#otherwise known as the Out Of Touch Thursday girls | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

velvrei · 1 year

Text

trip to paris

pairings : robby keene x reader x hawk moskowitz

summary : reader and her friends go to east valley college, where the parties have an amazing reputation and hawk and robby think it’s the best time to make their move, together.

word count : 10k+

warnings : smut, threesome, choking, degrading, praising, swearing, thigh touching, spitting, slight PDA, degrading nicknames (slut, etc), mutual masturbation, begging

maya hawke as jordan sparks

rome flynn as apollo cruz

alessia cara as jessica-may roberts

you are 21, hawk & robby are 22.

nsfw below the cut .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Out of the things that came along with enrolling in East Valley College, the greatest one was the parties. They were legendary, and were half the reason most students registered in the first place.

The day was Thursday, every longing Friday they had an end-of-the-week celebration — otherwise known as a college party — to "remember the best parts of each week" as some would say to professors. In reality, everyone mainly went for free drinks or to get laid. It was also a great time to catch up with friends or fellow classmates.

Y/N L/N, a very attractive female who was well known by her fellow students for her boldness and flirtatious personality. Most people were honestly scared of her, and definitely not just because of her outrageous ways, she and her closest friend and roommate, Jordan played the best pranks of the semester. The pair always knew how to make someone pissed enough just to the point where they want to prank them back, not to where their life is completely ruined. Y/N was someone everyone knew not to mess with, honestly, even the teachers were afraid of her, just never admitted it.

The girl and her easily amused best friend were in their dorm room, working on their work there since the professors said not to come into the classrooms that day.

"Are you cheating on the math quiz?" Jordan questioned their roommate, their satisfying suspicion-filled voice soothing the ears of the female beside her. Their friend was clearly looking up answers, as the young dirty blonde brought their legs down from the desk they were on seconds ago.

"Well duh," Y/N sassily remarked, "The professors didn't have our work in the classrooms today so I'm taking my chance while I can." The sneaky female smiled a cheeky grin, Jordan stood up curiously, attempting to grab the girl's phone. "Shit, I forgot we could do that, gimme your phone."

"Hey! Use your own, it's right there!" The girl argued pointing at Jordan's faintly cracked phone."Oh, yeah, forgot I had that." They said sarcastically, "Of course it's right there! I wanna use yours cause mine is so fucking laggy." Jordan complained obnoxiously, reaching for the girl's phone. Y/N laughed, "Try restarting your phone, dimwit. We go through this every time and it always works."

"Knockity knock," The stunning voice of Apollo Cruz, and the infamous knock of Jessie Roberts — the arguing pair could easily tell the knock was their female neighbor cause she always knocked 5 times to the same rhythm — as Apollo jiggled the doorknob as if he was trying to break in. They always knew exactly how to annoy their neighbors. "Jesus, could you stop that?" Y/N groaned clearly agitated, "We get it, you're here."

The two neighbors entered the room. "You know damn well we can't do that," Apollo stated, immediately walking over to the mini-fridge, opening it and looking for his favorite beverage in the shiny door. "Where'd y'all's Creme Soda go?" He questioned, suspiciously glaring at his two friends.

"Your dumbass drank it all." Jessie chuckled, walking over and jumping onto the couch, making herself at home as she usually would. Luckily for her, no one ever minded. "Y'all want boba? We should get boba." Jessie smiled, resting her chin in her hands as she swung her legs back and forth as if she was a teen girl in a 2000's romcom movie.

"Boba sounds good. I don't think I have classes until later, so," Apollo clicked his tongue, "Ya know we could definitely do that." He sounded incredibly stupid.

Jordan sighed, "You're lucky you're hot pretty boy," Y/N followed Jordan, patting the boy's chest then walking past him and out the door.

"I thought you said you were only attracted to girls?" Apollo asked down the hall to Jordan, remembering when Jordan not-so-discreetly scolded their friends about how they needed to quit being so hot so Jordan could continue to stick to the female gender.

Jordan smirked as they turned around with a sneaky smile, "Not for you." With a wink from Jordan, the two roommates snickered and turned around, proudly marching down the hallway as they would if they'd just burned down a headquarters with their enemies long inside.

The other two followed, struggling to catch up with Jordan and Y/N's master speed-walking.

♰

The group was right around the corner from the coffee shop that sold almost every beverage you could think of. It was only about a block away, so they could easily walk.

"Jeez, I thought there would be a lot more people here at this time, it's almost lunch and this place is a godsend," Apollo exclaimed as he shoved his hands into his black-jean pockets, examining in awe at the underrated shop in front of them. "Mhm, it deserves a lot more recognition," Jessie hummed, "But hey means less wait time for us!"

