwhelmed for words.

Did that really just happen?

You climbed off him and placed a sweet kiss on his cheek before grabbing your shirt and his off the floor, then placing his on his lap.

"Did.. did that just happen?" He quietly asked as he put his shirt on. He began blushing again as he thought of everywhere he just kissed and touched. Subconsciously he brought his fingers up to his lips, remembering the touch.

You shyly smiled back at him. "Mmhm."

He pulled his shirt over his head and tried to look anywhere but at you, back to his usual bashfulness. "W-What do we d-do now?"

Sitting back down beside him, you leaned towards him, causing him to look upwards, his face beet red.

"Didn't we first come here for a TSL spin-off?" You teased.

"You're right!" He bolted toward his remote. "It should be on Demonflix!"

His excitement earned a chuckle from you before snuggling up to his side. It was too funny to watch him go from bashful to excited thanks to anime.

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The morning before the full moon you met with Satan talked over plans for the night. You didn't want to worry Levi but a strange feeling of power had been swelling within you the closer you drew to the blood moon. You'd usually feel it the day of the moon, like the beast anxiously waiting to get a chance to share your body, but this was at a completely different magnitude.

Sadly much as you expected Satan had no ground proof on what would happen but he theorized that it would make you stronger and perhaps more animalistic than any of the previous full moons. You were no expert on lycanthropy even after having it for the past few months, but thinking back over the past week your body was acting strange. You were uncharacteristically stronger, there was the moment of thirst for carnal knowledge which you've never indulged in before, and any time you'd accidentally get hurt you'd heal even faster than your new "normal".

As you began to step out the door you remembered the phantom feeling of Levi's tail grabbing you almost possessively, even when it wasn't there. It was too strange a phenomenon to leave alone. "Hey.. what does it mean when you feel someone's demon form when they aren't actually showing it?" You didn't realize at the time with your innocent tone that you were asking about the intimate feelings demons at times harbor.

The question caught Satan off guard. Of course he knew what it meant but it was on the same level of asking details of someone's love life.

He rubbed his chin for a moment as he tried to put it into words without making it uncomfortable. "For demons it is a way of expressing Eros. The type of love that is romantic. Some demons compassion for another is strong enough that their emotions are projected as though through an invisible entity."

You felt your cheeks redden a little as you mulled over his explanation. Seeing your reaction Satan was quick to question if you knew more about it than you let on. "Have you experienced this sort of feeling, (y/n)?"

"No.. no!" You shook your head vehemently, "No I.. overheard some students at RAD talk about it but I didn't understand."

"Hmm.. is that so?" His rhetoric stiffened the air between you two, didn't take a genius to realize you weren't fooling him. None the less he let you leave without pressing further as he sat on his bed, writing down questions for the coming night.

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Just before nightfall the three of you made your way into the forest, this time unlike the first transformation you came with a extra set of clothes. "This is so not fair." You thought to yourself when you considered when demons reveal their true nature their clothes don't turn to scraps.

Satan followed behind as you and Levi lead him to the usual rendezvous point.

Levi's face would go flush every time he'd glance at you but he put up a valiant effort to try acting normal.

Reaching the spot you'd usually transmute, there was some apparent wear and tear, especially from the first time when Levi got the bright idea that you should try knocking down trees. It wasn't possible but your claw marks were apparent, and broken branches littered the clearing.

Thinking back, your first transformation was much stronger than the second time, something about the adrenaline of having your DNA rewritten could cause a temporary surge of pain and strength. Levi made an apt comparison of the first time being like awakening to your powers in Persona 5. That in mind, feeling as though you'd soon burst of the magic inside you, you wondered how powerful you'd be this moon.

"This is it." You hummed, even though Satan could've figured it out just looking at the carnage of nature.

Satan glanced around then a mocking smirk displayed on his face. "Looks like you two have had fun."

There it went, Levi's mask broke.

Levia-Chan.exe has stopped working.

You feigned ignorance and innocently twisted hair around your finger. "Yeah, sharpened my claws here the fir-" the sound of footsteps cut you off, they weren't Satans or Levi's, putting you on high alert.

Satan was next to acknowledge the unknown presence, also looking to the direction.

Both of you were ready to interrogate or perhaps maim the intruder depending on who it was.

From the shadows, Mammon emerged with his hands in his pockets. "Havin' a party huh? What gives with my invite?" He stepped over to Levi, the only non-aggressive person, and playfully slapped him on the shoulder, which in turn rebooted his thoughts.

Levi in turn faced his older brother and smacked his hand away. "You didn't get one because you weren't invited."

Mammon placed his hands on his hips and leaned in towards Levi, a cocky smile donned his face. "That so, little bro? Cause 'ere I am."

Satan also agreed that Mammon shouldn't be there, and seeing how there was little time left, he took to his demon form and stepped up to Mammon. "And now you're leaving."

Knowing that if Mammon really wanted he could hold Satan off alone, Levi changed forms too. "We really don't need a scummy guy like you here." He defensively hissed.

Mammon being Lucifers punching bag for centuries wasn't about to let them push him around.

Just as he was about to take form, you felt the surge within you, your beast nature started to take hold. Something wasn't right though, it felt as though the stirring feeling was about to burst out of your chest at any moment. "Uhh... guys..." you stumbled towards them but soon fell to your knees. You began coughing out blood that was glowing from the magic that needed to expel itself.

Levi watched frozen in horror while the others ran to your side.

Falling forward onto all four, your whole body shifted to its beastly shape.

The feeling of wanting to implode dissipated, but so did the ability to reason.

Looking up at the three, you growled as though threatened before turning to Mammon, the one that appeared least threatening, not being in demon form. In an instant you jumped onto him, holding him to the ground and ripping his jacket.

Satan snapped into action and ran at you with enough speed that he shoved you off. As you hit the ground with a tumble, Mammon looked down at his ripped jacket. "Fuck was that fer?" He shouted while defensively exposing his wings.

Stumbling back on all four, your eyes met with Levi's, and for a brief moment your humanity came back telling you to run.. And so you did. You ran as fast and hard as you could from the brothers, not wanting to harm any of them.

"Satan..." Levi started in a whining, broken voice. At this point he had no idea what to do. If you turned on him instead of running, he would've taken it because it was you. Atop that he felt ashamed of himself that he didn't try to help Mammon and instead left it to the youngest of the three, but again how could he react in such a situation?

Satan already had an idea of what Levi wanted to say. "We'll help her, but we need to get to her before a hunter does." He looked over to the silver haired demon, a plan quickly forming. "Mammon! Do you have any stink bombs left?"

Mammon smirked, pretending he had a single clue what Satan was thinking. "Course I do!"

Satan took hold of Levi's arm. "We'll slow her down, get them and come find us!" Satan then started running towards the direction (y/n) took off in, dragging a perturbed Levi along.

The brothers were pushing themselves as hard as they could to catch up. Being two of the three that lacked wings, what they had going for them was Satans topographic knowledge of the whole Devildom forest, and Levi's insanely good sense of smell.

Coming up on a very rough terrain, Levi was beyond the point of wanting to collapse. He was starting to reconsider the hikikomori life since he had no stamina what so ever. Not that he'd ever really give it up.

The only thing keeping him going while his sides were aching was that he could smell (y/n)s blood in the distance.

Cautiously nearing where (y/n) collapsed, it appeared the closed bear trap they previously passed had mangled one of (y/n)s front legs.

"(Y/n)!" Levi yelled, trying to get closer but being stopped by Satan grabbing hold of his hood.

"She's injured, if we alert her she may try fleeing again." The blond demon cautioned.

Just as the words fell on your ears, you began trying to stand but whimpered in pain and fell back down.

Levi shook free of Satans hold, he continued toward you cautiously.

"No! Don't get closer!" You tried yelling though instead it came out as a growl.

Ignoring all the signs Levi continued approaching, feeling as though his lack of action lead to you fleeing and getting harmed. He was hating himself, but his want to be useful was stronger.

He held out his hand to you while Satan kept calling to try and make Levi step back.

The animal instincts took you again. The beast in you used your hind legs to pounce on and effectively hold down Levi. The beast that overtook you again growled and bared it's teeth at him, Levi simply resigned himself and closed his eyes as your good paw pinned him.

Satan began a sprint, ready to take action and help Levi, even if it costed your life. That's when a voice from above shouted "Incoming!"

Satan looked up to see Mammon floating above the scene, throwing lit stink bombs at you.

The scent was horrendous, it assaulted your heightened senses, and caused your eyes to water until you quickly fainted on top of Levi.

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When you finally woke, you were facing the ceiling of your bedroom. The memories of the night before were fuzzy and as though you were watching them replay through a 1950's television.

Did those things really happen?

You were scared to know if what you vaguely remembered really happened.

Lifting your head you looked down at yourself and saw your casted arm resting across your chest. It was a numb ache. Someone must've used a spell or some medicine to dull the pain.

A familiar sound of someone's restful breathing that wasn't yours was all that could be heard in the room. Carefully looking to the source, you found Levi fell asleep against your bed with his head resting on your mattress. Without thinking you leaned towards him and placed a soft kiss on his forehead.

He didn't wake from the feeling but a small smile subconsciously crept onto his face. Seeing that he was still asleep, you with ease crawled off your bed and made your way aimlessly down the hall.

Satan and Mammon were in the kitchen talking about the previous nights events. Curious of what happened, you eavesdropped on their conversation.

"Whatcha mean he accepted his death?" Mammon asked, sounding alarmed.

"I mean she had him held down and was about to tear into him, but he refused to defend himself."

"No way. Yer jokin!" Mammon was astounded at the idea Levi didn't attempt to defend himself. Did he really care that much for the exchange student?

Satan couldn't have been more serious. "If my plan to overwhelm her senses didn't work we'd be planning two Devildom funerals right now." Satan snapped back.

"Two?" You asked yourself before giving it some thought. "Of course it would've been two. If that beast I lost control of were to kill Levi... They would've made sure I couldn't make it out of Devildom alive." The thought rocked you to your core. You losing control almost got Levi killed.

"Well good thing the Great Mammon came in to save the day!" He tried boasting, though there was some stiffness to his words, knowing that it was Satans plan, and that if he were just a little later things could've taken a turn for the worst.

Though it couldn't be seen from where you stood, you could imagine Satan was rubbing his chin while thinking. "I see now why blood moons lack any documentations."

A fridge could be heard opening, assumingely Mammon as he listened. "Oh?"

"Until last night there were likely no survivors to record data." Satan answered before pausing. "What are you doing with that custard?"

"Eating it." Mammon answered with a bite already in his mouth.

An exasperated sigh came from Satan. "You know that belongs to Beel right?"

"So?" Mammon asked between smacks.

The impending threat that someone was eating Beel's food was enough reason for you to leave. You quietly stepped away before the gluttonous brother could make his nth visit to the kitchen.

Stepping back into your room, Levi was still in the same position as he was before. "Poor thing. I must've really exhausted him." You thought before sitting next to him on the floor, wrapping your unharmed arm around him. "I love you Levi." You whispered before nodding off with your head resting on his shoulder.

#obey me shall we date #obeyme! #obey me levi x reader #leviathan avatar of envy #om! leviathan #leviachan #leviathan #smut #forgive me diavolo for this is smut #i have created a sin #no ragerts #leviachan.exe stopped working #werewolf #this bitch be long #part 3 #the thirst be real #looking back the smut wasnt really needed #but it was wanted

[artificialqueens]

From Under Liquid Glass (2) (Branjie)- Ortega

a/n: somebody said they wanted another lil chapter to this, so i hope u all enjoy! it’s been quite a while since the first chapter was posted, so if u want to catch up u can read here! I hope u all enjoy it, and as always feel free to send love to AQ or to my blog!!

Trigger Warning: lots of discussion around anxiety throughout the whole fic so just generally would say avoid if that’s something that’s going to potentially affect u

Summary: Brooke Lynn Hytes was always told she’d have it all. She was never told that “all” would include crippling anxiety. Signed off from work at 27, Brooke moves back to her childhood home and has to get her head around her fall from grace.

Vanessa “Vanjie” Mateo has no job, no degree, and -£32.65 to her name, but she prides herself on keeping a level head. That all changes when a certain high school crush moves back into town and back into her life.

***

Brooke sat in a slightly cushioned red chair with a curved back, rendering her almost horizontal in the way it reclined. Opposite her in an identical chair was an older woman of around 40, who wore thick-rimmed purple glasses and had ensured the whole room smelt of incense sticks. So far she was filling every therapist stereotype in the book.

“So the purpose of today’s session, Brooke Lynn,” she said, in a voice so calming it made her sound like she’d been tranquilised and was moments away from passing out. “Is to just let me get to know a bit about you and your situation and what’s brought you here to me.”

Brooke ran a hand through her hair and shrugged. “I’ve been…signed off from work. With stress.“

The woman sat opposite her, simply looking. Not staring. Not replying. Just looking. It soon became clear that she wasn’t going to speak, so Brooke sighed, crossed a leg and opened her mouth again. "And…it fucking sucks? Like I’ve been off for a couple of days now and I’m waiting for the moment where I don’t wake up feeling guilty as all hell and panicked and wanting to go back and work through it, but I know if I go back nothing will have changed and they’ll treat me like I’m all better and I won’t be.”

The woman pushed her glasses up her nose. “You mentioned ‘they’, who’s 'they’, Brooke Lynn?"

Brooke frowned, disliking the use of her name. It felt too personal, too familiar. She had only just met the woman and here she was about to tell her all her life story? There was no way she could do this.

Nevertheless, she puffed a lot of air out of her cheeks and continued. "My management. They don’t care about staff wellbeing. As long as there’s a body in the room, they’re happy.”

The woman nodded slowly, then cast an eye to the forms on the small coffee table beside her that Brooke had filled in just moments ago. “So you’re a secondary school teacher. It must be a very high-pressured job- exam grades to be met, reports to write, challenging behaviour?"

Brooke knew what she was trying to do, to get her to reveal more information without really asking her anything. It grated on her, and part of Brooke wanted to call her out on it irritably but then she’d be filling another therapy stereotype, the guarded, cranky patient who didn’t want to let her walls down, so she didn’t. "Yes. I teach dance, so. There’s lots of pressure to get my kids into dance schools as well. From parents, from management, from the kids.”

“And do you feel that some of that pressure comes from yourself?” the therapist asked. Brooke was taken aback by the question. She furrowed her brows.

“I mean…yeah, I guess? I always tend to put pressure on myself but that’s how I function, it’s how I work best, under pressure. So there’s always got to be a bit of that.”

“And do you feel under pressure just now, being off work?”

Brooke again was unsure. She thought of her answer for a moment before she said it, the room filled with silence. “I guess not? I mean no, maybe, yeah. Pressure to come back, I suppose.”

“Okay. Let’s take right now. Are you feeling under any pressure?"

Brooke blinked. If she thought about it too much, then yeah, sure. But at the moment, in the moment, she felt fine. She felt safe, if guarded. "No.”

“And are you still functioning?”

“…Yes.”

“So you don’t really need to pressure yourself to work hard. Do you?”

Brooke felt her eyebrows raise. Her voice caught in her throat. “I…guess not.”

There was a small pause. The woman nodded back at her. “Maybe something that we can work on is…thinking in the moment.”

Brooke felt an odd sense of clarity. Was this how therapy was supposed to feel? “Okay. Sure.”

The therapist moved on. “So you detailed you were living at home for the time being. What’s your support system like here?”

“Uh, there’s my Mum and my Dad. Both still working, inexplicably, since they both should’ve retired a couple years ago. They’re sweet and supportive but I don’t feel like I can really properly talk to them, you know?”

The therapist nodded and said nothing. This was like pulling teeth.

“Uh, there’s my cat, Henry. Well, he’s not strictly my cat, he’s the family cat.”

“And what about friends?” the woman asked inquisitively, Brooke shrugging easily.

“Yeah, I mean I have-” she cut herself off. Yvie? Plastique? Bianca? Scarlet? Detox? No. None of them she could really call support. Nina? She was sweet, but she was a work friend, plus she was now miles away back in the city. Who did Brooke actually have? The thought sobered her, and she clammed up. The therapist gently spoke again.

“We don’t have to discuss friendships today if that’s a particularly sore subject for you, but it’s good that you at least have family around you at this time.”

“It’s not that it’s a sore subject, I guess I just…” Brooke sighed, feeling a lump in her throat which she quickly swallowed down. “I just didn’t realise how few friends I have any more.”

“It’s natural to lose contact with people as you grow older. Perhaps one thing you could decide to do with your time off is to catch up with old friends while you have the time. It may help you feel more grounded, or lift your mood,” the woman suggested gently. Brooke watched as she glanced to the clock on her desk. “That’s almost it for the time we have. Next session we’ll talk a bit more in detail about what we’ve covered just now, but it was good to meet you today, Brooke Lynn, and to get to know you a bit. Is there anything you’d like to ask me?”

Brooke thought. “Uh, how many of these sessions would you say I had to have before I start feeling…you know. Myself again.”

Her therapist set her mouth in an awkward line. “That’s not for me to say. It’s whenever you feel ready and whatever pace you move at over the course of these sessions. It’s entirely your decision.”

Brooke nodded briefly. That was good. She enjoyed having the control, enjoyed feeling like she could stop at any time.

“What time would suit you for next week’s session?”

Brooke cracked a smile. “Uh, well, I’m pretty easy, what with the whole being signed off work thing.”

The woman opposite her just looked at her expectantly. Tough crowd, therapists. Brooke picked the same day, same time and then left the building, the professional, office-like facade rendering none of the general public able to tell that Brooke has just been to see someone because she was ever so slightly fucking loopy. She felt as if she was part of Men In Black. Or the MIB would have to stand for something else. Mentally Ill Bitch? That should do it.

Checking the time and slowing down outside a coffee shop, she shrugged. It was just past 10 and she hadn’t had any breakfast yet, unless she counted a beta blocker and a cup of tea. She pushed the door and headed inside, the smell of coffee hitting her instantly and reminding her of work, an uneasy feeling creeping up in her chest. The feeling only got worse when she saw who was in the queue one person ahead of her. She heard her before she saw her, Vanessa shouting up an order for a cappuccino loudly over the banging and whirring of the coffee machines. She was dressed in a smart red pinafore dress with a black top underneath, its ¾ length sleeves showing off her tanned arms. Brooke was thrown, looking at the ceiling, the floor, the suspicious-looking cheese and mushroom toasties on display, anything and anywhere apart from the girl’s face. Brooke felt herself hold her breath. Why the fuck was she destined to bump into Vanessa every time she looked like a demon from an M. Night Shyamalan movie? Her hair (clean, but not blow-dried so all her ends were dry and frizzy) was swept up into an unattractive ponytail that made her look like a forgotten Mitchell brother, she didn’t have a scrap of makeup on her face, and all her clothes were the ones from uni she’d neglected to take with her when she moved so she was wearing dark blue jeans, white converse, and a horrific blue sweatshirt patterned with sushi with “THIS IS HOW I ROLL” in huge white letters across the front, which had seemed like a good idea to nineteen-year-old Brooke.