"Yeah that's true," Jordan agreed, their eyes wandered onto a certain pair of boys sat in the shop together.

"Isn't that the one bird guy? What's his name, pigeon or some shit?" Jordan spoke, purposely butchering the young man's easy-to-remember name.

"Oh, yeah that is him, and Robby's there too," Apollo noticed with a small smile on his face, only knowing the boys' name from when he used to work with him.

"Hmm, that is them." Y/N hummed mischievously. She had something on her mind, and Jordan could tell. "What are you up to, L/N?" Jordan questioned, trying to see what she had planned, or possibly already done.

"Oh, nothing," She answered as she mentally shook her wicked thoughts out of her head as she walked away and up to the front door, "Come on! We don't have all day!"

The drink shop was quite hectic when they walked in, not because it was packed — because it definitely was not — but because the machines were exceptionally noisy, and the little people inside were having mini conversations with each other or on their cellphones, others were just quietly getting there work done, or trying at the least.

The group of young adults found a rectangular table close by the corner of the brightly painted room, also near the notorious college boys Hawk and Robby. Y/N grinned as she sat down, crossing her legs and taking in the glorious sight around her. They started a conversation, but only around 5 minutes in Jessie noticed the two infamous boys staring at the girl sat next to her.

"Pssst, Y/N!" Jessica whispered. With raised eyebrows, Y/N turned to her friend humming a 'hmm?' which was her way of politely asking Jessie what she needed. Jessie smirked then directed the top of her head toward Hawk and Robby.

Y/N looked over at the boys, who were both staring at her. Not in a creepy way, it was actually quite sincere, and hot at the same time. She smiled at them, resting her chin in her hand as she went back and forth as she kept eye contact, then winked.

As soon as she realized both boys were going to keep eye contact, she broke it by looking over at Apollo, pretending to listen to what he was babbling on about. In reality, she was just making both boys want her even more.

♰

The next morning went by extra slow, Y/N and her group of friends were patiently waiting for nighttime to come, it was Friday and most young adults at East Valley College were anxious to let lose all the stress throughout the week.

"Jordan Sparks?" Dr. Banner, the science professor politely called as he took attendance in the teacher-student science lab.

Jordan was still half asleep, which was a normal thing for her to go to class and for it to take her at least a half-hour to fully awaken herself. "Here," They mumbled. Jordan looked over across the room and struggled not to laugh when they made eye contact with Y/N. Nothing, in particular, was funny the pair just did that randomly during the worst times.

"Apollo Cruz?" Apollo sleepily raised his hand as Dr. Banner kindly looked up with a smile on his face to make sure he was here.

Once he got everyone else's attendance, the class went on for several minutes as Dr. Banner wrote on the board some equations for their experiment, until Y/N felt her phone vibrate in her pocket.

swayzee

meet hawk and i in room 109 after class.

bird

we want to talk to you.

She knew they were planing something, and she was extremely excited to find out just what they were up to.

♰

The class went by excruciatingly slow, Y/N became more anxious by the minute, so once the bell rang and Dr. Banner dismissed class, she had already hurried out of the room.

"Y/N! Where are you running off to?" Apollo shouted as he watched his friend zoom down the hallway and stop at the empty classroom labeled classroom 109. "Don't worry about it!" She shouted, turning the doorknob then rushing inside.

"Hey, strangers, what's up?"

"A little excited, are we?" Robby questioned completely ignoring her question as he leaned on the teacher's desk, smirking at the moderately petite female. She rolled her eyes in return. "You said you both needed to see me?"

"Wanted," Hawk corrected with a sly grin, "But yes, we wanted to talk to you about... something. Just an idea." Hawk announced. Y/N curiously raised her eyebrows. "Okay... Well, spit it out. What's the idea?"

The boys smirked at each other, then looked back at the girl in front of them. "Well, we wanted to-" They weren't able to finish, because the door to the classroom flew right open.

"Y/N! There you are." Jordan sighed in relief. "What are you doing- Holy shit! Am- Am I interrupting something?" Jordan questioned, feeling guilt washing over them. Hawk shook his head, "No, we were actually just finishing, it's alright."

Y/N looked at him confused, as Hawk walked past her with a sneaky smirk sitting on his face. "I thought we were"

"It's okay, love. We'll discuss it later," Robby finished, following Hawk past Y/N and out the door. Guess she would have to find out what they wanted later.

♰

The long-awaited time had come, twas around 10 o'clock pm, and the angsty young adults were all in for an incredibly wild night. Especially Y/N.