And then Vanessa turned around and hit her with a huge beaming smile, her face lighting up in surprise. Fuck. For a huge town, it did simultaneously seem really quite small.

“Hey! Brooke Lynn! Come up! She’s with me,” Vanessa gestured and said to the barista, an awkward Brooke shuffling past the man in front of her and over to Vanessa. “How are you?”

“I’m alright, thanks- uh, an almond croissant and a flat white, please,” Brooke said to the man across the counter from her, cringing as she felt the judgemental eyes of the man queueing behind her boring into her. Trying to ignore her overwhelming embarrassment at feeling watched, she turned to Vanessa instead. “How are you?”

“I’m fuckin’ peachy, girl. Gone and got myself an interview, haven’t I?” Vanessa smiled proudly, a smile involuntarily springing to Brooke’s face.

“Oh, wow, that’s great! Congratulations!"

"Yeah, well, it’s only Lidl. It’s not amazing. But I’m still excited,” Vanessa shrugged, Brooke clocking the dimples that appeared as the other girl smiled. Had they always been a thing?

“You could say you’re a Lidl bit excited,” Brooke said, completely monotone as Vanessa snorted a laugh and thumped her on the arm. Brooke was distracted by the barista who asked her if she wanted her food to take away. Brooke gave a quick glance at Vanessa, who smiled hesitantly.

“I’ve got mine to sit in. I’ve got twenty minutes or so before I have to head for my train, you can come join me if you want,” she shrugged lightly, Brooke feeling a blush hit her cheeks. Why? Why was she blushing? It was only a girl from high school asking her to hang out.

“Sure. Sitting in then, please,” Brooke smiled tightly at the barista. She held her card out to tap against the reader, but before she could even react, Vanessa had leaned across and got her own card there first. Brooke turned to her with narrowed eyes and the other girl smirked cheekily. “You’re literally unemployed.”

“Oh, what, and a bitch can’t treat a girl to nice things?” Vanessa snapped, her face at once furious, and Brooke felt her own blanche in horror. A tsunami of relief washed over her as Vanessa suddenly laughed, her eyes crinkling up at the edges. “Jesus H Christ, you’re far too easy to wind up. You’re like a lil’ clockwork toy.”

Brooke felt her cheeks grow hot. Blushing again. What the fuck?

They took their drinks to a small seat beside the window, where the glass was wet and misty from condensation and the people passing outside moved like ghosts. Vanessa curled her hands around the huge mug of coffee, neglecting to sip it yet and instead choosing to tilt her head and smile at Brooke gently. “So, you’re up kinda early for a bitch that’s off work. You not livin’ the high life watching Judge Rinder and sleepin’ in til noon an’ shit?”

Brooke gave a laugh. “I was at therapy.”

“Damn, well I really put my foot in it there,” Vanessa gave a slightly choked cough and smiled guiltily at Brooke. “I’m sorry, girl. How was it? You make any amazing breakthroughs?”

“Well it was only the first session. It was mainly just me filling out paperwork and telling her about my life and stuff,” Brooke shrugged, looking down as she ripped her croissant in two. When she looked up, Vanessa was biting back a smile, her eyes sparkling a little.

“Damn. You paid forty pounds for that?”

Brooke raised an unimpressed eyebrow at the girl opposite her, trying and failing to hold back a smile at Vanessa’s mischievous grin. “Forty five actually.”

“Oh, my bad. Sorry. Forty five,” Vanessa smirked, Brooke laughing in spite of herself. “Shit, maybe I should become a terrapin.”

“…therapist,” Brooke corrected her, a little awkward. As Vanessa snorted at herself, her cheeks grew red in a blush that only seemed to make her more endearing. Intrigued, Brooke tilted her head. “Okay, then, Miss Therapist. What would you say to me? What advice would you give?”

“Well, I’d just say that…” Vanessa began, looking a little lost. Snapping her gaze back to Brooke, her face seemed to soften. It set off a warm feeling that spread across Brooke’s heart and out into her chest. “I’d say that things look really shitty now, but it’s always darkest before dawn, y’know, and tomorrow’s another day. Just try not to look at things long-term. I don’t know, I know I hardly know you, really, but you just seem like someone who has this big five-year-plan. You don’t have to, girl. You’re what, twenty-seven?”

“Good to know I look my age,” Brooke quipped dryly. Vanessa kicked her underneath the table.

“Bitch, I know how old you are! I was fourteen when you were eighteen, so you’re twenty-seven now! Am I wrong?”

“Do you call all your clients bitches?” Brooke asked, raising a single eyebrow.

“Only the pretty ones,” Vanessa gave her a look that Brooke couldn’t make out, but she knew it made her cross her legs under the table and squeeze her thighs together. Vanessa raised her coffee to her lips and gave a light shrug. “And the ones that are bitches, of course.”

Brooke snorted a laugh. “Okay, so that’s your advice? One day at a time, it’s always darkest before dawn? Damn, I’ve never visited a therapist that speaks entirely in cliches.”

Vanessa finished drinking and put her mug down. “Ah, but I actually gave you advice! Which is more than yours did today, what’d she do, give you some forms and listen to your life story?”

“Stop trash-talking my therapist, god,” Brooke rolled her eyes, Vanessa laughing playfully opposite her. Her deep brown eyes seemed to light up every time she laughed or smiled, giving them a sparkle that Brooke couldn’t help but be drawn to. “You’re not getting paid for that, by the way.”

“Damn. Shame, really. I could use it if this job interview goes to shit,” Vanessa shrugged, her smile turning the slightest bit sad as she turned to look out the window. “Which it prolly will.”

“Don’t say that! It’ll be fine. Better than fine! You’ll be great,” Brooke insisted, almost falling over herself to reassure Vanessa. God, why was she so nervous all of a sudden? It was probably the anxiety. It definitely wasn’t the smile Vanessa sent her way in return.

“You’re sweet,” she said softly, a slight flush of red hitting her cheeks.

Yep. Definitely the anxiety. Not Vanessa’s outrageously fucking beautiful face.

“Well, I’m telling the truth! You’d be great in retail, I don’t know why people aren’t falling over themselves to employ you.”

“Brooke, when I said I didn’t have any quali…qualificitations…”

“Qualifications.”

“…fuckin’, A-Levels. I meant it. I have nothin’. I’m fuckin’ Whitney Houston over here,” Vanessa gave a small laugh, sighing as she took another sip. Brooke couldn’t help but mirror the sigh.

“If you don’t mind me asking…how come?” Brooke asked tentatively, cushioning the invasive question with a compliment. “You always struck me as someone really bright,”

Vanessa snorted. “Your judgement’s poor, boo. I’m a fuckin’ idiot. How d’you think I was fourteen in Year 7? I had to sit Year 5 twice. You know I straight-up couldn’t write a sentence on my own until I was eight?”

Brooke tried to feign indifference but she knew her expression gave her away. Vanessa laughed. “Exactly, bitch! Then when I got to high school, the teachers were all bitchier an’ meaner. And I was goin’ through puberty as well, which made me bitchier an’ meaner. So bitchy mean teachers plus bitchy mean Vanjie was never gonna be a good combo.”

Brooke let a small silence hang in the air as Vanessa stared out of the steamed-up window and cupped her mug with two hands. “I was screamin’ at teachers in class, swearin’ at ‘em, straight-up threw a book at some bitch’s head once. To be fair, she deserved it, ‘cuz she started sayin’ I would be a total failure in life an’ have no job an’ no prospects. And I mean, I am, but you don’t say that to a fifteen year old kid, right? I don’t know…I regret a lot of the shit I did, but I don’t regret that.”

Brooke said nothing, instead just choosing to listen to all Vanessa wanted to vent to her. “Of course, ‘cuz I started gettin’ mouthy in class I started gettin’ the attention of the other mouthy girls. They didn’t like me…fuck knows why, but they didn’t. I got in a bunch of fights…I mean, some people would prolly say they bullied me, but I gave as good as I got, you know? Anyway, got to sixteen an’ they expelled me. And there was no legal requirement for me to go back to school, so I never did. My Mum, shit, I never saw her so mad before. She told me the moment I turned eighteen I was out on my ass, an’ she held that up. I was all cocky, thinkin’ I could just charm myself into a job. But here I am. Five years later an’ I’m in a council flat livin’ off the most basic fuckin’ government handout and the last of the savings my Mum put aside for me.”

Brooke shook her head. “Fuck, Vanessa, I’m sorry. That’s really rough.”

“Hey, it’s just my life! That’s my lot, girl, an’ I’m stuck with it. But hopefully today’s my lucky day,” Vanessa smiled tightly, then frowned. “Fuck, Brooke, I’m kinda nervous.”

Brooke was hit with an unbearable urge to reach out and take Vanessa’s hand. She didn’t. “That’s natural. Don’t worry. You’ll kill it, they’ll love you!”

Vanessa smiled bashfully again, which made Brooke feel like melting butter. Unable to help herself, she added, “You could definitely charm yourself into a job.”

Brooke pressed her lips together to keep from smiling as Vanessa let out a laugh. “You’re awful, Jesus Christ! Stop distractin’ me, I need to be focused.”

“How am I distracting you!” Brooke exclaimed, affronted. Vanessa gazed at her with a look in her eye that Brooke couldn’t decipher, then shook her head.

“Doesn’t matter,” she laughed softly. Then her gaze snapped to the clock on the wall. “Damn, I need to hurry. That’d be my luck if I missed my fuckin’ train. Shit, sorry for offloading my fuckin’ life story onto you.”

“Don’t worry. I kinda did the same to you in the supermarket, so now we’re even. You have my full permission to launch into deep chat any time you see me,” Brooke smiled, regretting the fact that Vanessa had to leave. As she grabbed her bag, Vanessa’s face turned wistful. Pausing, she pulled out her phone.

“Y’know, we should do this again some time. Before you have to go back to work. I know I’m a shit therapist, but you still don’t need to pay me anythin’ if you wanna talk. I mean, maybe you can get the coffee next time. Since you actually earn a fuckin’ wage.”

Brooke laughed, her heart fluttering as Vanessa held out her phone with a blank contact on the screen. Brooke punched in her number then, pausing for only a second, she wrote her name as “Brooke x”. Her heart held its breath as Vanessa took the phone back, cast a glance over it, and smiled ever so slightly.

“Cool. Well, I’ll text you next time I’m free, and I’ll let you know how I do today. But it was so good to see you, girl. As always,” Vanessa smiled, leaning down and giving Brooke a hug. Her clothes smelt of washing powder and her hair had that freshly-shampooed scent, and the two combined made Brooke not want to let go. Vanessa made that decision for her, pulling away and waving a goodbye as she hurried out of the shop.

As Brooke watched her red-pinafored silhouette make its way to the train station, she found herself sitting her phone on the coffee table screen-up, an unexpected optimism and hope nestling itself in her heart, and her mind filled with the girl who had been dealt shit cards in life but who’d still tapped her card against the reader to pay for Brooke’s drink as if it was nothing.  

#rpdr fanfiction #branjie #angst #lesbian au #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #from under liquid glass #ortega

[thismads]

1-102 thanks

1.) what’s a song you depict with your childhood? Best of both world - Hannah montana PLS 2.) did you have a memorable childhood pet? yes my angels may they rest in heaven3.) have you ever been drunk? nope, alcohol is useless and stupid4.) have you ever tried drugs?  nope, drugs are useless and stupid 5.) have you ever completely regretted what you’ve said? nope I rarely does, even when i’m angry i’m honest and people that tells that you don’t mean what you say when you’re angry you always do, it’s  just that you’re more honest when you’re angry6.) have you ever made someone cry? yes, I selena gomezed my old justin bieber :D 7.) has someone ever made you cry? yes8.) have you ever been in love? if so, describe the moment you knew it. yes, and I knew it when I couldn’t feel my cheek from smiling when he only said hi 9.) which came first the chicken or the egg? chicken, next :D 10.) are you part of the lgbtq+ community? do you support them? nope i’m not a part of it but yes I support them 298456543256543% they are superior i said what i said 11.) how many siblings do you have? 1, this little shithead i’d b nothing without :D12.) have you ever been in love with someone you couldn’t love? yes13.) are you a good cook? ask @lordbieber he would ask me to cook for him all the time haha but fr I tend to be a good cook tbh14.) what is your favorite tv show? Buffy The Vampire Slayer15.) what is the last movie you cried during? Sleepers16.) what are songs you’ve cried to when you first heard them? (if any) Anyone - Demi fucking goddess Lovato17.) do you have a middle name? Marie 18.) have you been out of your country? yes19.) are you a chocolate fan or not? DUH DOES A BLIND PERSON WANTS TO SEE20.) how many people have you kissed? a girl never reveal those ;) 21.) what is your favorite album? any P!nk’s old albums22.) what is your dream car? a porsche or Maserati23.) what is your lucky/favorite number? 624.) what is your favorite flower? roses and cherry blossoms25.) books or movies, why? books lmaoooo just because it’s superior, it comes from 26.) have you ever been on a blind date? yes thank you ophelie :D 27.) has one of your friends ever backstabbed you? DUH more than I could count28.) have you ever backstabbed one of your friends? never29.) what thing do you symbolize love with? hurting30.) do you have neat handwriting? nope 31.) do you have a friend with benefits? aaaaah lmao nope32.) do you want a friend with benefits? nope i’m too much of a helpless dumb and depressive romantic bitch :D 33.) if you could be anything in the world, what would you be? right now? toilet paper cause this shit’s gold these day LMAOOO jk but idk .. a star or a planet, as far away as possible form human kind34.) have you ever been blackout drunk? nope, hate alcohol, useless and stupid35.) have you ever met someone famous? Yes36.) how many concerts have you been to? 037.) which concerts have you been to? none38.) do you have a hidden talent? I exude dumb bitch energy for decades to come without anyone asking :D 39.) what do you do when you’re stressed? die lmao no but sleep or listening to music40.) do you think money can buy love? dunno i’ve always been a broke ass bitch :D 41.) how old would you date? up to 2 year older than me42.) have you ever done something illegal? yes43.) what is your biggest fear? spiders, horror movies and not being able to breathe44.) what is an unusual fear you have? fuits seeds lmaooo I hate those they creep me out lmaoo lemon seeds? HORROR MOVIE45.) can you drive? nope46.) do you believe in supernatural creatures? i’m here so DUH yes47.) do you believe in karma? yes and everyone should48.) what is one quality you need in your partner? loyalty, honesty and sense of humor 49.) do looks matter? yes, cause if the man looks like a hobo I won’t be too turned on lmao50.) does size matter? height speaking? yes. i’m 5′1 but other than that I mean we can manage ;) 51.) who is the last person you forgave? myself xx52.) what is your favorite ice cream flavor? vanilla 53.) what languages can you speak besides english? french, and a lil bit of spanish and italian54.) ever been on a plane? yes, best time of my life55.) ever been on a boat? yes, worst time of my life56.) is there anyone you’ve lost touch with that you wish you hadn’t? nope57.) are there any friendships you regret? nope all of the people that are in my life are meant to be there and those who aren’t must not be there at this exact moment of my life :D58.) are there any friendships you wish you could make? duh.. where is madison beer 59.) have you ever stayed awake for 24 (+) hours? yes60.) have you ever walked outside after 12 am? yes61.) have you ever seen a sunrise completely through? yes62.) are you scared of rollercoasters? nope not at all my biggest dream is too jump off a plane63.) on a scale of 1-10 how stressed are you usually? I’m not very stressed.. unless it’s school lmaoo but i’d say my peak is 2 64.) do you have any plans this weekend? It’s a quarantine time bebe so I plan on breathing which is already more than enough65.) do you miss anyone right now? yes66.) who do you wish you were talking to right now? aaaah secrets67.) if you could have any superpower, what would it be? controlling the 4th elements68.) who is your favorite superhero? Henry Cavill, yes he saves life with his accent and features I SAID WHAT I SAID69.) are you dirty minded? yes lmaoo soz xx70.) what is your favorite song from every decade starting at that 80’s?80′s (my fave era about music) : Part time lover - Stevie Wonder &  Hotel california by the eagles / 90′s: Unbreak my heart : Toni Braxton / 2000′s: Lose yourself - Eminem & back to black - Amy Winehouse 10′s ugh there’s so many bops atm i’m 71.) how many kids, if any, do you want? 272.) who is your biggest OTP? Me and pasta73.) what is your favorite food? pasta74.) do you want to be married one day? Yes75.) dogs or cats? cats76.) do you drink enough water daily? Nope I don’t drink water on a daily77.) have you ever seen a shooting star? yes the most beautiful thing the life has given us78.) if you had the opportunity to go to the moon, would you? fly me to the moon and let me play among the starssss YES I WOULD BYE WORLD79.) how many best friends do you have? I have a lot of good friends but @thisamick‘s my main bitch80.) when was the last time you cried? Idk I was watching Sleepers!81.) have you ever laughed so hard you peed yourself? YES82.) have you ever made anyone laugh so hard they peed? Yes I did it was the funniest shit83.) if you could travel any where in the world, where would you go? California 84.) what are 3 words you would use to describe yourself?  Loyal, funny and @thisamick said perfect but it’s all a lie so I’d say honest :D85.) do you consider yourself a loyal person? one of the most loyal person u’ll ever find86.) what is your favorite season and why? Fall, because the colors, the weather, the mood, the leaves on the ground, all of it87.) have you ever told anyone you loved them, and didn’t mean it? nope never omg what a horrible move88.) do you know how to play any instruments? I wish but nope89.) do like like falling asleep to music or not? yesss omg my fave, a daily routine, a lifestyle90.) what are you allergic to? life and people91.) have you ever wanted to be someone else for a day just so you could see what there life is like? yessss92.) if you could be any character from your favorite tv show would you, and if so, who would you be? yes I would def be Buffy93.) if you could be best friends with any celebrity who would it be and why? Madison Beer or Angelina Jolie94.) are you outgoing? when you know me yes95.) have you ever wanted to kiss someone, but weren’t brave enough to? duh yes96.) are you a good flirt? tbh yes lmao97.) have you ever been turned down, or have you ever turned anyone down? yes and no at least I don’t think I ever did?98.) which planet is your favorite? Jupiter or Saturn99.) are you superstitious? no100.) are you a good listener? yes 101.) are you a good kisser? hun I leave a indelible mark baby ;) 102.) would you kiss any of your friends? girl friends? yes // boy friends? nope

#THIS TOOK ME DECADESSSSSSS #IM #ask #k

[capnjay21]

bring walls down, hear my sound 3/3

Ten happy years after the events of 'the boy that stood by the sea', and Henry Cassidy is no longer the little boy he used to be. Unused to the unpredictability of raising a teenager, his sudden wayward behaviour becomes a source of mystery to all the adults in his life. When things begin to spiral out of control, Killian and Emma must decide what sort of parents, and partners, they wish to be - of course, where Neal Cassidy is involved, nothing is ever simple.

link to the boy that stood by the sea || ao3 || part one || part two

Rating: T A/N: So it's actually been two years since I updated this story. I'm not sure if any of my readers will still be around, or interested, but nonetheless I am excited to finally put the conclusion out into the world!

As it's been a while, I will reiterate the content warning for the last chapter which still applies - there is a discussion regarding a miscarriage Emma underwent a few years prior, which is an important event for her and Killian and in this narrative. As ever, please take care of yourselves, but I hope you decide to continue!

Now without further ado, here is my 13.5k finisher! (PS, I know Coney Island doesn't open in the winter, but please dispel that tiny bit of realism for this chapter!) Enjoy! <3

-/-

Henry has been in New York for four days.

 Neal keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop, for him to decide to go home or for Killian to ring and demand that he be sent back to Boston — he’s more than aware he’s living on borrowed time. Truth be told, for the first time in a long while he really feels like he’s doing the parent thing, making sure the boy gets decent meals every day and leaving work early enough to come home and spend time with him.

 In fact, he’s beginning to wonder what made this so hard ten years ago.

 It was such a long time ago now, he remembers the sensations and emotions far more than how he actually behaved when Henry lived with him full time, before Emma had stolen his car and entered their lives. It had been such a colossal struggle, trying to balance his work life with Henry, all pushing boundaries and guilt, god, so much fucking guilt, until it had reached breaking point that night on a beach in Maine. No matter how hard he had tried, he just couldn’t reconcile the two things that he loved most, this little boy who had needed him there and this job, the only thing he had ever wanted before Henry was born. It had ended in him letting one of them go.

 He doesn’t regret sending Henry to live with Killian permanently. That had always been the right decision. What he does regret is missing out on time spent with him; the lazy mornings and sun-soaked afternoons, the science projects and parent-teacher conferences. Neal never had a reason to go to the library without Henry tucked into his side, but then, he had to remind himself, it wasn’t like he’d been around enough to take the boy there when they were together. Although he gave both Killian and Emma a hard time on the phone after the yacht incident, he knows Henry had a better life with them than he could’ve ever given him.

 He just can’t work out why. Now, it’s the easiest thing in the world. He can’t wait for the end of the day to come so he can be back at the flat playing video games, or taking him out to eat or touring him around the best attractions New York can offer. They’re making up for years of lost time, and he can’t bear to waste a single minute.

 His priorities have shifted; he realises that now. Better late than never.

 And god, it’s so much better.

 If he could redo that decision on a beach in Maine, hell, every decision he’d ever made before that, it would not be the job that he would keep. Nor the boy he would lose.

 That said, with this newfound clarity comes something else — maturity. At thirty-fucking-nine it’s about time. Henry is his son, sure, but four perfect days don’t make up for sixteen years of emotional and oftentimes physical unreliability. Killian is the one who had been there, Killian is the one who is probably sat at home in Boston worrying himself into the ground, thinking he isn’t worth it. Killian is the reason this boy is such a bright spark in Neal’s otherwise empty life.

 Well. It doesn’t have to be empty. He just has to go home.

 (And so does Henry.)

 As long as he knows that, as long as he’s aware of it, it feels okay. But he doesn’t want to let go of this yet, these longing, desperate days. He wants to know how it feels to have everything.

 “So, you got work today?” Henry says brightly around his cup of coffee, eyes wide and expectant.

 It’s Monday. Neal has a conference in the morning, two meetings and a sales briefing.

 “Nope,” he says, taking out his phone to text his assistant that he won’t be in. “Day off.”

 “Wow.” Henry’s eyebrows have shot to his hairline. “I didn’t realise you had those.”

 It’s not said bitterly, but it could well have been. It could have been and it would’ve been entirely fair. But Henry is sweet and good and always forgave him, even when he didn’t deserve it.

 “Very funny,” Neal sticks out his tongue, setting a plate of scrambled eggs down in front of the boy. He reaches into the microwave and emerges with the cheese he’d melted ready to drizzle on top.

 “Cheddar?” Henry queries.

 “Gouda.”

 The boy grins. “Good, I was just testing you.” He takes the bowl from him and begins to smother his eggs. Once he’s done, he uses a fork to begin mixing it all together. “So, what’s on the agenda for today then?”

 It’s so easy, being with Henry like this. It’s so fucking easy, which is what makes this so fucking hard.

 “Henry,” he starts, before hesitating. The tone of his voice probably alerts his son to the nature of what he wants to say, and he looks up from his breakfast. Neal merely meets his gaze sadly, lifting one shoulder in a half shrug. “When are you going home, kiddo?”

 Henry’s face falls, and he looks younger than he has in four days. More like a little boy by the sea trying to make an impossible choice. “I thought we said no outsider —”

 Neal shakes his head. “Not gonna work this time.”

 They’ve spent days running in the opposite direction to their responsibilities, from the people who care about them — he supposes it’s a comfort, in a sense. In his quieter moments he’d always been afraid that when Henry became a man, he’d see nothing of himself in him; he just wishes he’d passed on a more redeeming quality than the tendency to ignore his problems with more conviction than he confronted them.

 Whatever happened back in Boston, he has to face it. Neal can’t be the place that Henry runs to, as much as he wants days like this to never be over.

 When Henry speaks, his voice is quiet, the furthest yet from the confident young man that turned up on his doorstep.

 “Can’t this be home?”

 A bachelor pad in the middle of New York City, the safe haven they’ve turned it into. Neal’s heart melts, if only under the weight of the knowledge that no, of course it can’t.

 He smiles sadly. “You know I’d love nothing more.”

­­

“Then let’s make it happen!” Henry urges.

 Before Neal can reply, his cell begins to buzz across the countertop. For a terrifying moment he thinks it might be Killian, finally coming to hold him accountable, but the pair of them look over to see Tink’s name flashing across the screen. Neal’s stomach clenches tighter. God, he wants to be the responsible adult they all deserve, but fuck if it doesn’t make him feel like shit.

 Wordlessly, he reaches over and turns off his phone. Henry watches the movement intently.

 “Why aren’t you answering her?”

 After all, they’ve already lifted their embargo on no-outsider-talk.

 Neal readies himself to tell his son everything, but the words that leave his tongue don’t resemble the confession he had meant to impart.

 “Do you remember that time I took you to Coney Island?”

 Old habits die slow and brutal deaths.

 Henry looks wary at the sudden switch of conversation, but he plays along. “I wasn’t big enough for most of the rides.”

 The boy had only been eight, and a short eight-year-old at that, and the day had been such a dramatic failure that he couldn’t hand Henry back to Killian fast enough to break from the shame. Of course, Henry had babbled on about how amazing the cotton candy and the spectacle of the entire day had been, thanking his father profusely and Killian had looked suitably impressed. Neal didn’t dare confess to the contrary. Undoubtedly, Henry’s optimism and his father’s realism remember that day excruciatingly differently.

 Neal shrugs. “You would be now, wouldn’t you?”

 It’s a dare. They’ll see how long they can push this.

 Henry grabs his coat, and they decide to keep running.

 -/-

 There was Emma, thinking her couch hopping days were finally behind her.

 Thankfully, David and Mary Margaret’s couch is infinitely superior to any she’s put up with before.

 Almost buried under an abundance of pillows and soft blankets as the white gold of morning begins to creep past the curtains, Emma is grateful she didn’t think to go anywhere else. Truthfully, the night prior is a blur. All she knows is it left a yawning hole in her chest, a dead weight that begged to be lifted but had settled rather firmly in the crevice where her heart usually lay. She’d gotten up to try and convince Killian to come back to bed, come back to her, and somehow it had ended with them spitting fire at each other about Henry, and then — well. Then it had been marriage and children and missed opportunities and apparently a colossally poor level of communication between them that she hadn’t even realised existed.

 It’s exhausting to even think about. She feels emotionally drained, devoid of energy, and wants nothing more than to sink into the Nolans’ sofa and never emerge.

 As a gentle knock sounds at the door, she senses this is not to be the case.

 “Emma?” Mary Margaret pokes her head around the door, a tentative look on her face. When Emma merely grunts in response she slips inside, closing the door behind her with a gentle click. “I bring gifts,” she says, waving a mug topped with whipped cream in front of her as she comes to rest on the arm.

With great difficulty, Emma drags herself into a sitting position. “Is that cocoa?”

 “With cinnamon,” Mary Margaret promises, and Emma eagerly reaches for the cup. “And cream. I thought I’d push the boat out for this one.”

 “Please, don’t mention boats,” Emma grimaces, but thanks her friend fondly as she hands her the mug. Any kind of nautical reference is far beyond what she can handle right now. She takes her first sip and it’s warm, and heavenly. Mary Margaret had introduced her to the wonder of adding cinnamon to hot chocolate, but she’s yet to brew one that tastes even half as good as her friend’s.

 Taking delicate sips from her own mug, Mary Margaret allows her this — a few peaceful minutes of silence, letting her make the first move. She’d never met anybody who treated her quite as tenderly as her, except perhaps Killian. With a jolt of nausea threatening to rise, she lowers her mug. Something was made tender by Killian last night, but it feels more like battle scars than hot cocoa.

 “Do you want to talk?”

 Emma sighs. It’s not as if she thought she could avoid this conversation (turning up with red-rimmed eyes on your best friend’s doorstep at nearly three in the morning did somewhat merit an explanation), but she was at least hoping to get in a few more hours of sleep.

 “Not… really.”

 Mary Margaret turns from where she is perched on the arm, angling her body towards her. “I take it you and Killian had a fight?”

 Putting it mildly.

 “It wasn’t just a fight,” Emma says tiredly, “it was the armageddon of fights. You could have measured it on the Richter scale, I mean it.”

 Her friend’s expression twists with sympathy and Emma looks away, picking violently at loose threads on the blanket she’d been given. Even now, with her roots down and her life as settled as it’s ever been (the previous night notwithstanding) she isn’t comfortable with anyone, no matter how well intentioned, pitying her. It takes her right back to life in the system and teachers who were happy to condescend to her, but not to do anything about it.

 Unaware of her ire, Mary Margaret continues. “What was it about?”

 “Henry, me and him, just…” Emma waves an absent hand. “Everything.”

 “Henry’s still in New York then?”

 Emma nods. “And ever since he left — hell, before he left, with all that stuff with the yacht, Killian’s been totally… I don’t know, out of it. Not himself.” It feels good to tell someone, to hopefully find at least some validation in the way she’s been feeling; to have someone else recognise that things haven’t been right, Killian hasn’t been right, and it’s not all within her imagination. “And I tried to call him out on it and suddenly we were arguing about what terrible parents we’d make and the fact that we never got married.”

 Mary Margaret’s eyebrows jump to her hairline. “Wow.”

 Wow didn’t quite cover it, in Emma’s opinion.

 “Bit of a one-eighty, right?”

 Her friend hesitates for a moment, taking a small sip of her cocoa as she does so. “I’m not so sure.” At Emma’s surprised look, Mary Margaret’s gaze slips to her mug, as if trying to work out how best to put her thoughts into words. “Listen, I don’t know your relationship even half as well as you do, but it seems to me like… this is the first time you guys have ever really experienced each other without Henry.” She shrugs, a pensive rise in her shoulders. “The first time there isn’t a third variable to consider; it’s just the two of you. Maybe it’s just about finding a new rhythm.”

 Emma turns over this new assessment in her mind. She’s spent weeks roiling in doubt, watching Killian slip further into himself, and last night had felt like the final challenge — she hadn’t been enough to bring him out of it, she’d just become collateral damage. Mary Margaret was right, throughout their entire relationship Henry had always been there. They’d fought before, sure, but they’d always had Henry to think of, and they’d never wanted to make the boy feel the way he had when she and Neal had been together. They kept everything as open and honest as they could, and she knew Killian always tried to explain things to him when they disagreed.

 Their entire life together had been coloured by Henry. Wasn’t he their rhythm?

 “After ten years of the old one?” Emma let out a long, uncertain breath. “I don’t know If we can, I feel like last night proved that.”

 I just added it to the long list of things I was giving up because I wanted to be with you!

 “We wouldn’t even be together if it weren’t for Henry, I know that much.”

 Without Henry, her marriage to Neal would have just disintegrated with nothing to show for it but wasted time. Without Henry, Killian might never have entered her life. Without Henry, she might not have fought for her own little piece of happiness, she might never have recognised what she deserved.

 Could she still do it without him?

 “But if your relationship is so dependent on Henry…” Mary Margaret bites her lip. “I don’t want to say it, Emma.”

 She doesn’t need to. “Maybe we shouldn’t be together at all.”

 The mere notion of it takes the fight right out of her and she sinks back into the cushions. Her mind is abuzz with doubts and truths she refuses to acknowledge, and wordlessly her friend lifts the blanket and snuggles in beside her. Even in the midst of her heartache, her entire body warms as Mary Margaret wraps an arm around her shoulders and allows Emma to rest her head in the crook of her neck. She’s always been jagged edges to Mary Margaret’s softness, but maybe if she stays here long enough she can absorb some of her strength.

 “I love both of you,” Mary Margaret says gently, “but your happiness is the most important thing. However you find it.”

 I’m pregnant, she wants to tell her.

 Instead she curls in closer, and begs the sun to stop rising.

 -/-

 “You look exhausted, mate.”

 Killian rubs his eyes tiredly. “I didn’t sleep.”

 Barely half an hour after Killian had informed the Rabbit Hole WhatsApp chat that he wouldn’t be coming in today without providing any further information, Robin had arrived on his doorstep armed with coffee and a full monty breakfast from the café down the street in his arms. Given the café down the street didn’t usually do breakfasts to go, Killian had regarded his friend with amusement and allowed him inside. It felt good to have somebody else in the apartment — it made the walls seem closer, the space not as empty as it had been throughout the night.

 Currently, he sits only prodding at the meal hurriedly dumped onto a plate as Robin fusses around in his kitchen, filling two glasses with water before bringing them over. He had correctly deduced that coffee probably wouldn’t be conducive to productive brain function, not with how wired Killian already felt. Every time he shut his eyes he could see Emma, coat thrown over her dressing gown, the door clicking shut behind her. Sleep had been entirely unobtainable.

 “Sounds like a hell of a bust up,” Robin says with sympathy, handing him the glass.

 Dutifully, Killian takes a few large gulps. The liquid only gathers in his gut, churning, lending discomfort to his already turbulent, weary state. “It’s like I was floating above my body, you know?” he brushes his hair from his eyes, the strands greasy from being ruffled all night. God, he needs a shower. “I was watching myself saying these things that I didn’t mean and flinging them at her like — like somebody that isn’t me.”

 Robin drops down into an armchair, watching him carefully. “Have you called her?”

 His heart clenches.

 “She asked me not to.”

 “Well, you know women.” His friend’s mouth quirks upwards. “Whenever Regina tells me not to call her it’s only because she wants me to. Secretly, mind.”

 Not Emma. Emma doesn’t play games. “Believe me; she doesn’t want me to call.”

 The open hurt, the wide eyed-astonishment. The staggered look she sent him when she realised just what it was he’d said — all of it replays and replays unpleasantly like the scratch of a broken vinyl. Miserably, he stabs a rasher of bacon and shovels it in his mouth, not wanting to see the sympathy in Robin’s eyes. He doesn’t deserve it.

 “Couples fight, Killian,” he offers gently, “it happens.”

 He shakes his head miserably. “Not like this.”

 Either Robin concedes or he just has no idea how to respond, the effect of which being they sit in silence for a few comfortable minutes. They both just watch Killian push the food around his plate with his fork, the only sound the scrape of the utensil against china. Fuck, he can’t do a single thing right. Henry, Emma — somehow he’s managed to drive them both away, and he has no clue how to fix it. At least he knows where Henry is, still safe in New York with Neal, but Emma? He could hazard a guess at her going to Mary Margaret’s, but she could just as easily have found herself in August’s apartment. A hot flush of jealousy unlike anything he’s felt in years surges up without his consent. August has never been a threat, Emma had assured him of as much the first and only time he’d ever gotten silly over it, but at that moment his every irrational thought is crawling for sunlight.

 Gods, what is he doing now? Doubting her? What the bloody hell is wrong with him?

 “Maybe it’s because of Henry.”

 Wrapped up in his own thoughts, for a moment Killian had forgotten Robin was even there. At his bemused look, the other man shrugs and carries on.

 “You know, him not being here. Perhaps your relationship has been about him for so long, it’s struggling now that he’s gone.”

 Killian frowns. There’s some sound logic behind it, but it doesn’t sound right. It’s enough of an oddity to give him pause. “I don’t… I’m not really sure about that.”

 “Makes sense, doesn’t it?” his friend continues, exuding a nonchalance that, if Killian is honest, slightly winds him up. “The only reason Marian and I stayed together so long was because of Roland. By the end, my feelings for her were built entirely around our son, it just took me a while to realise it.”

 “But that’s different,” Killian insists, before he has a chance to even think it through.

 Robin’s eyebrows raise as he lifts his glass to his lips. “How?”

 “Because —” he falters, but the power of the words in his rebuttal surge forward regardless. “I love Emma. I fell in love with her for her, not Henry. Hell, she was married to my best friend. If I wanted something easy, some scapegoat for love, I wouldn’t have picked this.”

 “But if it’s this hard,” Robin presses, shrugging lightly, “maybe it just isn’t meant to be.”

 “I don’t believe that,” he says fiercely, sitting up straighter in his seat as he angles more towards his friend, agitation spurring his movements. “We should be together, Emma and I. All this — all this crap doesn’t change anything about how I feel.” In his distraction, one of his hands finds its way into his hair and runs through it, tugging sharply at the ends. “I love her. Her strength, her vulnerability — and I love her walls. I love being the one to break them down. It doesn’t matter that our journey has been slower than most, or more complicated than most, because we are always moving forward. We’ve fought for our love and we’ve won, and I am not giving up just because it got hard.”

 If he had been paying attention to Robin, sitting on the opposite armchair, he might have noticed the way the other man’s grin widened, his eyebrows climbing closer to his hairline the more Killian rambles on. Once he’s done, Robin drains the rest of his glass and drops it down onto the table, spreading his hands.

 “And you’re telling me this, because...?”

 His friend’s mischievous expression is the only confirmation Killian needs that he’s been goaded into something. Still, he’s not sure he cares.

 Robin helps himself to the remainder of his breakfast, while Killian practically falls over himself in his haste to get dressed and out the apartment.

 -/-

 After some persuading, Mary Margaret finally convinces her to eat something and even ushers her into some fresh clothes as the morning wears on. The frilly collared cardigans of Mary Margaret’s wardrobe aren’t exactly her style, but at least they fit — she’d left her flat in only a coat and her dressing gown, and although that worked reasonably well for her escape at two in the morning, she can’t imagine going back dressed the same way.

 God, going back. Emma doesn’t even know how to consider it.