"Yeah, that's right! You better walk away you little bitch," Jordan murmured as they and Y/N crossed the hall to Apollo and Jessie's dorm room. "Who the hell are you talking to?" Y/N questioned, seeing no one in the hallway but themselves. "The bug that just tried to crawl up my leg. These are new pants, asshole!" Jordan spoke as if the ant could hear them. Y/N laughed as she knocked on the door.

"Knock knock bitches, let's go. We're gonna be fucking late. And you know we can't be late, we're literally like celebrities in this college." Y/N hurriedly said, repeatedly knocking on the door. Apollo opened the door, annoyed. But honestly, he had no right to be, he would do the exact thing when he wanted his friends out of their rooms.

"Yeah, you keep telling yourself that," Apollo scoffed as he threw on his leather jacket. Jessie smiled as she quickly slid on her tennis shoes then walked out the door. "You're just mad it isn't you, pretty boy," Jordan remarked as they patted his shoulder then walked down the faintly painted hallway.

The group could easily tell where the party was, considering there were lingering people by the door. Some were making out, which was a horrible place for that, but others were chatting, drinking, or playing games. The usual, really.

"Holy fucking shit! Moon's here," Jordan panicked, trying to hide their flushed face in Apollo's coat attempting to hide themself like a child.

Jessie laughed, "Honey, I know you gotta crush on her-"

"It's not a crush! She's a... lady friend..."

"Right, right," Jessie scoffed throwing her hands up in her own defense, "You just get nervous when she's around you, and you zone out to daydream about your future together. Definitely not a crush, just a 'lady friend'." Jessie said sarcastically, using air quotes around the words lady friend.

Jordan shot a confused look over at Jessie, "Huh?"

"And she zoned out again. Ooh, beer!" Y/N exclaimed, abandoning her friends and walking over to the cooler.

Apollo chuckled then followed, grabbing himself an ice-cold drink, then walking back over where Jessie was, as Jordan approached Y/N. "I don't know what to do. Help me?"

"Yes babe, just go talk to her! She's totally into you, she's sneaking glances at you as we speak." Y/N mentioned, slyly pointing at Moon across the room. Jordan looked over at Moon with an obviously shocked look on her face. Moon waved back with a small, welcoming smile. She waved Jordan over.

"Ohmyfuckohmyfuckohmyfuck," Jordan murmured, quickly breaking eye contact with their 'lady friend'. Y/N chuckled, "See, she wants you to join her. Go over there!"

Jordan hummed nervously, starting to pace. "Just go!" Y/N exclaimed, practically shoving Jordan across the room.

Y/N glared back at him with a hand on her hip, "Go make-out with Jessie or something." She boldly remarked. His eyes widened as Jessie almost spit out her drink. "Don't gimme that look, the tension between you hoes could be cut with a knife. And I would if our knives weren't so goddamn dull." She sneered sassily then walked away leaving her two friends stunned.

She made her way over to where the speakers were, leaning on the corner of the wall as she peacefully sipped her beer. Odd for her to find peace right next to a full-blasting speaker but hey, whatever works right?

"Hey, sweetheart." She raised her eyebrows, continuing to drink her beverage as she watched two angsty boys sneakily approach her with drinks in their hands. She gulped down her drink so she could speak, "Hello."

"You looked a little lonely over here," Robby added, his back on the wall to the left of her. "Eh, could be lonelier," She chuckled. They smiled and it went silent for a couple of seconds.

"Now, did I- we tell you that you look absolutely stunning tonight?" He shared, filling the other empty space next to her, sipping his beverage, Robby hummed in agreement as he eyed the lovely girl up and down. "No, from what I recall you hadn't, well until now, at least." She smiled, wanting to push their buttons a bit.

Usually, when the two boys separately talked to girls like that, they would get all flustered and shy, but not Y/N. She knew exactly what to say, and if we're being totally honest? It was turning both college boys on quite a lot.

"Surprised no one mentioned it sooner. Maybe they were just focused on this beautiful face of yours, hmm?" Robby hummed as he gently cupped Y/N's face, looking her straight in the eye. "Maybe they were." She smirked at him.

Robby brought his hand down, grabbing his beer off the speaker then swiftly taking a drink all with his eyes on her.

Hawk suddenly grabbed Y/N's hand. "I really like these rings you have on," He noticed, examining the cold metal resting on her fingers, his thumb running across the back of her hand. He kept eye contact as he lifted her soft hand up to his plump lips, lightly kissing the spot right above her knuckle.

She was at a loss for words. The flawless female was now at her mercy for these not one, but two men who stood in front of her. Her throat felt intently dry, like cotton as Hawk gently placed her hand back at her side.