 Unfortunately, with it being a Monday morning, Mary Margaret has a class to teach at Hopper’s Elementary and only has time to ensure Emma manages to force down a bagel before she regrettably departs, but David has the morning off and she is assured she can stay as long as she wants. The man seems to sense she isn’t in a particularly talkative mood, and keeps her company in silence after trading a few polite enquiries about Henry’s wellbeing — he’d been one of the first people they’d called when they discovered him missing, so it’s only natural he should be anxious to know the boy is okay. Grateful for the company, she answers his questions as best as she can without letting her heart seize too much.

 After a few hours of warm distractions, watching re-runs of Friends on the Nolan’s ancient television set, the buzzer for the apartment goes.

 David sends her a reassuring smile as he stands, heading over to the intercom.

 “Who is it?”

 “David?” Killian’s voice stutters to life over the static, and Emma’s chest tightens uncomfortably. “It’s Killian, sorry to disturb you. I was hoping — is, erm, is Emma there?”

 David looks to her apprehensively, ready to take his cues from her. She doesn’t want to talk to Killian, not with her conversation with Mary Margaret so fresh and with so little time to prepare herself. Still, it would feel worse to lie. Emma merely shrugs, helplessly, and David scratches the back of his head

 “She — uh, she doesn’t really want to talk right now, Killian,” he settles on, biting his lip.

 “That’s — that’s okay,” Killian continues hesitantly. “I mean, it’s fine. Would it be alright if I just — talked?”

 David turns to her again, but she doesn’t know what to tell him. She’s more than acquainted with how determined Killian can be when he wants to, and if she’s honest there are very few things she can think of that he can say that would be worse than the night before. It seems only mildly ludicrous to have their first interaction after the argument be over the intercom at David and Mary Margaret’s apartment, but she can’t help it — she can’t face him, not yet. Not when she is still trying to decide how she feels.

 “I’ll just talk and she can listen, or — or she can not, if she doesn’t want to, but I’ll be here, outside, just… talking.” After a moment’s hesitation, David locks the switch that keeps the line open. Taking that as some kind of affirmation, Killian clears his throat. “So, uh, here I go.”

 David, ever the considerate one, gives some weak excuse for re-arranging the shelves in his bedroom, but Emma’s arm shoots out to stop him. She could do with the support; she doesn’t want to listen to this alone in case she isn’t ready for what he wants to say. Without a word, David drops down onto the sofa beside her.

 “I, erm, I didn’t sleep,” the voice crackles through the speaker. “Not a wink after you left, I couldn’t. That’s not relevant. Ugh, I, um.” He lets out a sharp, frustrated sound. “Listen, a friend helped me realise — or, he reminded me, I don’t know — that a man unwilling to fight for what he wants deserves what he gets. So maybe I deserve to lose you because I don’t know who I’ve been fighting for these last couple of weeks — because it hasn’t been you, and it hasn’t been Henry.”

 He pauses, and Emma listens intently. David links their fingers together.

 “I’ve been a damned fool, Emma, I’ve been a coward and I’ve let my demons get the better of me. It’s like you said — you said children need to make mistakes in order to find out what matters to them, but I’m prepared to argue that kind of self-education carries well into adult life. Because you matter to me, Emma. I love you. I have loved you since the first night you yelled at me and I love you all the more for continuing to do so when I’m being a prat. These past ten years have been the best of my life, and there isn’t a thing I would change.”

 Emma shakes her head fiercely, reaching her hand up to cover her eyes as she knows they must be watering. He did want things to be different, that’s what he said. Apparently, he’d spent ten years giving things up for her, compromising for her, and the idea that she’d been holding him back from some great happiness is perhaps what had shaken her the most. They were in this together, that’s what she’d thought. Killian doesn’t stop, however, uncertainly continuing to speak over the intercom, the tendrils of his voice clutching tight around her heart.

 “I know that, given my behaviour last night, you may believe me to be speaking in untruths, but I swear I’m not. Every single decision, every single moment has led us to where we are now and that place means everything to me. I’m not unhappy. I’m not unsatisfied, quite the opposite. And I’m sorry if I ever made you think otherwise.”

 The speaker crackles, a little bit of distortion as he collects himself.

 “I’ll never stop fighting for us. Never again. I — I hope you know that.”

 Silence, and David pulls Emma close, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

 “So anyway, I guess, uh, feelings shared. You can go back to... Friends, I suppose, given it’s a Monday morning. Or maybe David and Mary Margaret don’t like Friends. I never asked. Bloody hell. I’m - I’ll go now. Just,” he sighs again into the speaker, “come home soon, my love.”

 She slowly disentangles herself from David, and reaches for her coat.

 -/-

 After lyrically vomiting into the intercom system, Killian doesn’t really know what to expect.

 He’d hoped, of course, for some kind of reaction or response, but he’s never been one to push for it where Emma is concerned. When it became evident that no answer would be forthcoming from the speaker, he had reluctantly stepped away; only becoming more embarrassed once he realised a man poking through his mailbox for a suspiciously long time had, in all likelihood, listened to the entire spiel. Face entirely aflame, Killian had departed the building out into the early Boston morning.

 It had rained the night before, the entire street awash with muddied concrete and the stench of wet asphalt, but Killian isn’t ready to go home yet. Point of fact, he’s just declared he won’t be giving up on he and Emma without a fight, so returning to his apartment would appear to nullify the entire notion. He thinks about stopping somewhere for a coffee, but after patting his jacket down he belatedly realises he didn’t bring his wallet out with him. After Robin’s needling he had been so fired up that he hadn’t exactly considered that Emma might not be ready yet for what he had to say. He only knew he was desperate to say it.

 For lack of a better idea, he sits down on the kerb.

 Considering his options, he waits, staring out into the city traffic and remembering the first time they met, the distrust to the chorus of car horns and loud, angry pedestrians in front of Henry’s old school. It’s only a few blocks from here, where Mary Margaret works. He muses on walking there and back just to clear his head a little, to observe how much of it might have changed in the last ten years, but just as he’s convinced himself it would be a good way to procrastinate, the door to the building opens behind him.

 His eyes lock with Emma’s, sparkling jade and bright with unshed tears, red-rimmed, and he immediately jumps to his feet. Uncertain of what to expect, he just waits for her to speak. When she does, it’s with a gentle tremble in her bottom lip, after she takes a shuddering breath.

 “I don’t want to stop fighting for us either.”

 When Killian steps forward to fold her tightly into his arms, she returns the embrace with equal vigour.

 -/-

 Luna Park boasted only a smattering of attendees, January not exactly a conducive time for regular theme-park goers, but the crowds were substantial enough to hide Neal and Henry from each other. They had spent over an hour amongst the rides, swapping only idle chatter and suggestions for what they should do next, a dead weight hanging over them like a cloud from the overcast day descending into the city. Neal knows what he has to say, Henry is waiting for him to say it. Their conversation at breakfast hovers between them, unresolved and deadly.

 It's a stark contrast to how the last few days have been — at least he thinks it is. Maybe all along they were aware there was an expiration date on easy.

 As the clock edges nearer to midday, Henry is leading his father through the crowd in the direction of the Ferris Wheel, boasting about how cool it would be to be sat on the top on exactly the stroke of twelve, but Neal catches hold of his hand and slows him to a stop. He suggests taking a break by the beach instead, and Henry reluctantly agrees; they both know what happens when they talk.

 It isn’t the same as that beach in Storybrooke.

 The breeze from the ocean stings with the sharp bite of winter, and the sand underfoot is far thinner and grainier than Maine had offered. Although almost deserted, the distant sounds of the park quietening behind them, a few gulls flock towards the edge of the coast, rising and falling with a flutter as the tide washes in, and out. It’s enough to bring back the memory of watching his boy ask for something he couldn’t provide, and it’s enough to spur him into action.

 Henry stares out into the ocean, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable.

 After a few moments they sit, uncaring for the way they disturb the sand.

 “I am glad you came to me when you needed somewhere to go,” Neal starts, and it’s as safe a place as any. “That after all this time you can still trust me.” Even if he doesn’t deserve it. “But I do want to know why — and I need to know why because I trust Killian and Emma to be your home, to take care of you, and if they aren’t doing that then I can change it. Just say the word Henry and I will change it.”

 Killian and Emma are twice the parents he will ever be, but if Henry breathes a word about not wanting to be with them — he would raise hell on earth to make it happen.

 “They’re fine,” Henry says quietly, to Neal’s surprise. The boy picks up a stick from the sand and begins to push patterns into it. “They’re great, they always have been.”

 Neal shakes his head, not understanding. “Then why did you come?”

 Henry mimics his uncertainty. “I wanted — I wanted to get to know you. You as a person, as Neal. Not this… this thing that towered over me for years.” Neal swallows, and Henry finally turns to look at him. His chestnut eyes are round and as open as they have ever been. “You terrify me, do you know that?”

 Whatever he had imagined Henry might say, it certainly wasn’t that.

 The beach, in Maine. The rush and fall of the waves. He can hear himself responding to that very fear as if it were yesterday, and not ten years prior.

 I’m sorry. Henry I’m sorry, I don’t want you to be scared. I’m an… I’m a massive idiot.

 “You had so much power over me for so long,” Henry continues, and Neal realises how much easier it is to stare out into the sea than to truly acknowledge what his boy is saying. “I would have done anything to impress you, I agreed with anything you said. I wanted you to like me. I wanted you to want to keep me.”

 Neal hangs his head.

 “I love Killian and Emma so much, but you? God, I can’t even explain it.”

 “I get it,” his father says quietly.

 Henry finally turns to look at him, his mouth curved in a doubtful line. “Do you?”

 “Henry, you could be describing verbatim how I talk about my old man.”

 That family fucking resemblance he’d always been hoping for; there it was.

 Neal knows how it feels to fight and fight when the other person isn’t fighting back. The realisation that he wasn’t, that he couldn’t, is what made him let Henry go in the first place.

 “Tink is pregnant.”

 Henry tenses up at his side. Neal’s gaze drops down to the sand, not realising he’d been curling her name into the earth with his finger. Fuck, he loves her. Like he’s never loved anyone. And this is how he’s treating her?

 “She hasn’t told me yet, not officially. But I found her test. It’s why I’m out here,” signing up for every conference and meeting on the other side of the country that he could, “I’m scared shitless, buddy.”

 Henry opens his mouth. “Dad—”

 “I fucked up so badly before — you know that, right?” He’s almost afraid to hear the answer. “That was all on me. I couldn’t be there for you growing up because I wasn’t ready, I made shitty choices. I was selfish. And do you know what the worst part is?” Mutely, Henry shakes his head. “I gave up on us.”

 The moment he’d realised just how tricky this balance was going to be, he’d given up. Maybe Henry had a better life because of it — he liked to think that. Of course, he’d never really know. Still, when he looks across at Henry now, a healthy boy with a heart the size of the entire state, it’s impossible not to recognise that something incredible has taken place.

 He feels the humiliating sting of something behind his nose, so he turns his gaze back to the skyline and the gulls that sweep across the tide.

 “And I missed the whole goddamn show. You’re perfect, Henry. You’ve never needed to impress me.” Neal tries valiantly to keep the tremor from his voice, but isn’t entirely certain he succeeds. “The fact that you’re sitting here, a whole person who can love and forgive as easily as you do blows my fucking mind, and it all happened without me.”

 Henry shifts from where he sits, sending a scatter of sand up into the air.

 “It wasn’t —” he starts.

 “Not again,” Neal continues firmly. Determinedly. “Never again. I’m going to be there for this kid and for Tink, every fucking step of the way. I’m ready now and I — I think I needed you to help me realise I could do it. Thank you, Henry.”

 When the silence stretches for a few, painful beats too long, he considers how he might have better phrased that particular confession. Once he looks over at Henry, the boy barely meets his eyes for a second before turning away, shaking his head as he roughly stumbles to his feet.

 “I have to go.”

 Neal blinks in surprise. “Henry?” He’s already halfway up the beach before he can stand. “Henry, wait!” Although he jogs back up to the entrance of the park, Henry’s signature scarf has already disappeared into the crowd.

 Shit.

 -/-

 "When was the first time I yelled at you?"

 Emma speaks quietly into his chest, although he can feel her smile in the curve of her mouth pressed against him. Killian edges the sheet further down the bed, baring Emma’s back so he can continue to trace absent star patterns into the slope of her spine. They speak only in low tones, neither wanting to disturb this bubble of peace they have finally won; warm, sated, and basking in the late morning sun.

 He smiles at her question, pausing before answering just long enough to press a kiss to the top of her head.

 “I’m surprised you don’t remember,” he says amusedly. “Let’s see. I came by to Neal’s apartment with Henry, we’d known each other for — oh, I don’t know. A few months, maybe more? I wanted to see if you could babysit because I’d been lumbered with an extra shift at work.”  

 “Oh god, right,” Emma shifts as she remembers, pressing her lips briefly to his bare shoulder. “It was the day Neal and I moved into our new place, and I was locked out.” She gives him an apologetic look. “I was such a monster to you, I’m sorry.”

 Killian chuckles gently. “You weren’t a monster.” Emma merely raises an eyebrow. “Perhaps a little monstrous. But I got a free cake out of it, so you won’t hear me complaining.”

 “A vanilla apology cake.”

 “My favourite kind.” Killian tugs her closer and she obliges, curling her leg over his beneath the sheet. “You looked so beautiful that night. Sitting in the Rabbit Hole with Henry asleep on your lap. You were just — I realised you were everything I hadn’t known I wanted. Until you drove away to the home of my best friend.”

 Instead of replying, Emma straightens up. Killian lets her go, hand drifting down her back to rest near her hip, and she bites her lip. Something she usually does when she’s uncertain. When her eyes flicker to his, he knows.

 “Killian.”

 Abruptly Killian stands, reaching for their discarded clothes.

 “That’s a tone that suggests I’ll need pants for this conversation.”

 She takes the shirt he holds out to her and slips it over her head. “I think if last night taught us anything… we’ve been misunderstanding each other for a while. So let’s just — talk. Communicate.” Killian re-joins her on the bed, pausing slightly to brush some of her loose hair behind her ear. It shines in the dusty sunlight. “That’s what healthy couples do, right?”

 “Definitely needed pants.”

 Emma laughs despite herself, but shoots him a look warning him to take this seriously. So he takes a deep breath, and after a few moments he decides to go first.

 “I… love the life that we’ve built together. What I said today — I meant it. But if it’s possible to have it all with you, I do want it.” Emma nods, urging him to continue as she brushes a hand down his arm. “I want to move out of the city. Get a house somewhere. A white picket fence, a stunning view of the sea — I want that. I want to marry you, have a kid of our own, maybe two if it's not too late. I love you, Emma,” he assures her, “but I want to share more than just this place and a bank account.”

 When he finally turns his gaze back to her, he can see the sad crease in her brow.

 “And you assumed I wouldn’t want those things too.”

 He hangs his head. “I’m sorry.”

 “You hurt me yesterday.”

 “I know,” he says quietly, reaching for her hand and bringing it to his mouth to kiss. “I’m so sorry. I was a fool, and I never should have kept these things to myself, let alone exploded at you. It was bad form.”

 Emma watches him before nodding, firmly. “Okay.” He turns her hand over to kiss her palm. “I forgive you.” It lands with gravity, and a tension he didn’t even know he had been harbouring releases itself. “My turn.”

 Killian moves to let go of her hand, but Emma holds on tightly.

 “Six years ago, I was pregnant.”

 Killian’s heart stops. “Love, you don’t have to —”

 “I was pregnant and I didn’t tell you because I didn’t know how you were going to react, I was trying to find the right moment…” Emma winces, shaking her head. “And I left it too late.”

 He wants to say something, anything, to find the right words to reassure her — but none will come. Instead he feels suspended, his pulse racing. They’ve never spoken about it out loud, not a single word. In moments he is back in the waiting room at the ER, confused and distressed and waiting for her to return, to tell him what happened, instead of letting him make inferences.

 Don’t make me go through this again.

 “We lost a child, Killian.”

 She grips his hand tighter, and he watches as a single tear curves its way down her cheek.

 "Our child."

 It isn't like he hadn't known. From the moment he lifted her from the bathroom floor he had known, somewhere in his restless heart, the truth she refused to confirm.  Knowing it, though, and feeling it; they had always been entirely separate entities.

 Henry had been ten. As emotionally mature as he had always been, it had still taken him a while to come to the same realisation that Killian had the moment he left the hospital; that Emma wasn't quite okay. When he'd started to pry, Killian had packed him off on a three week holiday to California with Neal, at little protest from both parties. By the time he'd gotten home he had forgotten the whole thing, and Emma was almost back to her old self.

 Killian hadn't allowed himself to consider, truly consider, just what had happened that day; in the months that followed Emma's accident he had forced himself to focus on her, on Henry, on his every effort to get their lives back to normal. Henry made it to school on time, Emma found herself spoiled by date nights, surprise gestures, anything to divert attention from the way she had withdrawn into herself. His iron focus had allowed him to leave his own grief behind and blame it on Emma's reluctance to talk.

 That had been a coward's way out, and on some level he had always known that.

 In his dreams, he did things differently. In his quieter moments, he had found himself down the dizzying path of considering the way things might have happened, if fate had been a little kinder.

 (In his heart, a little girl turned six last June.

 She had golden hair and eyes like forget-me-nots.)

 Emma's nails dig into his palm and he is wrenched back to the present.

 "I want you to understand something," she is saying, and he pulls himself back to focus on her words, "you can't predict these things. It was nothing you did, it was nothing I did. It wouldn't have helped if you'd known."

 Killian feels a gasp of air dart for escape through his throat; he thinks he might have been holding onto that breath for six years.

 Emma wipes her eyes with the sleeve of his borrowed shirt. "I'm sorry I never told you that.”

 Killian nods silently. When he doesn't speak, she slides across the bed to him, and his arm instinctively reaches around her shoulders. "Okay?" she presses.

 "Okay."

 "But most of all I — I am so sorry for never letting you grieve. For closing myself off, for letting it go unsaid." He would catch her staring out of windows, not responding until the third time he called her name. More often than not he found her curled up with a blanket on the sofa rather than in bed beside him, the distance between them substantially more than a couple of rooms apart. “We should have done this together.”

 “Aye,” he murmurs, and he kisses a tear from the corner of her mouth, “we should have.”

 They talk for a long time after that. For how long exactly, Killian couldn't say, he only watches as the sun slowly sinks to kiss the top of the Boston skyline, casting longer shadows across the bed. Their bed, their life. The life that had taken a decade to build, with a foundation far stronger than the demolition attempted the night before.

 “We’ve been doing this all wrong,” he whispers into her shoulder, as the afternoon fades into beams of orange light.

 Emma turns to him curiously. “What do you mean?”

 It’s with determination that he faces her now, with the fight that had left him the moment he awoke to find Henry’s untouched bed.

 “Let’s go get our son.”

 -/-

 It’s just gone 8pm by the time Emma’s beaten up bug has gotten them to New York, and Neal had been frantic as he opened the door to them.

 “He’s gone,” he had said, “he won’t answer his phone. I’ve already called the police.”