She would've willingly made out with both of them right then and there, but she stopped herself when she saw her two friends making out in the opposite corner of the room. "Oh my god, I was right!" She said happily.

Robby chuckled already knowing what she was talking about, on his way in the saw Jessica-May and Apollo harshly making out in the corner. Hawk followed her gaze, laughing along with Robby about how excited she got over being right over her friend's relations.

Once the attention on her friends sluggishly died down, someone from across the room drunkenly suggested they play never have I ever, and that they wanted Y/N, Hawk, and Robby to play along.

Y/N debated playing. This night could go one of two ways, and both choices were looking devilishly amusing. She would either get her brains fucked out by one — or both — of her favorite little boy toys, which seemed like the better option, or she would go back to her dorm with Jordan and await another longing day wondering what would've happened if she would've played.

"You wanna play, pretty boys?" Y/N asked deviously as she turned her head to the view of the two boys glancing at each other, with sexy smirks as they hummed a 'yes'.

After a few minutes, everyone that was interested in playing was sat around a coffee table, sitting on the dark couch. Robby and Hawk were sat on either side of Y/N, both with their arms around her seat. Jordan cleared their throat, "I'll go first."

"Never have I ever..." They took a second to think, "Gone skinny dipping." Jordan finished. Jordan knew that there would probably be quite a few people, but they wanted to know just exactly who.

Y/N chuckled then skittishly raised her cold beverage, taking a large gulp. Robby and Hawk both eyed her eagerly, also taking sips of their drinks. "Hmm.. interesting," Jordan murmured slyly, noticing the gazes from the boys.

"K! I'll go next," Apollo offered, sitting down next to Jessie who was next to him with her legs crossed, "Never have I ever made out with a friend's sibling." He finished.

Jessica smiled deviantly then took a sip of her drink. Apollo's eyes shot toward her, "Wait, what? Who's sibling?" He questioned frantically. Jessie laughed to herself then pushed a few strands of hair out of her face, staying totally quiet.

"Don't tell me it was Omar!" Apollo said, hoping it wasn't his big brother, "I swear to god if you say it was Omar-" He threatened.

"It was Omar," Jessie whispered. "Oh my fucking-" Apollo complained, but was cut off by Hawk changing the conversation. Thank god, otherwise, everyone in the room would have to watch Apollo call his brother and threaten to beat his ass. He would never actually go through with it, though.

"Okay! Next one. Never have I ever, kissed my best friend." Hawk said, sitting up so he was now directly next to Y/N.

"What is with all the kissing ones?!" Apollo emphasized as Jessie just chuckled and put a comforting but dangerously playful hand on his cheek, "You'll be okay," She said, then patted his face lightly.

Y/N and Jordan both laughed as they took large gulps of their beverages, all the eyes going onto them. "Woah, hello?" Jessie said, resting her arm on Apollo's shoulder looking at her two close friends as if she just saw a ghost. "I mean, don't get me wrong I have no problem picturing that in my head," Apollo started bluntly with an elbow to the side from Jessie. "Ow! What I was gonna say, was that I have no problem picturing it but when did it happen?" Apollo finished curiously.

"We never even confirmed that it was us, I mean it was, but don't just assume." Y/N exaggerated, "And the fun part about this is that we don't have to tell you any of the sultry details." She said with a smirk and a wiggle of her eyebrows.

"Also, you two should have drunk too!" Jordan said suspiciously pointing at Jessie and Apollo.

"Anyways," Y/N laughed crossing her legs, "Never have I ever sent a nude photo to someone." She concluded, as Hawk and Robby both quietly drank from their refreshments.

"I- I'm not even gonna ask."

"Ugh, this is getting boring, okay let's spice it up a little bit." Jordan commented cleverly, "Never have I ever, had or thought of having a threesome."

Hawk and Robby's eyes widened and their jaws dropped slightly as they carefully watched Y/N take a drink of her beverage, teasingly slow. "Ooh, Y/N! Spill!" Jessie exclaimed excitedly.

Y/N simply shook her head. "No can do, Miss May, the whole point of the game never has I ever, not expose yourself in front of twenty easily amused adults." She replied, crossing her right leg over her left.

"Well, fine," Jordan huffed, "Let's play truth or dare! Y/N, truth or dare?!" They asked anxiously. Y/N knew what her roommate was up to.

"Dare."

"Okay, I dare you to tell us who you've had or thought about having a threesome with." They dared. "That's not how it works, J." Y/N stubbornly remarked, "And if it makes you feel any better, I haven't had a threesome, it's just a ridiculous thought."

Jordan huffed in defeat, but then got an aspiring idea. "Okay, fine then," They hummed cleverly, "I dare you, to kiss both people you would want to have a threesome with."

Apollo chuckled, partly embarrassed for her. Y/N laughed with sarcasm in her tone, "Yeah, there's no way in fucking hell I'm doing that." She went to get up and leave, but she felt a cold hand snatch her wrist.

"Don't go, sweetheart," Hawk grinned, "Just do it, a little dare won't hurt anyone." He acknowledged as he and Robby smirked up at her. She scoffed. "At least not physically," Robby added but after smirked, "But that could happen too."

She sat down in the space between them, gulping hard, struggling to remain intimidating to everyone surrounding her. "Fine. I'll do it." She answered, giving in.

Jordan smiled devilishly, knowing what they were getting Y/N into. "Great."

Y/N quickly glanced over at Hawk. She was mentally debating whether or not she should actually kiss him in front of everybody. She had to make a quick decision. So she kissed him.

It caught him by surprise, he wasn't too shocked but enough to the point where it took him a second to kiss back. People around the room howled and shouted, but not super loud since they knew she was still going to kiss someone else after.

Y/N noticed Hawk's lips were mildly soft, and that he kissed back after only around 3 seconds. She wanted the kiss to be short for obvious reasons, so she pulled away.

"Damn, Y/N!" Apollo exclaimed, howling like an immature child. Y/N laughed. "She's not done yet, Cruz, who's the other person?!" Jordan asked anxiously.

Y/N shot a playful-type glare at Jordan, she was beginning to warm up a little bit. This is normally how it was when she partied, she would come to the party a little shy and quiet, but she would leave nastily wasted, or just bold and loud.

She smirked over at Robby, her eyes locked on his. Eye contact was always a turn-on for the both of them, along with Hawk.

She glanced down at his lips, then leaned in and placed a soft, genuine kiss on his lips. His lips were also soft, maybe even softer than Hawk's luscious lips.

Robby slowly bit his lip as she pulled away, gazing at her up and down as he smiled a little.

"Okay! Games over," Jordan said, quickly standing up and dragging their lady friend, Moon across the room. Jessie laughed, then also stood up. "Let's go over there," Jessie said, smirking and pointing to a random corner of the room, "And continue what we were doing before."

Y/N laughed in her seat, then grabbed her drink off of the coffee table. She took a long sip, then set it back down. She sat back but tensed when she felt a sudden hand on her thigh. "Is this alright, darling?" She could feel Hawk's breath on her neck, and then another hand on her other thigh.

"I mean, I'd hope so. I felt something in that kiss, and I know damn well Hawk did too." Robby hummed as his hand tauntingly rubbing up and down her thigh. Hawk nodded eagerly in agreement.

She nodded. "Use your words, babydoll," Hawk hummed, his thumb stroking gentle, little zigzags on her clothed skin. She gulped, trying to calm herself enough to speak, "Yes, I felt it too. And yes, I'm okay with what you guys are doing." She answered, struggling to keep her composure.

"And what exactly are we doing, hmm?" Robby said, just trying to make her agitated. She inhaled sharply, "I don't know, why don't you tell me exactly what you're doing? I can't speak for either of you." She said, trying to sound as seductive as she could.

Robby raised an eyebrow, "Oh?" He exaggerated.

She nodded once again. "Why don't you boys come back to my room with me, huh?" She offered, as both boys' hands inched closer and closer to her clothed heat. Y/N quickly sat up.

She was definitely more than okay with what they were doing, she was just not wanting to give anyone else in the room a show. Or at least not for free, anyway.

She grabbed both of their hands, and they impatiently sat up with her, glancing at each other with a lust deep within their eyes, and a sneaky smirk on their faces.

"You know where my dorm is?" She asked nonchalantly as if nothing was about to happen, but in reality, shit was about to go down. Both boys nodded eagerly. "Perfect. Go there, and wait for me. I'll explain more when I get there." She said, walking over to Jordan, leaving both boys stranded there in shock. They weren't standing for long once what she said had fully sunk in, they ran as fast as they possibly could to her dorm room.

“Jordan," Y/N whispered, tapping their shoulder from behind. Jordan turned around, stopping their conversation with Moon. "Hmm?" They hummed.

"Stay at Moon's tonight. Or wherever you wanna, I guess. I just wouldn't recommend coming to our dorm until tomorrow. I'll text you if anything changes." Y/N said. Jordan could tell she was in a hurry.

"Okay, why-" Jordan's eyes got big when they realized, "Oh! Damn, okay. Heh, you're totally welcome." Jordan added, realizing that it was them that started the game, so if it weren't for Jordan then what's currently going on wouldn't be happening.