 Although her stomach had plummeted, her steadfast grasp on Killian had been all she needed to keep a level-head. If she paused for one second to consider the multitude of disastrous scenarios that could have happened to Henry after he left Neal on the beach she’s certain the sheer power of that tide would overwhelm her — perhaps the same could be said for Killian. Perhaps it was a testament to how far they had come over the last twenty-four hours that he immediately took charge, barking orders for Neal to check the public library one more time while he and Emma combed four blocks in every direction from his apartment.

 For all his absence over the last few weeks, his confidence is like a sedative to the swell of panic within her.

 She can’t stop thinking about the time the boy had vanished as they watched the Christmas lights turn on. Only that time Emma had miraculously found him happily perched on a hotdog stand, waving about his new light up sword and pretending to be King Arthur to the amusement of the vendor.

 (Enquiries were made at various stands she came across. None had seen a lanky brunette in his teens skulking about.)

 Her phone buzzes, and Emma reaches out a hand to give Killian pause as she checks, hoping it will be from Henry but certain it’s from Neal.

 Nothing at library. No1 seen a kid. Whats the plan??

 “He’s not there,” she winces. If possible, Killian’s expression turns even grimmer. “Now what? We’ve already checked all his old haunts.” Henry hadn’t lived in New York for many years, not since Neal had moved to California, so their best idea had been his favourite places to go when he was much younger.

 Killian rubs his face with one hand, and it’s that moment Emma realises how unbelievably tired he must be. His eyes are tinted red and rimmed with dark circles, and exhaustion has aged him beyond his years. Even his skin appears sallower than normal. Guilt claws at her when she considers he was probably up half the night much like she was, and she can’t help but feel responsible.

 Emma reaches for his hand, squeezes tight. “Maybe we should head back to Neal’s apartment. He’s bound to head back there eventually — and if his phone is dead then it’s better we’re there.”

 “If something unspeakable hasn’t happened to him already.”

 Unspeakable is certainly the word for it.

 “This is my fault,” Killian laments, “if I hadn’t been so bloody stubborn he could have been home days ago. I’m a sodding idiot.”

 “If you are then we all are,” Emma insists. “Henry is our responsibility.” Not just Killian’s, not just Neal’s. Theirs. “And we’d be better off just working as the team we should’ve always been instead of wasting time blaming ourselves and each other.”

 Somewhere along the way they had splintered, and the fractures had found their way to Henry — the very storm they had believed they were protecting him from had found its epicentre in their insecurities and their inability to communicate. The only thing left to do was make a course correction and continue to try their best. Realise their mistakes, move forward.

 Pray they aren’t too late.

 “I just wish we’d come here sooner. I wish I hadn’t driven him away to start with.” He sighs heavily, turns back the way they’ve come. “But you know what they say, if wishes were horses—”

 “Beggars wouldn’t bother making wishes?”

 Even as she says it, the lightning bolt of realisation crashes into her with a force that has her tugging back on Killian’s hand to stop him in his tracks.

 She knows exactly where Henry is.

 -/-

 Even at night, the plaza is packed with people. Tourists huddle together and alternate between staring up at the entrance to the library, lit with large floodlights that winked in and out for a display, and watching the fountain spurt behind them. Many stand at its edge, offering pennies into its depths for the opportunity to ask for something in return.

It’s no wonder Neal would have missed him as he charged into the building — he’d never really known Henry to be more interested in what the waters might offer than the curling pages of a beloved tome, but Emma remembered. At a time in the boy’s life when she hadn’t really known how much she could lay a claim to, this spot had been theirs. Fleeting, gentle, but full of hope.

 The three of them scan the crowd frantically — and it feels as if they all lay eyes on him at the exact same moment. Henry is perched on the edge of the fountain, hands gripping the stone on either side of him, body angled towards the water. An immense wave of relief rushes through Emma once she recognises him, and she considers how achingly long it feels since she saw him last. So much felt like it had changed even as she tried to claw her way into keeping it the same.

 Killian takes her hand; she knows he must sense it too.

 His lips part as they approach, a deep breath being drawn in. Yet it’s only a soft word that comes out. “Henry —”

 “What the hell were you thinking, running off like that?!” Neal brushes past them furiously, and Henry visibly starts at the sudden intrusion on wherever his mind had been wandering. It’s a staccato movement that pulls him right back in front of them. “I have been worried out of my mind for you! You could have been kidnapped, you could have died, anything could have—!"

 Neal cuts himself off for the sheer horror of it, and Henry takes the pause as an opportunity to bite.

 “You’d have noticed, then?”

 It’s light, but it’s a thinly veiled accusation. For a moment Emma considers that there is more to the past few days than Neal has told them.

 Neal, for his part, appears to stifle a retort. His hands clench and unclench at his sides.

 He settles for a warning. “Don’t you ever do that to me again.”

 Henry lets out a puff of air, a frustrated noise, his body angling away from his father in a visible snub. As his eyes start to sweep the crowd Emma can feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand to attention, as the boy’s gaze lands on she and Killian. If he is surprised he does a good job of hiding it. It lasts scarcely a second, his eyes flickering first from her to Killian, before turning determinedly back into the fountain.

 Killian, after squeezing her hand once, lets go.

 He closes the distance and sits beside the boy.

 Henry flinches away, shuffling an inch in the other direction.

 “Please, just leave me alone.”

 “I want to talk.” Killian’s response is quiet, but firm.

 “I don’t.”

 “Henry…” Neal admonishes from his position at the side, and Emma finds herself frowning at the tone — since when did Neal become that parent? The one advocating respect and chastising for the contrary?

 It doesn’t feel — earnt.

 Maybe she is being unfair.

 Henry looks up at him sharply, eyes narrowed. “You don’t get a say in what I do.”

 Neal gapes for a few moments, before his expression sinks into something apologetic he directs at Killian — Killian acknowledges the attempt with a barely perceptible nod, but his attention is entirely on Henry.

 “I’m sorry.” In the piercing January air, his words turn to ghosts. “For the things I said before. They were spoken in anger and not a day will go by I won’t regret them.” For all his sincerity, Henry continues to stare forcefully into the water. Emma had always found Killian impossible to ignore, not when he was light and soft and steady, but the boy doesn’t appear to have much trouble doing just that.

 “Will you look at me, please? Henry?”

 She watches Henry not even react, lashes low and downcast; watches the concerned edge begin to furrow Killian’s brow, his confidence rapidly deteriorating, and she’s about to step in when suddenly all she can think about are the gimmicks they would use when Henry was a kid. How one time he refused to listen to any instruction from either parental figure unless it was spoken like Yoda, how they’d adopted it into their every conversation until Henry frustratingly couldn’t get any help with his homework without talking in circles and he’d begged them to stop. How they had begun starting every sentence with ‘please’ and ending them with ‘thank you’ to freak Neal out by pretending new Massachusetts state grammar laws demanded it.

 Emma considers these, and reaches into her jacket for her cell phone.  

 Moments later, Henry’s pocket begins to vibrate. Once he pulls out his cell and frowns at the screen, his shoulders twitch, as if he were resisting the urge to turn and face her. After a few pensive seconds he slides his thumb across the screen and lifts it to his ear.

 “It’s the glass, isn’t it?” she says immediately.

 Henry’s pause is dubious. “Excuse me?”

 “The partition,” she continues, “the reason you’re not hearing us. We have to use the phones or we can’t talk through the glass.”

 The boy’s shoulders drop and she hears a long exhale through the speaker, like a breath of laughter. He understands.

 “I’m not in prison, Emma.”

 “You got arrested, didn’t you?”

 “And you think I’d waste my phone call on you?”

 Emma smiles although she knows he’s not looking. “Wentworth Miller was busy.” She doesn’t want to lose this brief bite of connection, so she hurries to continue. “I used to bring you out here when we were in NYC together, remember? I’d tell you to wish your problems away.”

 Finally, Henry turns. His gaze lifts and his eyes lock on her. He’s hurting. She can see it. Can feel it in her bones.

 “Yeah.”

 “Did it work?”

 Henry lifts his shoulder in a shrug. “I don’t have a penny.”

 Without a word, Killian rummages in his pocket and finds one, holding it out to him. After a moment, and watching only his outstretched hand, Henry takes it.

 “Talk to us,” Emma pleads.

 The seconds extend like an unfurling bloom; slow, and heavy with anticipation.

 Then, by some miracle, he begins to talk.

 “It was so easy before. Making wishes, I mean. I know you probably thought I was wishing for a new bike or a trip to Disneyland or… I don’t know. Stuff kids want.” Like raindrops, what begins as a few drops slowly develops into a downpour, as he turns the penny over and over in his hand and keeps his gaze firmly fixed upon the water. “And don’t get me wrong, I wanted those things. But I didn’t wish for them.”

 Emma doesn’t want to interject, but she had never felt as if he were wishing for something as trivial as a bike. Not when he had held those pennies in his tiny hands like they were precious stones, as if he carried more value in his palm than a thousand gold bars. Henry had always been wishing for something more profound — she had known it like she knew the curve of his smile.

 “Wishes were too — too important for those things. So I did what I’ve always done,” Henry scratched the back of his neck as he paused. “I listened to you. All of you. None of you ever stood by the fountain like I did, and it didn’t seem fair, so I listened to your wishes so that I could make them for you.”

 He hadn’t understood half of them at the time, he says, but he lists a few — for Neal to close an important deal, for Killian to find the perfect birthday present for Liam, for Emma to catch the ‘bad guy’ she was looking for. Emma watches, stunned, as he lists the exact conditions of a case she had decided to gently let Henry in on that she had forgotten completely about; it was near on seven years ago that she had sought out the bail jumper Ryan Marlow, but here Henry was pitching her the particulars in perfect detail. Henry, who had been wishing ardently for her success at age nine, with a penny she had picked out of her purse.

 “Happy endings,” he says quietly, “over, and over, and over. I was obsessed with them.”

 A beloved tome, the curling pages of Once Upon a Time clutched tightly to his chest for years.

 He doesn’t have to remind them.

 “But to me, a real happy ending needed certain… well, conventions, I suppose. A wedding, a kid, a perfect home in a castle in the country.”

 Killian’s words ring in her mind, and as if he knows the direction of her thoughts the man’s eyes rise to meet hers, and she notes the usual brilliant blue has been usurped by a duller, ashen colour. She feels the same tight clutch inside she knows he must, a softer yearning, the paralysis of something sweet and sad all at once.

 A white picket fence, a stunning view of the sea.

 How alike the pair of them are, even now.

 Henry’s brows have knitted together. “I’m not a kid anymore, I know — better than anyone — that the world doesn’t work that way. But in a way, none of you got any that. Hell, you and Killian have been together for a decade and you still live in Killian’s bachelor pad. And then I realised the common denominator.” His shoulders appear to quiver, and Emma notices a muscle in Killian’s right wrist twitch, as if it had wanted to reach out to him. She herself wants nothing more than to rush forward, wipe the concerns away from him as if he were six again and had merely scraped his knee. “You’ve spent so much of your lives putting me first that the most you hoped to wish for was less traffic at the intersection on 23rd Street. And that just — it just —”

 He is mute for a moment, words slipping out and away before he can form them, and Emma realises with a jolt that what she had mistaken for a kind of melancholy was in fact fury. Henry trembled with minute rage; at the penny in his hand, the fountain in front, at the stars concealed by the dark curtain of night above them.

 “God, it was so frustrating to realise. Mortifying, even. And every good thing you did just made it worse. Every kind word, every thoughtful gesture.” He lets out a heavy breath. “It was like drowning in lukewarm water.”

 So he stayed out late with some friends. He walked the length of the wharf, twice, before picking the prettiest, sturdiest yacht he could find and barking instructions for how to get it out of the harbour for those who dared to follow. For the wild, outrageous, cleverness of it. For the joy and the heartache of nostalgia and the wind in his hair and the way Violet Mogan’s cheeks had flushed when she laughed.

 For the way that Killian had arrived at the precinct, powerful yet immensely disappointed.

 Got everything? He had asked, quietly. Let’s go.

 “I just thought if I could get you to stop looking at me like I hang the sun, then it might not be too late for you to build something together. Not a castle, maybe, but something just as strong. And I have Dad,” he flickered his gaze at the other man, before dropping it back bitterly to the penny in his palm. “Or I thought I had Dad. Turns out my wish for him was the only one that came true.”

 It’s a quill, Daddy says it’s magic. It’s for telling stories. He says I have to write him a happy ending.

 “Just a little too late for me.”

 There is the chime of nail on copper, and in the space of two heartbeats the penny arcs into the fountain with a gentle plop.

 No one seems to know what to say.

 Henry drops the phone from his ear and jabs at it with his thumb, cutting off the call with Emma. She had forgotten they were still connected that way at all, how rapt her attention had been on him.

 And all she can think is — what an idiot.

 She realises she must have said it aloud as all three of the men before her startle; Henry from his perch on the fountain, Killian from beside him and Neal standing a few feet from them.

 Hastening to clarify before more hurt feelings are thrown around, she doubles down.

 “I just mean — Henry, your logic is way off. We’re your parents.” All three, no matter how distant. “We are always going to look at you like you put the sun there, even when you’re at your most bratty. That’s love, kid. We love you.” It was easy to say, now, easier to admit than it had been for most of her life. But then, this was the boy who had taught her how to do it. “Nothing you can do will change that, not boat stealing or,” she scrambles for something else, “or even hanging out with that little shit Malcolm.”

 “Language,” Henry responds instinctively. At Emma’s exasperated stare a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. They thought they had been losing Henry — in that instance she realises he had been there all along. “He is a bit of an asshole.”

 Emma crosses the distance between them, kneeling down in front of the boy and taking his hand firmly. Perhaps on another day he would’ve been embarrassed, a sixteen-year-old holding hands with an adult like that, but in the force of the last few days he just clutches her back tightly.

 “But you’re right,” Emma continues seriously. She won’t do him the disingenuity of trying to claim a falsehood now. “There are steps Killian and I haven’t taken. Important ones. As it happens, we’ve been misunderstanding each other for a long time now.” With her free hand, she reaches for Killian, finding his fingertips already reaching back for her. “But that’s nothing to do with you. Do you get that?”

 Henry nods, but the movement is hesitant.

 “I mean it, kid. Look at me. Do you understand?”

 He does. A visible weight seems to lift. Maybe he just needed someone to say it out loud.

 To her surprise, Neal settles down on his haunches beside her, gentle in a way she is unaccustomed to seeing from him. Like he can sense the gravity of a moment and he doesn’t wish to disturb it — like a beach in Maine, and a little boy who had asked so quietly for what he wanted that his father had given it without reproach.

 Turns out my wish for him was the only one that came true.

 “Henry,” he picks up where Emma has left off, “I’m — you clearly needed someone this week, and all you got was this giant… playmate.” He considers himself with an air of obvious frustration. “And then I made it worse. You’ve never needed to try hard for me, you know that, right? You’re number one.” He lifts a single finger to illustrate it. “You’re number one. And about earlier…”

 Emma does not know what happened earlier, Neal had been light with the details; just that they had been at Luna Park and Henry had run off. Whatever it was, the weight is palpable as Henry stiffens a little before her.

 “You left before I could finish. Yeah, I’m going to be a dad again, but you know what that means? You’re going to be a brother.”

 Henry blinks; like he hadn’t even considered it.

 “And that was something I was really hoping you’d want to be.”

 Neal bites his lip, waiting for his son’s reaction.

 He needn’t have worried. Henry was warmth, and love, and he always would be.

 “I do,” he said, then softer, “I’m sorry.”

 “Me too,” Neal smiled ruefully. “I always am with you.”

 The air bristles with something unsaid, and Emma stands. Maybe Neal also senses it because he too moves away, and as casually as she can she looks to Killian now for his thoughts. Silent as he had been throughout the exchange, his mood is difficult to read; Emma can identify some of the reactions she had seen, remorse, sadness, pride, and she leans on the turmoil she knew had been churning inside him since the first moment they had found Henry gone. But he has fortified, this she knows. He just wants to put them all back together.

 Henry, perhaps in contrition, almost refuses to look at him.

 If Killian takes offence he doesn’t show it. Instead he smiles, a watery, delicate thing.

 “You’re my best friend in the whole world, bug,” he says. “I’m half a man without you.”

 Henry’s eyes shut tight and for the first time, Emma can see a bead of emotion roll down his cheek.

 “Please come home.”

 It happened so quickly that she almost didn’t see it; but the next moment Henry was in Killian’s arms, shaking and murmuring apologies into his shoulder. The older man was shushing him as if we were a child again, assuring him all was forgotten, and his relief was palpable in the manner with which his fists clenched into Henry’s coat and the tightness of his eyes pressed closed, supressing a stronger tide.

 Emma looks down, the moment almost feeling too private to intrude upon, and Neal does the same. Unconsciously her hand lifts to her stomach, to the barely perceptible swell that has begun there; she has to tell him, but not now. She wanted to let him have this first. He deserved it

 “What I said,” Henry croaks, and from the corner of her eye she can see he has pulled back, has his hands resting on Killian’s shoulders and is looking at him directly. “What I said before I left —”

 You are not my dad!

 “You are,” he nods determinedly, wiping at his eyes with his sleeve. “In every way that matters. You are. I’m sorry.”

 Killian simply pulls him back in, closer, and the night feels just a little bit brighter.

 -/-

 A rerun of Jurassic Park is the only thing on the TV by the time they make it back to Neal’s apartment, most of the selection near midnight having dried up considerably as most prepare for bed before work the following day. Arrangements are made, and rather than attempt the near four hour drive back to Boston tonight Killian and Emma had volunteered to take the sofa while Henry spends a final night in his old room. However, the unspoken word among them is that none are quite ready for sleep yet, and had switched on the television for wont of something easier to focus on — something light, something arbitrary — something with a few more scales than the monsters they had been battling away today.

 Killian sits with his arm around Emma, Henry on her other side leaning against her and slumped across the remainder of the sofa with his gangly legs stretching for the arm of Neal’s chair, where his father has been poking at the holes in socks much to the boy’s exasperation.

 “Honestly. You know you don’t have to wait for Killian to buy you socks anymore, right? If you go to a store they’ll actually give you some in exchange for those green wrinkly notes.”

 Henry snorts. “I don’t have any ‘green wrinkly notes’. When did you think I’d have time to get myself a job in between all my community service?”

 “Nice try,” Emma says, “it was only twenty-five hours, and the last I checked you were nearly done.”

 “Only twenty-five hours? Did you pay off the judge or was this just a really shitty yacht?”

 “Can we not debate the particulars, please?” Killian admonishes. “I’m trying to watch the folly of man and a twenty-foot lizard tear devour a bloke on a bog.”

 A brief pause where, suitably chastened, they realise it’s probably not appropriate to be making so light of the whole thing.

 “And it was a Pershing 80 he stole, anyway. Even a used one would go for over two million dollars.”

 At the indignant looks and protests from the others, Killian merely grins and shrugs, holding up a hand to shield his face as Henry flings a cushion over his shoulder in his direction. Emma declares that she’s going to the kitchen for more popcorn, and just as Neal asks her to get him a portion his phone rings. Killian catches a glimpse of the screen before he picks it up.

 ‘Tink calling…’

 He offers an apologetic smile to the pair of them as he heads out into the hallway, his voice briefly floating back towards them even as they try and pretend their ears aren’t pointed towards the sound.

 “Hey, baby. Yeah, I’ll be home soon — tomorrow, even. First flight I can get. It’s been a bit of a crazy week. For you too? That’s great. I can’t wait to…”

 It trails off into a low murmur as he shuts the door behind him.

 Killian watches Henry carefully for his reaction. The news that Tink was pregnant had come as a shock to all of them, not least to Killian, but it had clearly had a profound impact on Henry as it had only contributed further to his spiral. He seemed calmer now. A small smile had pulled at the corner of his mouth as he watched his father retreat into the other room, something proud and full of warmth. Maybe Killian can relate to some of what he must be feeling.

 They had all waited a long time for Neal Cassidy to grow up, Henry most of all; maybe they were finally seeing it happen.

 Henry turned back to the film, and Killian tossed the cushion back onto the boy’s stomach to get his attention.

 “So,” he starts brightly, to the backdrop of little Tim’s daring rescue from the jeep trapped in the tree. “What’s her name?”

 Henry pretends not to understand, but Killian knows he does. It’s something of a relief. He can still read this boy like the book of fairy-tales he used to tote around in his oversized backpack.

 “Who’s name?”

 Killian raises his eyebrows suggestively.

 “Well if it’s dating tips you need, lad, I know my way around women.”

 “Oh god.”

 “Not so long ago I was just like you, young, spritely, ready for my first brush with a lady’s—”

 “Stop, do not finish that sentence.”

 “Charms,” Killian concludes, feigning an aghast look at what Henry might have presumed. This earns him another cushion to the face.

 It’s such a relief, to be able to needle Henry in such a way, back to the easy companionship he had enjoyed for most of the boy’s life — but it feels different, too. Not exactly negative, he decides, but a change has certainly come about. Perhaps they could never make it through something like this entirely unscathed, but he realises as the moment passes by that there will be some things Henry will choose not to confide in him. An odd notion. There had never been anything Henry couldn’t tell him before.

 But to his surprise, he felt that that would be okay. He was growing up, and it was about time Killian realised it. He couldn’t cart him around on the back of his bike to a museum anymore, but they could find their peace in other ways; like he and Emma, their rhythm would change but it could grow and blossom into something even better if he just let it. For the first time he is almost looking forward to what the next stage of Henry’s life might bring them, instead of longing for the treasures the past had held.

 “Violet.”

 Killian glances over in surprise, observes that Henry’s ears are scarlet as he keeps his gaze fixed on the television screen.

 “Her name, I mean. Violet.”

 Killian smiles, although Henry can’t see it.

 Maybe he’ll get to keep the little boy by the sea just a short while longer.

 Deciding not to put Henry through any further embarrassment, Killian stands. “That’s a lovely name,” he tells him, and leaves the door open for him to talk about it any time he wishes. “And I’m sure she thought your Grand Theft Marina was very impressive, if nothing else. I’m going to go see about that popcorn.”

 He leaves Henry in the sitting room, passing Neal quietly in the hall before crossing into the kitchen. Emma is there, watching the microwave humming as whatever is inside rotates slowly. She turns to watch him as he enters. Dropping a quick kiss to her temple, he reaches past her for a couple of glasses and a bottle of wine from the cabinet. Neal’s taste for wine had grown over the last ten years, but he had still never quite acquired a taste for Sauvignon Blanc the way that Emma had — those he kept around for her, for special occasions, and Killian quite felt this merited a glass or two.

 Pouring three glasses, two for himself and Neal, and just as he was about to pour the third Emma blurts out to stop him —

 “I’m pregnant.”

 Killian freezes. The microwave pings its conclusion loudly into the kitchen.

 “So, uh, no wine, I mean. None for me. I’ll just, um, I’ll have juice. Or whatever Henry’s having. Do you think Neal has coke? I’ll just go ask—”

 “Wait just a —” Killian blinks, “you’re —?”

 She nods, biting her lip.

 “I figured I’d be better off not waiting for the perfect moment anymore and just… picked the next one.”

 Killian can’t wrap his mind around it. She’s pregnant. The thought spins back and forth around his head, ricocheting heavily and sending him spinning. For a moment he almost imagines the room swimming out of focus, Emma standing uncertainly by the microwave looking to him for his response — for his approval or, if the way doubt flickers across her expression, possibly his rejection. Through every dizzying sensation its that which pierces through, and before he can even consider his own feelings properly he is in front of her, dazed, kneeling and pressing a kiss to her stomach.

 Elated, he decides.

 Elated is how he feels.

 It’s almost impossible to comprehend. Unbridled joy bursts forth inside him and he is invincible — Henry in the next room, howling with laughter at something Neal had said, Neal, growth and hope, and Emma. The only woman he would ever wish to bear his child, forgiving him, cherishing him, giving him the only life he had ever wanted, and more life beyond.

 Emma’s fingers tangle in his hair as he kneels before her and he thinks he is trembling, breathing deeply as a few tears roll down his cheek. He doesn’t even think to be embarrassed, it’s been such a long, long road to get here. Her fingers squeeze and he looks up, as always awed by her and her strength. Through everything that had happened over the last few days, she had been carrying this knowledge with her with a steadfastness and fidelity to her own spirit — even when he was at his worst, she had not let him deter her when she had far greater things to be frightened of.

 She’s crying too, he can see that. And as if she can read his thoughts, she murmurs, “I’m scared.”

 Killian shakes his head. “I’m not.”

 He stands, brings her hands to his mouth and kisses each one delicately.

 This, he has to make sure she knows.

 “I know we face an uncertain future, but there is one thing I want you to be certain of.” A press of his lips to hers and he is unconquerable. “I will always be by your side.”

 She breathes out, deeply. “So — you’re happy?”

 “Irreparably.”

 At this she laughs, and his heart still melts at the sound. He tugs her in for a strong hug, lifting her off the ground and her joy is as palpable as his own. She peppers kisses across his jaw and he whispers that he loves her, and his reward is a smile the breadth of the sun. They hear Henry from the next room calling them in for his favourite part, the ascent over the electric fence, and he sets her back down. After reaching past him for the rapidly cooling popcorn, Emma gives him a final wink over her shoulder and departs back to the sitting room.

 Pregnant.

 He wants to dance on the countertop and yell until his throat is hoarse and run a thousand miles just for the thrill of it.

 As he follows, the scene in the sitting room makes his bubble of happiness only swell; Henry catching popcorn in his mouth with the same enthusiasm as cherries thrown across the bar in the Rabbit Hole, Neal acting as pitcher with the bowl of popcorn and Emma choosing opportunities to intercept. There is something decidedly special about it.

 There needn’t be castles, or weddings, or meadows upon meadows of wildflowers. Nor swords, magic, dwarves or palaces made of glass. No, Killian decides, none of those ornaments or flourishes are needed — happy endings are far from how they appeared in Henry’s storybooks. He has his own suspicions now about how they present themselves.

 In unremarkable, fugacious moments. In the gentle shapes of people who love, are loved, and continue to be brave.

 Happy endings, the real ones, look a lot more like that.

#jay writes #cs ff #cs au #captain swan #captain cobra ff #swan believer ff #captain cobra swan #cs fanfic #cs modern au #the boy that stood by the sea #bring walls down #ouat #I have no idea if anyone is still interested in this #but I thought I'd put it into the world anyway! #happy endings all round #not tagging anyone who had been interested bc it it has been #oops #two years #yikes #anyways #enjoy!!

[wistfulcynic]

Honeysuckle

Summary: Emma finds herself in a precarious position while trying to return some library books and shy librarian Killian comes to her rescue. He’s sweet and kind and Henry’s bookworm hero but there’s also something about him that she doesn’t know. 

(Something good)

a/n: All the thanks to @shireness-says for letting me borrow the adorable cinnamon roll that is Librarian!Killian, and also for inspiring this fic with her actual life. Librarian!Killian is a bit Deckhand Hook, a bit Lt Jones, which is a version of Killian I’ve never written before. It’s been fun, and not coincidentally this is the only thing I’ve ever written with a G rating. 

(Thanks also to @katie-dub whose beautiful fic Her Happy Beginning inspired me to try a new style of narration.)

@whimsicallyenchantedrose @captainsjedi @kmomof4 @thejollyroger-writer @darkcolinodonorgasm @winterbaby89 @ultraluckycatnd @hollyethecurious @teamhook

Rated: G

On AO3

Honeysuckle: 

Life, as some wise person once said, is just one damned thing after another. It’s full of frustration and elation and misery and comedy and so, so much embarrassment. And sometimes, on those most rare and exquisite of occasions, all of these factors coalesce into one grand, transcendent experience that makes the person living it wish simultaneously to die of humiliation and live in that moment forever. 

Dear Reader, such was the experience of one Emma Swan, medical assistant and single mother, on the third day of the sixth month of the twenty-eighth year of her life. 

The day began as an unremarkable one. Emma dragged herself from bed at the unholy hour of six-thirty am, banged on her son’s bedroom door on her way to the kitchen, and spent the next ten minutes mainlining coffee and forcing herself into full consciousness. When Henry appeared she poured him a bowl of cereal, kissed his forehead, and headed for the shower. So far so ordinary. 

Things didn’t start to go wrong until Emma, showered and dressed and with her still-damp hair pulled into a practical ponytail, took the opportunity of Henry’s regular morning dawdling session to reread the latest letter from her secret pen pal. 

(Secret only because Emma was perhaps overly conscious that having a ‘pen pal’ in this day and at her age might be seen by some as rather ridiculous. Not even Henry knew, although she’d had the pen pal far longer than she’d had the son. Since she was ten years old, in fact, and her fourth grade teacher had arranged a writing exchange with a class in England. For reasons Emma could never fully articulate she had bonded instantly and strongly to the boy across the sea known to her only as ‘K’ —again for ‘reasons’, these best known to themselves, they addressed each other by their initials only— and throughout her life of foster families and failed relationships he remained the only person who had never left her. Virtually anonymous though it may be, it was by far the longest and most stable relationship of Emma’s life and nothing but Henry had ever been more precious to her. But she kept it secret because it was ridiculous. Yep. That’s what she told herself.)   

But back to the letter. 

On my way to work yesterday I came across what I think must be some of the first lilacs of the season and I thought of you, it read. I always think of you when I see flowers and I can never decide which one suits you best, which probably makes sense since I have never seen your face. Are you sweet and springlike as lilacs are, or are you more of a full summer flower like a rose? Maybe you are a slim and elegant calla lily, or perhaps a tall and slightly terrifying sunflower? (Don’t laugh, E, sunflowers are scary! Have you ever seen one? They remind me of Triffids (that’s a book reference, love, and before you ask yes there’s a movie as well. Read the book first) and the way they move to follow the sun is creepy.)

(I know you’re laughing at me. Stop it.)  

It is true I regret to say that Emma had laughed the first time she read the letter, also the second time and possibly the third. But this being the sixth or seventh (tenth) reading the words elicited a smile that came less from mirth and more from a sort of sighing wistfulness as she imagined her never-seen dearest friend sniffing lilacs and thinking of her. 

She wished she knew what he looked like. 

She had tried many times to paint his face in her mind, one that fit the beauty of his words, but found she very literally could not imagine it. Emma’s experience with men was one that is sadly not uncommon among beautiful women whose positions in society are tenuous. As a single mother with only a high school diploma Emma had encountered more than her share of creeps and assholes, men who mistook her vulnerability for weakness and attempted to take advantage of her.

It was a mistake they did not make twice, but the sad result was that Emma had soured on men and relationships and all but given up hope that she would ever find someone who loved her. And as for a man so sweet and kind that he stopped to admire lilacs and wondered what kind of flower she might be, well, he was an impossibility in her experience, simply too good to be true.

She knew of course that K was real. Someone had been writing to her for nearly twenty years. She had no desire to meet him, though (she did) for fear of the crushing disappointment if he didn’t live up to the image she had of him in her mind. No, he was much better left to her imagination and the pages of his beautifully written letters. She couldn’t bear to lose those letters.  

She was just indulging in speculation over what sort of flower he might be when Henry’s voice and the thud of the books he dropped on the table in front of her brought her back to reality. 

“Mom, these books are due back today,” he said. 

“What? Why didn’t you take them back yesterday?”

“I forgot them at home. I didn’t even remember they were due until Killian reminded me. But we can return them now, can’t we?”

Emma tried to remember that he wasn’t trying to exasperate her, he was just absent-minded. “Henry, we are already late. Can’t you take them after school today?”

“No, I have D&D after school.” 

“I’m sure you can miss it one time—” 

“No, Mom, we’re in the middle of a campaign and I have to be there.” 

Emma threw up her hands. “Okay, fine, but you’ll have to take the bus to school.” 

“Mo-om!” 

“No, I do not have time to take you to school, then go to the library, then work. I’ll drive you to the bus stop then swing by the library and put your books in the drop. Hurry up now, are you ready?”

“Yeah, just let me grab my backpack.” 

He ran to get it and Emma absently slipped the letter into its envelope and the envelope into one of Henry’s library books before gathering the books in her arms and slinging her tote bag over her shoulder and herding her son out the door and into her car. 

(I wonder if you can spot where this is going yet?)

Ten minutes later Emma pulled into the library parking lot with as close to a squeal of tires as her creaky Bug could manage and grabbed Henry’s books from her passenger seat. Hurrying to the book drop she tipped them in…

And remembered. Far too late. 

“My letter!” she cried, and without thinking of anything beyond recovering the treasured words, Emma dove headfirst into the book drop, trying to catch the book that held her letter before it fell. She was a slender woman and the book drop more sizeable than most, but it was decidedly not designed to accommodate the ingress of any size of human, and so all she accomplished was to wedge her shoulders tightly into the narrow space with one arm stretched out in front of her inside the chute and the other sticking out of the drop’s opening at an odd angle. With the toe of one foot she could just touch the ground while the other one dangled helplessly in the air. She kicked with her leg to try to yank herself free but succeeded only in sending her practical flat shoe flying off her foot and landing with a splash in what she felt certain was a mud puddle, just as the sound of Henry’s books landing in the bin at the bottom of the chute reached her ears. 

Perfect, she thought. Just perfect.  

This, as I’m sure you have deduced my lovely Reader, has been the embarrassment and yes also the comedy portion of our tale. The former feeds the latter until it is fat as we all know from our own lives, and in the years to come Emma would learn to laugh when telling and retelling the story of her predicament. Though it must be said that, as is often the case with embarrassing things, she saw absolutely no humour in it at the time.

The frustration came into play moments later as Emma made further attempts to extricate herself from the drop, only to find that the position of her shoulders and her hands and her legs left her entirely unable to get enough purchase on any solid surface to provide sufficient counterbalancing force to un-wedge her. She was well and truly stuck, profoundly uncomfortable, and by that time almost certainly late for work. 

It was then that the misery kicked in. 

“Fuck,” she shouted, and the word reverberated down the metal chute, echoing back to her in a way she considered almost insultingly on the nose. She closed her eyes and let her head fall against the side of the chute and wondered just what the hell she was going to do now. 

(It will not, I feel certain, have escaped your notice that we have not yet had elation. Fear not, gentle Reader, for it is to come, and far sooner than Emma expects.) 

Fortunately both for Emma and our story a rescuer soon arrived, not on a white charger as in a fairy tale but aboard a practical secondhand Volvo in a rather nice shade of blue. 

Now Killian Jones may well have wished, deep in his heart, in that remote corner where he kept his love of adventure stories and even fancied himself a bit of a rogue, for something sportier, something a touch more dashing. But Killian Jones was a librarian, and the financial realities of our world dictate that librarians do not drive sports cars. So Killian had sighed for what was never to be and bought the Volvo —and adamantly rejected the silver one, he was not a vampire, sparkly or otherwise— and it had to be said that he’d never regretted it. 

All he regretted that morning was the broken shoelace that had made him too late to walk to work and smell the lilacs. 

As he pulled into the parking lot he was surprised to see a yellow Volkswagen Beetle parked haphazardly in the closest spot to the door that wasn’t reserved for the differently abled. It looked very much like the car that he’d frequently seen young Henry running to, the one that would naturally be driven by his mother…

Impulsively Killian pulled into the space next to the yellow car instead of continuing to the employee lot. His heart had begun to pound and his mouth was dry. 

It’s probably not her, he told himself firmly. There have to be other yellow Bugs in the neighbourhood. 

(There definitely weren’t.)

But if it was her he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to stutter a few incoherent words before excusing himself awkwardly and fleeing to a private corner where he might catch his breath, which was what happened every time he tried to talk to Henry’s mother.

Now Killian Jones, as, dearest Reader, you well know, was a handsome man, and one not so caught up in books and fantasy that he was unaware of this fact or of the effect it had on women. He could be smooth enough with the female species when he put his mind to it but something about Henry’s mother —he didn’t even know her name— tied his tongue and stopped his throat and robbed him of every shred of eloquence he may otherwise possess. 

This didn’t stop him from trying, though. The humiliation was worth it to see her smile. 

He got out of the car as quickly as possible, cursing as he caught the strap of his satchel in the door, then hurried to the library’s main entrance, looking around in a way that he hoped didn’t make it too obvious that he was looking around. Where would she be? he wondered. If she was here that is, if it was her. Come to think of it, why would she be here? Why would anyone? Who went to the library an hour before it opened to, what, stand around in front of the door and wait? 

His attention was finally drawn, after a moment or two, to the after-hours book drop when the person stuck inside it began banging and shouting loudly enough for even the most distracted bookworm to notice. 

Wait… the person stuck inside the book drop?

Killian turned to look, mouth gaping open in astonishment, too taken aback to even feel ashamed that he very definitely recognised that arse. 

So that’s where she was. This simultaneously answered several questions and posed a good few more. 

He hurried over, knowing that he ought to do something, but very uncertain as to what that something ought to be. 

“Um, hello?” he ventured. “Excuse me?”

Her voice was muffled but the annoyance came through loud and clear. “Oh thank fuck, I thought you’d gone,” she said.  

“Um. What?”

“I heard your car door slam so I started banging to get your attention, but then no one came and I thought you’d left, or gone in another direction or something.” 

“Ah. Er, no. I’m, uh, I’m here. What, um, what can I do for you?” He winced even as he spoke the words.

(She robbed him of all eloquence, you recall, even when all he could see was her backside. Perhaps especially then.)

She paused just long enough to make her opinion of his question clear. “Get me out of here!” she shouted.

“Aye, of course, lass, but, er, um—” Killian assessed the situation from three different angles just to be sure that there was no other option, that it wasn’t simply his physical attraction to her getting the better of him “—I’ll have to, uh, there’s no other way except to, er, touch you—”

“Yes, yes, I know that’s fine, just get me out!” 

“Aye, all right, um, can you push on the inside of the chute at all?”

“Yes, but I can’t get enough purchase on the ground to counterbalance, so I can’t force my shoulders out.” 