Y/N laughed, "Thank you. Now go back to talking with your lady friend." She joked, smiling in a teasing manner. "Haha, very funny. Now you go!" Jordan said, shooing Y/N away from her as if she was a pesky fly. She scoffed even though it was still more of a laugh, and quickly exited the noisy room.

♰

When she arrived in the room both boys were sat patiently on the end of her bed, even though she didn't tell them to.

They didn't know where else they should've gone within the room, and they didn't want to be a bother and mess up the placement of any of her scattered goods around the room. So they just sat there until she arrived.

"Awe look at you boys," She smiled sweetly. She found how sincere they were being quite adorable, nonetheless.

"Yeah, yeah, now what do we do now?" Hawk asked impatiently. He may have seemed patient before, but he was truly agonizing to see what was genuinely going on.

"Okay, well. Tonight you boys can do whatever the hell you want to me." She answered nonchalantly. Their eyes went wide and became full of passion.

"Anything?"

"Anything."

Hawk and Robby watched in amazement as she flopped onto the empty space of the bed behind them. "Well, what are you doing just sitting there? Go ahead, do whatever your little hearts desire."

Their thoughts ran dangerously wild as they smirked and instantly crawled up to her. "First off, let's take these pretty little things off," Hawk spoke, gesturing toward her comfortably fashionable clothing that was still sitting on her body, hugging all the right places. Robby and Hawk were intrigued, and she was a sight for sore eyes but they wanted them off, and quick. "I can do that." She replied, swiftly continuing to undo her belt.

"How cute," Robby pouted sarcastically, "You think you have a choice," Robby said and Hawk snickered. "Yeah, and you don't have a choice with us, so hurry up and take off those clothes before I fucking do it myself," Hawk demanded impatiently.

She raised her eyebrows and threw her hands up in her own defense, "Why don't you then?" She requested all but with a greedy smirk written on her face.

Hawk pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek, "Fine then. Be like that," Hawk said. He knew she was just trying to make him more pissed off and impatient than he already was, and he was having trouble not letting it get to him.

"Fucking pathetic," Robby babbled degradingly. She tightly clenched her thighs together, the anticipation already nagging her.

"Keene, help me take off her clothes, and don't be fucking slow." He demanded the last fragment with refined venom in his tone.

Robby nodded, smiling cheekily at Y/N as he undid her belt, then slid her jeans down her gorgeous legs, unhooking the fabric from her ankles then tossing the clothing across the room. She propped herself up on her elbows, wanting to watch his every move. Robby smirked when he pulled her pants down only a little to reveal her hips, placing a soft kiss just below her belly button.

Hawk began growing more and more impatient, Robby was "taking forever", and he just wanted to devour the attractively striking girl in front of him. He watched observantly as Robby ran his fingers up her stomach and to her beautiful, covered breasts giving her noticeable goosebumps. Robby was practically toying with her and him as simply all he was doing was slowly lifting up her shirt.

He pulled that over her head, revealing her black bra that made him hard at the sight. Not because of what she was wearing, but simply how hot she looked in it.

"You want me to leave her like that or undress her more?" Robby asked patiently, quietly chuckling to himself as he noticed a fine budge in Hawk's jeans. "That- That's fine." He stuttered angrily. He hated having Y/N and Robby both see him at his mercy.

He shook all the delusional concepts out of his mind, then quickly took off his shirt, his abs quickly catching the attention of the female before him. She failed to stop herself from grinning, as Hawk and Robby both began to fully undress themselves. A am

After they undressed, which felt like an eternity to Y/N because she was forced by to just sit and watch as they took off their clothing extremely slow. Hawk was on one side of the bed while Robby was on the other.

"Kiss her," Hawk commanded, eyeing her up and down with passion, hunger, and lust gaping inside pupils. "What?" Robby asked, a little confused that Hawk wanted Robby to kiss her instead of himself.

"Just fucking kiss her, dude!" Hawk raised his voice. He was becoming even more impatient and anxious to just rip the remaining clothing off her body and fuck her into next Tuesday. But he couldn't do that, he had to be patient.

Robby quickly kissed Y/N, their lips harshly colliding together starting a fast, heated pace. "God, both of you are so hot," Hawk murmured, clearly out of breath from doing absolutely nothing.

Robby smiled into the kiss, his hands moving from his lap to right along her sides, holding himself over her glamorous body, now completely on top of her.

One of Robby's hands teasingly traced up her sides then to her breasts, while the other rested firmly on her thigh, inching closer and closer to her covered core. His thumb pressed onto her numb through the underwear, causing her to squirm and moan softly. Both boys were very intrigued by the sound.