“Ah, yes, I see. All right, well you push and I’ll just, um—” Cautiously he wrapped his arm around her waist and braced his hand against the wall of the library. “I’ll brace you. Are you ready?”

“So ready.” 

“Okay, on three. One… two… three!” 

Killian planted his feet firmly on the ground and he could feel her muscles tense and flex as she pushed on the wall of the chute, and with her body braced against his she was able to un-wedge her shoulders from the narrow space and then with a final heave she freed herself from the drop, the force of it sending her stumbling backwards against Killian, whose other arm automatically wrapped itself around her and held on tight. 

She smelled like honeysuckle, was all he could think.

Too soon she was straightening up and he forced his arms to let her go, and she turned around with a smile that nearly ended him. 

“Thanks,” she said. “I thought I’d be in there at least until the library opened.” 

Emma was trying to be cool but the truth was that even from inside the chute she’d recognised the voice and accent of Henry’s favourite librarian, his hero really, the man who had recommended all his favourite books and who always had time to discuss them with him. Henry talked about him almost nonstop. 

“Ah, it’s Killian, isn’t it?” she said. “We’ve talked a few times before, I’m Henry’s mother.”

Killian swallowed hard and forced himself not to panic. “Aye, I remember. Er— sorry, I don’t know your name.” 

He’s so cute, thought Emma. She’d always thought so, if she was honest, not just his face but the adorable way he couldn’t quite manage to talk to her. It was sweet, and frankly a blessed change from the way men usually acted around her.

“It’s Emma Swan,” she said, and held out her hand. Killian took it gingerly, like he was afraid it might bite him. 

The jolt of sensation that went through both of them at the contact seemed to confirm his fears.  

They both pulled their hands away, laughing nervously, and thorough the haze of his confusion something prickled in Killian’s mind. E. Swan, he thought, just like…

“You must be wondering how I managed to get stuck like that,” said Emma, interrupting his thoughts, attempting to brazen through her own jumpy nerves by talking.

“Well, yes, I confess it did cross my mind.” A complete sentence in her presence, that was a first, he thought. 

“Yeah, it must be a pretty weird thing to encounter first thing in the morning.”

“I assure you, lass, we’ve seen weirder in this library.” Two complete sentences, what had come over him? 

“That’s nice of you to say. Okay, here’s the thing. I kinda… left something really important in one of the books I returned, and… look I’m so grateful to you for rescuing me but would you mind maybe going to see if you could find it?” She kept her face calm but he could sense her anxiety in the way she twisted her hands together. “It’s, well, it’s personal and I don’t want to lose it, or you know have strangers reading it—”

He waved his hand to cut her off. “Say no more, it would be my pleasure to retrieve it for you. Um, what is it?”

Her smile shone relieved and brilliant, and Killian’s powers of speech abandoned him yet again. 

“It’s a letter. In an envelope. I mean, just like a normal envelope. But… open.” 

He nodded, groping desperately for his words. “Letter. Envelope. Got it. I’ll, um, go now. Uh, stay here.” 

“Where else would I go?” she asked his retreating back. 

Killian hurriedly unlocked the main doors and raced down the stairs to the bin at the bottom of the book drop’s chute. He realised he’d forgotten to ask Emma —he felt a small thrill using her name— which book she’d left her letter in, but fortunately he remembered which books Henry had checked out during his last visit. They’d had a long conversation about each, after all. He ruffled through the first one but no letter fell out, the same result for the second. The third, however, produced its treasure, an ordinary, unremarkable white letter envelope. 

One that looked strikingly familiar. 

Killian stared at the letter in his hand, addressed to one E. Swan, in a firm, flowing, elegant script.

A script he recognised. 

Because it was his own. 

Bloody hell. 

(Be honest, now, kind Reader, you aren’t going to tell me you didn’t see this coming?) 

Killian wanted to hyperventilate. (Is it possible to want to hyperventilate?) His favourite patron’s mother, the woman he’d admired (and yes, done a bit of pining for) from afar was also, somehow, the pen pal he’d had since he was ten years old. His dearest friend. 

It was too ridiculous. It was impossible. 

(It was actually just a very strange coincidence, and who among us hasn’t experienced one of those? But Killian was feeling rather dramatic in that moment, so we’ll give him a pass.)

 (Now Reader, you are likely wondering how it is possible that two people who communicate via letter, a medium of communication that requires the knowledge of one’s recipient’s address as a matter of course, could possibly be unaware that they lived in the same neighbourhood of the same small town, mere blocks from one another as it turns out? The simple explanation is this: Both some years ago had arranged P.O. Boxes for their letters to each other, finding it easier (and if we are honest, more securely anonymous) to simply ask the post office to forward their letters as they moved around rather than keep updating each other directly. Killian’s P.O. Box was in Syracuse, NY, where he had gone to library school and his first port of call in the USA while Emma’s was in Tallahassee, FL, where she had stayed for two years after Henry was born.

Could they have saved themselves a fair bit of time and no small amount of loneliness had they just used their real addresses? Or, you know, their actual names? 

Yes. Yes they could. But then we wouldn’t have a story.) 

As Killian reeled from his astounding discovery, Emma was sitting on the hood of her Bug, wincing as her shift supervisor (and friend) laughed, so long and so hard Emma feared she’d give herself an aneurysm. 

After a while she began to hope for an aneurysm. 

“Oh my God,” Ruby gasped, once she was finally able to speak through her mirth. “That is the funniest thing I’ve heard in a long time. Years, probably.”

“Not helpful, Rubes. I only called to tell you that I’ll be in as soon as possible, I can probably get going in about five, ten minutes or so. I’m really sorry.” 

Ruby’s appreciation for a good joke did not affect her empathy for a friend in need. “Look, Ems, we’re not busy today, three patients have already cancelled their appointments. I can cover what’s left. Let’s just call this a sick day for you and if you want you can make up the shift this weekend. Go home and rest. You’ve had a narrow escape after all.” 

Emma groaned. “I hate you.” 

“You love me, and don’t forget I’m covering your shift today so you really shouldn’t be stuck up.”

“I mean, that’s just terrible.” 

 Ruby laughed. “Call me later. I’ll be waiting so don’t think you can wriggle out of it.” 

“You are the worst and I’m hanging up now. Goodbye. And thanks.” 

“Any time, doll.” 

Emma hung up the phone just as Killian came through the doors holding, she was relived to see, her letter. 

And with a very peculiar expression on his face. 

She felt her heart flutter. He looked… intense. It was a good look on him. 

She remembered how his arms had felt around her and the flutter became a gallop. 

He handed her the letter. 

“You’re honeysuckle,” he blurted. 

“I— what?” Emma blinked in surprise. 

“Honeysuckle. Not lilacs or roses, or sunflowers, thank goodness.” 

How could he… no! she thought wildly. He couldn’t, he wouldn’t have. He seemed so nice. 

“Did you read my letter?” she cried, somehow feeling more betrayed than angry.

“No! That is, I sort of did, but—” He ran a hand through his hair, looking distressed. “Oh, I’m doing this all wrong.”

“Just what exactly are you doing?” she snapped. 

He took a deep breath, and looked her in the eye. “Let me introduce myself,” he said. “We really haven’t been properly introduced. My name is Killian Jones. Killian with a K.” 

Emma gasped as the import of his name plus the fact that he knew what was in her letter hit home. K. Jones. 

“You— you’re K?”

“Aye. I mean yes, I am. And you’re E. Who smells of honeysuckle. I’ve always wondered.”

“You wondered what I smelled like?”

“I’ve wondered a lot of things about you, love.” He smiled, not the awkward, shy smile he normally gave her, but a bright and brilliant one full of joy and just a hint of mischief. It made her feel feather-light and ridiculously happy. This man she could definitely picture sniffing lilacs and thinking of her. He was real, and right in front of her, and her imagination had utterly failed to do him justice. 

“Listen,” he said, more confident than she’d ever seen him but with nervousness just creeping in at the edges, rubbing at a spot behind his ear and looking just over her left shoulder, “Would you, um, like to have a drink with me? You probably have to get to work now, but maybe later—” 

“I have the day off.” The words were out before she could stop them. 

Hope lit in his eyes. “You do?”

“As of five minutes ago,” she confirmed. “My boss said I’d clearly been through enough already today and told me to take a sick day. But, I mean, don’t you have to work—”

“I’ll take a sick day too,” he said hurriedly, pulling out his phone. “Just give me a minute.” 

The phone rang only twice before Belle picked up. She was nothing if not efficient. 

“Hi, Belle, it’s, er, Killian.” Of course she knows that you numpty she saw your name come up on the screen, he thought. 

(Killian is a terrible, terrible liar.)

He cleared his throat and continued. “I’m, um, so sorry but I’m not well today.” 

“Not well,” repeated Belle.  

“Er, no, I think I’ll have to stay home.” 

“You sound fine, Killian.” She sounded strict, when she was usually so kind. He forced himself not to panic, and attempted a little cough. “No, I assure you,” he said, “I’m very ill.” 

“Very ill, you say.” 

“Er, aye.” Why is she repeating everything?

“Too ill to come to work.” 

“Um, yes.” 

“Too ill to come to work and not in fact currently standing in the patrons’ car park with Henry’s mother?” 

He gaped. “How do you—”

She laughed, a familiar, warm sound, and Killian felt the knot of tension in his chest begin to melt. “I heard you come in through the main door and I came to see what was going on,” she said. 

Killian felt a stab of guilt. “Belle, I can explain—” 

“You don’t have to. At least, not yet. I’ll be demanding a full explanation tomorrow, when I feel certain you’ll be well enough to come to work.” 

“Of course. Thank you, Belle, you’re a treasure.” 

“Just be sure you actually talk to her this time.” 

“Aye, I think I can manage that.” It was easier now that he knew he’d actually been talking to her for the best part of twenty years. 

He ended the call and turned to smile at Emma who smiled back at him, and now, my darling Reader, we come at long last to the elation. The sheer, shining joy of experiencing something you’ve wondered about for years and finding it surpasses even your most elevated expectations. 

They went for coffee. They walked to the coffee shop, past the lilacs which were just beginning to fade, and they sniffed them together. 

Their conversation flowed with surprising ease, or perhaps not so surprising. In a way of course they had only just met but in another way they had known each other for years, and they were pleased to discover that there was no awkwardness between them other than that which results naturally between two people who are wildly attracted to each other and only just beginning to explore it. 

They explored it eventually. And thoroughly. 

And when the following year they stood in a country garden with Belle and Ruby and a Henry who was almost dancing with excitement and exchanged rings and promises of love and fidelity, the trellis above their heads was heavy and fragrant with honeysuckle in full bloom. And not a sunflower in sight. 

(Ah, I love a happy ending, I hear you sighing, beloved Reader. I do as well but I fear this is not one. It is of course a happy beginning.)

#cs ff #cs ff au #cs fic #deckhand hook #lieutenant jones #captain swan #fluff #omg so fluffy #tooth-rotting fluff #captain cobra #librarian killian #honeysuckle #profdanglaisstuff #one shot #rated g

[randomwriteronline]

Double Crossed

a collab between the incredibly wonderful @insane-control-room and me, set in their Pathogenink AU.

Silvestro Agnes belongs to one of my AUs.

Silvestro had a specific type of way to walk. His gait was smooth, slow, and all (far too) important. It was the kind of walk that makes one’s hands itch terribly as soon as he came in their line of sight, barely resisting the urge to slap him across the face to wipe it clean of its damn cockiness. He knew very well who he was - the best, most handsome, most perfect person in the whole damn world. Sure, he might have worked for someone; but that someone wore a stupid, ugly, misshapen mask, hiding himself from fame. What kind of fool would do such a thing? Resist the limelight so violently?

(An example came to mind, and he gave a single, loud, contemptuous laugh. Birds of a feather, weren’t they, the weirdos and outcasts of the world? Although he had to thank his brother’s choice. At least, his wonderful face would have never been associated with a monstrous creep of his caliber.)

Silvestro decided that he wore a mask to hide his vile face - he had seen Mr. Joey Drew slip white gloves onto dark hands, marred with heavy scarring. It seemed likely to Silvestro that those scars were all over his “boss”’s face as well. And the pin on his chest solidified that - he was afraid. Silvestro almost laughed as he walked home. How could that poor, nervous, and gay fool not be terrified? Silvestro knew about the death threats as much as anyone else did, but he also knew that Joey could care less about them.

He was just a walking paradox, Silvestro decided. So scared, yet so fearless.

Naive.

A car pulled up beside him.

“Silvestro Anges?” a low and dangerous voice spoke to him from the window of it, the being wearing dark sunglasses. “We have a proposition for you.”

“A proposition?” he inquired, raising an eyebrow. His blue eyes evaluated his interlocutor, and concluded that he was far better than anybody that might have been. “You don’t really think I will just accept anything from the first who comes by, do you now?”

“Sir, I’m certain you’d like to hear this one,” the person said, covertly showing him a stack of money. “This is… very important.”

Silvestro spared the dollars a quick disgusted glance: “That is the best you can do?” he mocked, lips rising in a joyless smirk.

Might have not been a prostitute, the agent thought increasingly angrily, but God if he wasn’t one expensive bitch. 

“If your eminence would please let me give him a lift,” they hissed through gritted teeth, “We might just find a compromise.”

Finally. Someone who addressed him rightfully.

Silvestro opened the car door unceremoniously and stepped inside.

“So.” he began, “Who wants me?”

“You’ll see soon, your highness,” the agent replied, trying desperately to keep the sarcasm from dripping into their monotone. They pulled up to a fancy looking hotel, and Silvestro was bowed out of the car. “Right this way, my liege. He’s waiting. He’s heard much about you and is very… anticipatory to work with you.”

The smile on Silvestro’s face was beautiful - at least, it looked beautiful, as did his visage and body and whole being. But it wasn’t beautiful, not in the slightest. There was something that must have once been hidden deep within the person that he was, now taking the form of a revolting mucus oozing from his every pore, making his natural beauty slip and melt off his skin. And underneath it remained only a nasty, viscid, annoying, insufferable little man who believed too much in something he wasn’t ever going to be close to being.

They entered a room together, and Silvestro recognized the faces of Disney and his current co conspirer, Fleischer. They both studied him as he sat with self importance, splaying himself with his legs spread far and wide to assert his position in the room as the greatest one there. 

“So, Mr. Anges…” Disney began, and pulled out a briefcase, sorting through a few files. “You work at Joey Drew Studios. I assume you see your boss often. Now, a man of your caliber certainly shouldn’t even be under someone, isn’t that right?”

Silvestro grinned. At last, someone knew who they were talking to. 

“Undoubtedly,” he cooly replied, knowing it was he that should be on top, not Joey. “And?”

“We’d like to help you with that,” Fleischer leaned back, steepling his fingertips. “We can offer you quite a bit of… resources, to get the job done.”

“You want me to do your dirty work for you and kill him?” Silvestro rose an eyebrow and bent forward, making a motion to leave. He might have been a lot of things, but he was not some animator’s hitman. He hated getting his hands dirty as much as anyone else. “I think I’ll decl-”

“Not kill,” Disney interrupted him, looking at him with dark indifference. “Expose.”

For once, Silvestro shut his mouth. His eyebrows rose higher and his eyes widened ever so slightly, intrigued. He leaned back on the chair slowly, a cat contemplating whether to eat the mouse or play ruthlessly with it, head reclined in a silent order to continue. 

“You see, Mr. Anges,” Disney smiled, glad to have his attention. “This Joey Drew is a menace - not a threat or problem, but clearly, if he was known for who he was under the mask, he would obviously lose his status, otherwise why would he hide himself? He must be a villain or bandit beneath it. And so, we’d like to hire you to discover who he is and spread the knowledge to us.”

“And once you do have that knowledge?”

“We will drag him into the dirt and make him regret he had ever decided to enter this business.”

Humiliation.

Silvestro’s grin grew wider and wider, face grimacing grotesquely at the thought of Drew’s impending, inescapable misery.

“I see we’ve got a deal.” he chirped, white teeth gleaming malicious from the small space between his parted lips.

Joey was not at work the next day. Or the one after. Silvestro managed to track down Henry, the elusive secondary owner of the studio, and asked where Joey was. 

“Out,” was the only answer he got, Henry shrugging. “Don’t worry about your checks, though, I know how to sign my name.”

Neither did Bertrum or Cohen answer him, both apparently clueless. 

Silvestro began to think of it as a covert team up against him, and so, one day, he went to work early, thinking that the rest of his coworkers showed up before time, and Joey gave them orders and vanished for the day.

The door of the studio opened noiselessly, and Silvestro put that to the younger twin. Of course that Franks lad would spend extra meticulous time to make sure that each and every door would be silent. Still, in this moment, he was glad about it - he was less likely to be noticed by any of the lunatics that bothered working at that studio. He strutted through the halls, finding them all eerily empty, not a soul around. He made his way down to Joey’s office, to check if the man was actually there and secretly leaving orders. He opened the door, expecting to catch him red handed, but found the office completely empty. He frowned. Where could the bastard be?

He grumbled to himself, handsome features now soured by not only that repulsive internal disgustingness, but also his annoyance with the situation.

Wandering about the silent and empty halls, he decided to do a bit of exploring. He knew the studio was quite vast, and nearly all of it was designed by Joey. A hint of where said man lived must be hidden in the architecture of the place, and so he began inspecting the area with a hawk’s eye.

Yet he found, to his growing frustration, absolutely nothing.

The building was as plain as Joey was.

It infuriated him, and he stalked upstairs to leave, when he suddenly noticed something strange.

Was there always an attic of the studio?

Part of him laughed at the thought, the other found it absurd, and at the same time, it made perfect sense. Where else would useless old things be stored? Of course Joey could not bear to part with anything. Being sentimental felt just pathetic enough to be right for the kind of person he was. Silvestro smiled as he made his way up the ‘extra’ set of stairs, already envisioning what he would find in the rooms above - everything neatly sorted away into little piles, each one hand marked with what they were, carefully and cautiously. And of course, among the mess, there were bound to be traces of Joey Drew’s elusive private life - little forgotten hints nobody thought would ever be found again, like letters, cards, anything that might have had an address printed on it. A bountiful chest of treasure awaiting none other than him and him alone.

Like a treasure chest, the door to the attic was locked. He smirked and rolled his eyes at the simple contraption, pulling a filched ring of keys from his pocket, and tested them one by one, and found that not a single one of them fit the lock. Perplexity turned swiftly into anger, and he went down to Lacie’s workstation, snatching a hammer.

At first, he wanted to smash through the whole thing, until he remembered he wanted to keep this covert. As a sentimental old fool, Joey would be bound to check the attic often, and once realizing that it was broken into, he would also understand that his situation was compromised.

So he set to work of carefully removing the door from its hinges, slowly lifting it away when he finished, excited to open up the trove and dive right in, discover all the hidden details of Joey Drew’s life.