Her hands harshly gripped Robby's hair, tugging it. He let out a soft whimper, sending vibrations straight to her core. "Fuck," He groaned. Hawk has had enough, he wants them to just hurry it up. And luckily for him, Robby seemed to notice.

"Okay, now what Hawk?" Robby asked, stepping away from her as she let out a whine from the loss of contact.

"Come here, love," Hawk commanded quite nicely as he looked deeply into Y/N's beautiful eyes. "Move to the edge, babe." As soon as Hawk said that phrase, Robby knew exactly where he was going with that.

Y/N, being the amazing listener she is, decided to very slowly scoot onto the edge of the average-sized bed. Hawk rolled his eyes, "Jesus fucking Christ," Hawk whispered, "Y/N if you don't hurry up we won't let you go until you've come five fucking times, now for the love of God, please just move over a few inches." Even though Hawk was more than agitated, he still somehow mentioned how hot she was, which if you think about it, in a way, that's pretty considerate of him.

Y/N gave in and obeyed, mentally rolling her eyes knowing that if she did it where they could see she would be in big trouble. She quickly moved from the middle of the large bed to the softened edge. Almost as soon as she did that, Hawk and Robby both slowly got onto their knees in front of her.

"What are you guys doing?" She questioned, she already had a hint but she liked teasing them. Hawk chuckled, "You'll figure it out sooner or later." Hawk said, now able to fully keep his calm because she was actually listening and doing what he had said to.

Robby's cold hands tormentingly ran up her thighs, giving her even more goosebumps than she had before. His hands stopped at the lining of her underwear, slowly pulling it down, and taking it off of her, revealing her pussy to both him and Hawk. Hawk slowly raised an eyebrow as he made intense eye contact with her.

"May we?" Robby asked politely, as if he was about to eat dinner at a fancy restaurant, and was asking if he was allowed to eat yet. She nodded impatiently. "Use your words, babydoll," Hawk demanded with a sexy, grim voice.

"Yes. You may." She responded.

Now that the boys had verbal consent, they were about ready to make her scream, but the little stubborn words being said in their thoughts were getting in the way. Hawk opened her legs wider and placed a small, delicate kiss onto her sensitive nub.

She let out a heavenly whimper that blessed their ears, as Robby now placed a kiss onto her hole. She let out another moan, making Hawk's cock pulse in his jeans.

Hawk quickly sat up, tugging his shirt over his head and tossing it across the room. Y/N sat up on her elbows to enjoy the glorious view in front of her, she loved the way Hawk's abs glistened because of the damp layer of sweat on his body.

He got back into his knees, throwing her right leg onto his shoulder, leaving soft kisses onto her thigh. "Please," She moaned, "More."

Hawk gazed up at her as Robby chuckled devilishly, "Aww, look at you. Haven't even started and I've already got you begging for more. Such a desperate little whore, huh?" Hawk taunted. She could've busted right then and there. "Mmm, yeah," She whispered. "Speak louder, gorgeous," Robby demanded. She was extremely sexually frustrated. "Yes, I am. Please just touch me."

Hawk smiled. "See? Was that so difficult, baby?" All these pet names they were calling her were more than alluring, if she wasn't at her mercy she would be returning the favor by complimenting them on how incredibly sexy they look, or how their muscles look ravishingly big.

Hawk hungrily licked her clit as Robby got up and sat next to her and placed faint kisses down her chest, his immense hands finding a place on her waist when she arched her back. Her lips fell into an o shape as she threw her head far back. "Holy fuck."

Robby's plump lips kissed from her stomach, to her neck, and then her lips. They both engaged in a deep kiss, as Hawk's tongue worked his magic causing Y/N to moan into Robby's mouth.

Hearing that sound leave her mouth that close to his ear was like heaven to him. He found her so incredibly attractive, so hearing those beautiful moans to leave her mouth was a vast turn-on.

She began to buck her hips upward, the pleasure becoming so much for her as Hawk pressed his thumb onto her clit. "Quit doing that." He demanded. "Doing what?" Her smile was evident in her tone.

"Moving your fucking hips," Hawk answered aggressively. She smiled tauntingly then bucked her hips once again. She knew what she was doing, and she knew it was making Hawk painfully hard.

Hawk harshly slapped her ass, causing her to stop the movement of her hips. "That's right, brat, know your place." He taunted.

Robby hurried back in between her legs, getting on his knees next to Hawk and kissing up and down her thigh. She was starting to feel her climax coming, but she whimpered when she felt a loss of contact on her pussy, and her thigh.

She propped herself up on her elbows, about ready to plead for her finish, but she stopped when she saw what was going on in front of her.

Hawk and Robby were full-on making out.

And boy-oh-boy was it a sight to see.