But once he actually got into the attic, he found nothing of the sort: instead, his dismayed and stupefied eyes beheld what seemed to be a fully fledged apartment. He recognized a living room, a kitchen, a lunch table, a couch, pictures, flowers. Everywhere he turned he was assaulted by the feeling of having just broken into someone else’s home while they were away, not that he truly minded.

Honestly, he felt rather offended.

What kind of fucking joke was this?

He passed a hand over his eyes, blinked them a couple times, pinched the bridge of his nose, and then looked at his surroundings again. No, he found that he was not dreaming. The attic was a house. And somebody was living there, right above everybody else’s heads.

This felt like something out of a mystery novel, a hidden alcove in plain sight.

He shook his head: well, if this was someone’s apartment, the owner would have left something behind. Now, he thought. Who would be so desperate to sleep above an animation studio? Certainly not some decent fellow, oh, goodness, no. Nobody would stoop so low. Unless of course the ‘decent fellow’ was truly an efferate criminal, hiding under Drew’s wing and roof. Oh, that would have been perfect for Mr. Disney. Or perhaps… Agh, there it was again. That bony, unhealthy, disgusting face with bicolored eyes came to the forefront of his thoughts.

Of course. Of course! Of course Karpos would be the perfect candidate for being found living in some random guy’s basement. Or in their attic, in this case. No wonder he had not seen him often lately.

And wouldn’t you know it, as Silvestro tiptoed through the apartment and into a snugly furnished bedroom, there he was, on a bed far too comfortable for what he deserved, cuddling against another lanky being like the lizards he so disgustingly adored. Revolting.

Silvestro glazed over him, looking for clues.

An eaten bowl of soup on the side table, some papers scattered on the floor-

Then he realized what he had seen and - no no no, he slapped his cheek to wake up fully and checked again.

That was his twin brother, sleeping soundly just underneath the all too fluffy blanket. And next to him was a body, a human body, or at least it looked human, with an arm wrapped around him sweetly and gently and a book on its lap. He was seconds from having a stroke. Masks covered both beings’ faces, both of which were well known for Silvestro.

No way.

It was just so, so impossible, but all the pieces fit into the puzzle like so many intricate knobs and keys, fitting in so perfectly. Of course that gay artist would-

Hold up.

Gay. Brother. NO WAY. NOPE.

He recoiled. His brother. His twin. Gay. Having sex with his boss. Was it contagious? He’d spent more time than he would have liked - oh stop that, you know it isn’t. Gay brother. Gay brother… Well, it made sense. It made perfect sense, actually. He had to be gay, honestly, because Silvestro was the normal one, the perfect one, and he was a horrible mistake of nature full of awful perversions. It made perfect sense. He would have had to teach him a lesson, now that he had found out. The thought of beating his stupid brother senseless calmed Silvestro down a bit, allowing him to consider the situation a little better. Joey Drew, laying on a bed with the crazy handyman. Clearly, this wasn’t a coincidence. Oh no, it wasn’t. This was perfect slander to spread.

‘How could I phrase it?’ he wondered as he peeked at a sliver of Joey’s face that poked out of his mask. It had to be something shocking, something completely and totally demolishing, bringing Joey’s reputation down to the very depths of hell. ‘Let me see….’

Famed animator Joey Drew hires mentally retarded men to have wild sex with them, keeping them around for more.

No, no. That was not quite right, he knew there was a detail off. He inspected the strand of deep blue hair that framed his boss’s dark face from around his mask, and that slender arm around his brother: Joey clearly was not nearly strong enough to deal with that devil of his twin. He couldn’t have possibly forced himself into the damn animal even if he had tried with all of his strength. Ah, no, that was it! He wasn’t the one on top, no, he could never be! He liked the feeling of dick in his ass too much! And who would be better to pound mercilessly into his thin and pathetically weak frame than a mindless savage beast like Karpos?

Oh, it made such perfect sense, and was so good for anyone wanting to ruin the thin animator’s secretive reputation. 

Famed and beloved animator Joey Drew pays mentally retarded men to fuck him mercilessly, then housing them in the attic of his animation studios and keeping them around under the cover of ‘employees’.

No wonder he had trouble walking. Oh, that sounded so good. He smirked, oozing maliciousness as his eyes trailed over what he could see of the man’s sculpted cheekbone, his mask tilted just a bit to keep off of Karpos, so gentle. Absolutely grotesque.

That mask needed to go, both figuratively and literally. As did those damned blankets and whatever kind of clothes he might have been hiding that voluptuous frame under.

Hold. Hold on. He frowned. What the hell? What the hell. Sure, he had seen his boss’ body before, but could only imagine what it was like under clothes, though he was certain of slender hips and slim muscles, but there was no reason to, to see it for himself. He shook his head, his eyes falling on the sleeping man’s neck, a small, thin, creamy scar peering over his dress shirt. He shook it again, more harshly, and again he stared at that inviting throat, gently moving with motions within deep and mysterious skin, just waiting to be claimed with a sharp and digging bite -

He leaned his head back, inhaled, and exhaled, shaking his shoulders out, slapping his cheeks slightly to snap out of his infectious thoughts. He was getting himself worked up thinking of the malicious, awful, simply delightful slander he was going to spread about the animator. He smiled to himself as he gripped the curve of the mask covering Joey’s face, ready to learn who he was.

Joey stirred slightly as Silvestro was taking the mask off, but he did not wake up. His head turned gently on the pillow, his dark skin streaked by a few fragile looking scars, one on his neck, another on his forehead, and a final one barely noticeable on his lip, fine china patterns on delightful night skin, turning into a sculpture of brown agathae. Silvestro’s mouth went dry as he bit his lower lip, eyes hungrily, predatorily tracing his boss’s features as he breathed heavily, from his blue eyebrows to the tired heavy eyelids and then down, down, down the slope of his nose to reach beautiful full lips that were just begging to be forced open and bitten and left hanging as the soft voice of Joey Drew moaned his na -

WOMEN. HE LIKED WOMEN. THIS WAS UTTERLY DISGUSTING. GOD, THE NERVE OF THIS MAN. TO SEDUCE HIM EVEN AS HE LAID SLEEPING.

He would have fucking torn him apart. He would have shredded his reputation into confetti, just like he would with his clothes and then fucked him in the a- NO! JUST THE REPUTATION. NOT THE ASS. Mental and social destruction. Not physical. Not physical. No shoving him on his dick for a whole night, keeping him awake and fully aware of his plight. Just slander.

Just slander.

Ok, maybe a bit of ass too - NOOO. Reputation. Only reputation.

Actually you know what? Fuck him. Fuck him hard. Goddamnit, he deserved it, Joey negatively and he positively. He had been denied by every single woman in the bastard’s damn studio (and also was slightly afraid of asking again because last time the manager had nearly killed him, as had the engineer, and the singers, and the writers - damn, every woman nearly sliced his head off, be it with a microphone, saw, or deadly sharp pen, or just… straight up nearly decapitated him with a punch… God that crazy Irish bitch of a manager was scary) and he had been too lazy to actually get himself some company for two whole weeks. If he wanted to get off, this was his chance. It did not even make him gay. He was just taking advantage of a shitty, lowly, handsome piece of fiery hot meat and teaching the pervert a lesson. He could twist the whole story and claim he was forced to do this. Perfect. More slander. All according to plan.

He was so caught up in his inner machinations that he barely noticed a groan (though his skin prickled from it, goosebumps breaking out on his arms), and a rustle, and finally bright, wonderful red eyes opening, still hazy from the long sleep.

And god, those eyes were so gorgeous and alluring, and Silvestro wanted them half lidded and misted over with pleasure and salacity, looking like that at Silvestro as he raked his hands over his sides and pulled away from deep lecherous kisses….

“‘ska…” Johan called, breaking the intruder’s fantasy, his voice like hundreds of star songs, suffocating a yawn, touching his face, silently questioning where and when his mask had vanished from it. “Whu'r’ y’ doin’…?”

Silvestro jumped back, finally aware of what was happening. As red as a bleeding heart robin, he mixed his anger and lust in a big, messy and nasty bomb that began the countdown to its detonation immediately. He undid his tie with haste, positively furious.

Joey’s eyes found him in the room, squinting to recognize him in the late moonlight.

“… ‘vestro?”

“Shut the fuck up.” he hissed in warning, his free hand going to press against Joey’s mouth as fast as he could. “Not a word.”

Johan muffled something, a confused request of explanations maybe, but Silvestro ignored it. He leaned quickly towards the other man’s face while trying to undo the buttons of his shirt.

“Look at you,” he sneered. Joey’s eyebrows knitted together in question, so Silvestro took it upon himself to explain, leaning closer, his hand going down to Joey’s neck, feeling and relishing in the sensation of his palm against his beard, pushing on his gullet just enough to keep him from making noise, but giving him just enough air to breathe. Their faces were mere inches apart. “Disgusting. How could you sleep in the same bed as Karpos? You’re such a loser, you know? You make me sick. That’s why you’ll be having me tonight, to learn what it’s really like, to be fucked silly. Won’t you like that, a big fucking dick in your ass? Even if you say you don’t want it? Even if you say it hurts? Even if you tell me, beg me, to stop? You know what that will get you? A good old beating, choking every single little breath out of you - oh, won’t you be trying to scream tonight! You thought Karpos was a beast, you faggot? You thought he fucked you good? God, you have no idea what the hell is in store for you.”

Joey’s eyes were so wide, shocked and confused and hazy with sleep, and yet his chest shook with slight coughs stolen by Silvestro’s pressing hand, his mouth open with the need for air. Silvestro leaned closer, opening his own mouth to taste Joey’s, already thinking of all the delicious flavors and whimpers he’d get from him, their lips brushing for a moment, Silvestro tasting a hint of cinnamon, sugar -

- and TONK, went his head against an equally hard one.

The headbutt nearly sent him tumbling to the floor. Upon the bed a paranormal silhouette perched up on all fours to shield Johan with the little mass of his skeletal body, the artist gasping feverishly, rubbing at his throat, but looking at Karpos gratefully, and Karpos - Eska, his name was Eska, no matter what his brother insisted on calling him - Eska hissed at him violently like a murderous feline. He couldn’t bare his teeth, for they, much like the rest of his face, were carefully hidden, but those of his mask gave a pretty good idea of how he would have looked.

Silvestro shivered, but his ego didn’t give in: “You fucking animal!” he barked at his twin, and Johan covered his face in fear and shame, “Go jerk off somewhere else! You’ve had your turn!”

“EVERY LAST WORD COMING OUT OF YOUR GODFORSAKEN MOUTH IS BUT ANOTHER BRICK PAVING THE ROAD TO YOUR INEVITABLE AND UNSPEAKABLY PAINFUL CANNIBALIZED FRATRICIDE.” Eska thundered in response, his deep, raspy, crackling voice tearing at his throat. One of Johan’s hands searched for Eska’s arm to rest on it, trying to keep  him calm and grounded.

Silence fell for a couple of minutes. All parties in the attic remained perfectly still, aside from Johan’s trembling hand on Eska’s arm, and Silvestro felt a pang of envy, but it was quickly quenched by the recalling of his brother’s terrifying words.

Finally, Silvestro’s voice rose, horrified: “Since when are you capable of complex thought?”

“SINCE EAT SHIT AND DIE, YOU FUCKING BASTARD.”

“Good point, Eska,” Joey rasped, coughing slightly. “Silvestro, you’re fired.”

The man stared at him with his blue eyes open wide. Never, not once, never before had someone had the gall, the audacity, the sheer rudeness to fire him. It… scared him, not that he would let that be known. He spat on the floor.

“Bullshit!” he screamed. He scrambled back onto his legs: “BULLSHIT!” he yelled again, a bit of drool dribbling down his chin, as if cursing a second time would have helped prove a point which he had not specified. He lunged at Johan’s throat with hands like claws, ready to tear him apart and bend him to his own will, completely forgetting Eska until he was being pummeled into the floor by his twin once again. He felt as if the realization of just how strong Eska could be had hit him as hard as his head had crashed into the pavement.

Johan shouted something, he could not exactly tell what, something in fear and worry - and then his mouth was agape and the air in his lungs was gone. He kicked his brother back as best as he could, screaming his head off, there were rushing footsteps from below, and he could hazily sense Johan running toward the door to pull it back into place from where Silvestro had leaned it against the wall, shouting that everything was under control. Silvestro felt his arm getting wetter and wetter, hurting like hell for no reason, no reason at all, he simply couldn’t get it, had that bastard bit him, had he fucking dared biting him hard enough to make him bleed, but it wasn’t on his arm or forearm because he could feel it all dripping all over, was it on his palm, he had to check, he had to run his fingers over it, his fingers, fingers, fin… Fingers…

He choked on his gag reflex.

Silvestro looked up at his brother, shaking like a leaf.

Eska stared back at him. His breath was even through his occupied teeth.

“Eska!” Johan shrieked, petrified. “O-oh god, oh no….”

Questions were shouted from behind the door Johan was holding shut.

“Good god!” Joey barked, his voice raspy and authoritative. Silence fell. “I have this under control, go to work or there’ll be hell to pay!”

The crowd that had gathered by the closed door ebbed away.

The man took a few gasping breaths, closing his eyes for a moment, then leaned off the wall, walking over, cane in hand, assisting his weary footfalls, head held high, looking down at Silvestro from his great height in heaven.

The gears in his head turned rapidly, and Silvestro could see a burning wisdom within those eyes, bright, blazing, compassionate and gentle. The eyes of a god. He could see judgement and repentance in those eyes.

“Silvestro, I have three things that I can do with you,” he spoke so softly, like the final judge of everything that ever was. “One, I can kill you, seeing as you clearly planned to sell me out.” (Silvestro’s eyes were as wide as a small child’s in front of something far greater than himself. They were scared, and shocked, and pleading.) “But I don’t want to. No, I can’t. I’m no executioner. Two, I can wipe your memory, completely and totally. Or three, we can work together, and swear you to secrecy; magically, in a way you would never be able to speak of this ever again, except with those I deign allowed. The choice is yours, but if you pick the first option, I will do the second.”

Silvestro looked up at the man, and saw compassion and care in his exhausted eyes.

He made his choice.

Silvestro had called in beforehand. They had arranged the meeting, the day, the hour, the place. Disney sat in the armchair of a hotel room, sipping a glass of liquor, ignoring all laws, being the rule breaker he was. Fleischer was standing and looking out the window restlessly, silently contemptuous of the alcohol in Disney’s hand, resisting the urge to slap it out of his hand or chew at his nails. There was no reason to be nervous, Disney thought to himself. Silvestro was such an unscrupulous man, he would have gotten all kinds of information on the menace that was Joey Drew, one morally and legally ambiguous way or another. With that narcissistic diva at the job, they were in safe hands.

Two quick knocks got the two business mens’ attention. They were fast and nervous. Tock-tock, followed by silence.

Far too uncharacteristic. Disney and Fleischer exchanged a glance.

“Mr. Agnes?” Fleischer called, moving from the window. “That you?”

A deep inhale, a bit fearful, maybe. 

“Yes.” Silvestro’s voice answered. “It’s. Me.”

“Come in.”

The man who came through the door was indeed Silvestro Agnes… but something was oddly off. He had the same dark auburn hair and the same light cinnamon skin. Actually, Disney noticed, slightly confused, it was too light a shade of cinnamon. He was very pale, and he appeared to be shaking. His back was hunched forward, his shoulders closing in on his chest. His eyes were concentrated on the ground, terrified. Everything about him - his movements, his looks, his demeanor - chronically lacked the superb disgust towards everyone else which he had constantly displayed throughout his life.

He closed the door behind him and simply stood. His head bent a little downwards, nearly shameful. He did not say a single word.

“Well?” Disney encouraged him, though was somewhat… anxious of what the reply could be, “What do you have for us?”

No answer.

And Disney might have pressed further, if Fleischer had not risen his eyes above the trembling man before them and let out a horrified “Jesus Christ!” as he almost fell on the floor, leaping backwards in what could be described only as pure terror. Disney’s attention went first to his partner in crime, then to the silent Agnes, then behind him. And while he did not shout, his jaw and eyes fell open wide.

He could not have understood how he did not notice it. A giant dirty skeleton dressed in tight skin and enormous clothes, towering over Silvestro’s head. Hairs so thin they might have been made out of beams of light surrounded a naked skull in a dirty, brown and reddish halo, a pair of lone will-o’-the-wisps standing perfectly still deep in the recesses of empty eye sockets, to lead the wicked away to their just slaughter. Despite its hunched back, it was still taller than the doorframe; Disney would have bet it had just phased through solid matter like a ghost.

“Joey Drew knows you.” the skeleton said. The jaw did not move; a deep, crackling, croaking voice seemed to come directly from the depths of the earth. “Knows you well. Wiser than you.”

Fleischer and Disney were frozen in place. They did not dare breathe a breath, a sound, a word. They did not even know if they could.

The skeleton leaned towards them, Silvestro lowering with it, trembling as he tried to keep it from touching him - almost as if mere contact might have killed him. The voice grumbled from behind the skull once more, slowly and carefully articulating every word: “He will not have any of your threats. None. Not one.”

Those wild irises glowed without emitting the faintest hint of light. Demonic. Did Joey create the thing before them? Bendy was, after all, a demon. So was this as well?

“Your flesh tastes no worse than anyone else’s.” it advised, and Fleischer could imagine a macabre grin behind the skeletal mask. “I promise you that.”

The businessmen did not respond. They did not know how to respond. How could they? How could they have known, what exorcism would they have screamed? What can one say after being presented with a threat that implies the horrifying supernatural being currently standing in front of you has had a bite of your kind before, and maybe even more than one?

The skeleton’s long fingers slowly crept up Silvestro’s shoulder and closed their iron grip on it, making the man shiver harshly and attempt to mute a cry of pain under the pressure as his arms jolted upwards. His hand clawed at the air, missing the stump of the other arm’s wrist as if there had been something attached to it.

Disney paled as he noticed that.

“H-he says it’s a m-message,” Silvestro managed to say through chattering teeth and blurred vision, silently wishing the pain go away. Eska gave a drooping nod, too boneless, too bony. His voice added to the words, “So heed it.”

Eska decided he had already said a frankly excessive amount of words for today, so he thought it well not to allow a single one more to be spoken. He only turned slightly, dragging his twin with him in a silent yet angered order, hand still on his shoulder possessively as though Joey deigned him reign over his brother, and then they were both gone. Out of the room, out of the hallway, out of the building entirely (standing on the sidewalk, staring at each other with empty eyes on one part and a sinking fear on the other, strangers to everything about the person they were looking at, not even brushing against one another as the taller figure dragged his feet away, slowly, rhythmically, and his brother just stood, waiting for something before quickly heading home), leaving Fleischer and Disney stunned, fearful and less than inclined to try and disturb Mr. Drew again.

#bendy and the ink machine #joey drew #johan ramirez #eska (batim) #swearing #random writing #silvestro tries to fuck up johan's reputation but finds out he's hot and gets his ass kicked instead: the movie #disney and fleischer can go fuck themselves #cannibalism mention #rape attempted #blood tw #physcal abuse mention #homophobia tw #ableism tw #violence tw