Y/N was unquestionably mesmerized, she never thought something so simple could possibly turn her on as much as it was. She decided to take matters into her own hands, literally, by using her hands for her own pleasure. She moved her fingers around her slightly swollen vagina, curling her toes as she watched Hawk's hands find a place in Robby's luscious hair.

"Fucking hell," She whimpered. Some reason the two newly-adult boys touching tongues was a huge turn-on for her, so she was taking that to her advantage. Her fingers brushed against her clit at a certain angle, hitting her most sensitive spot. She let out a line of moans and whimpers, some high pitch, others just loud pants.

Hawk pulled away from Robby, out of breath, "Off. Take your hands off." Hawk demanded, grabbing her wrist and separating her fingers from her heat. "Why'd you do that? I was enjoying myself there." She teased.

"Shut your mouth."

Hawk was angry. He honestly didn't know why, but he was. Y/N quickly listened, stopping any noises that were leaving her sore body. "Now what, Hawk?" Robby questioned, catching his breath.

"Well that was hot," Hawk chuckled, "But we can't just let her sit there and watch." He honestly didn't know what he was saying, he loved watching her at her own mercy, but he wanted to remain — or seem — dominant. "And why not? I don't mind." She smirked proudly, she loved pushing their buttons. "Well, I do, and I know damn well Hawk does as well. Now get your ass up." Robby demanded. She smiled, and stood up.

"On the bed, ass toward us," Hawk commanded. That sentence gave her intense butterflies, as she listened. "Robby, you know what to do," Hawk said, walking over to the desk in her room and pulling out her chair. "What is he doing?" Y/N asked curiously.

"Don't worry about it, you little bitch." Robby taunted, then hostilely thrusted into her, making her whimper out at the sudden contact. "Holy fuck!"

Robby's cold hands roughly gripped her ass, as Hawk sat down onto the chair and took out his dick. He simply just watched, his chest heaving up and down as he let out multiple soft, submissive moans. "Jesus fucking christ," Hawk whispered.

Y/N screamed loudly as Robby forcefully penetrated her pussy, moans, and grunts were falling from Robby's lips, his fingernails probably making a mark into Y/N's asscheek, although she didn't mind. "God, you're so tight Y/N," Robby said, his voice getting closer to a whisper by each word that left his lips. She moaned back as her response.

"You're taking my cock so well, fuck, what a good girl you are." Robby praised, slamming into her like there was no tomorrow. "Mmm, fuck yes! Call me that again," Y/N moaned as she impatiently nodded her head in agreement. "Such a good girl," Robby purposely repeated himself.

Y/N let out a noisy whimper, Robby immediately snapped back into reality remembering that someone could hear what was going on, so his hand flew straight onto her mouth, as he bent over so his lips were right next to her ear.

"You're gonna have to be quiet, love, someone'll here you." He whispered to her, alluringly. His hand moved from her mouth, "God," She choked out, "I don't know if I can."

"You can, and you will. Now be quiet before I make you myself." His hand slowly moved farther her lips and down to her throat, gently squeezing the sides which the adrenaline in her veins pump faster. His pants became faster.

She could barely choke out words at that point, she was being fucked senseless, and to add onto that her airway was partially shut. He would never fully shut it, of course, he just loved the way it felt when she clenched around him while he choked her.

"That's right baby, listen to my words. Obey me like the bitch you are." Robby said, taking full control. Y/N let out the most satisfying-to-ear moan, she wasn't quiet, or too loud. It came from the back of her throat, and it sounded extremely heaven-like to Hawk and Robby.

Robby pushed into her, then stopped, staying in that position. His other large hand moved, using his finger to rub fast circles onto her swollen clit. She let out a quiet whimper. "Oh yeah? Do you like that? You like having my hands all over your pussy, hmm?" He sweet-talked. She moaned once more, "God yes!"

Robby started moving again, but continued to touch and play with her. "Jesus, babe," He panted, "I know I told you to stay quiet but if you keep moaning like that, I don't mind at all." He chuckled.

Y/N's back arched, her ass pressing against Robby's front causing Robby to stop in his tracks, "Oh god."

Y/N looked over at Hawk to make sure he was still well, and all she saw was his eyes on her. Hawk's eyelids were very heavy, and a sluggish smile appeared on his face when his eyes met with her desperate ones.

"Fuck," She moaned, quickly looking away. Eye contact really turned her on and at the moment it felt like too much to handle.

Robby was very thankful that Y/N's pussy was especially wet, his dick slid in and out of her so easily.

He smiled cheekily as he brought his top-half upward as it had been before, his cock shifted deep inside of her, hitting a place it hadn't before. "Shit," She whimpered hopelessly.

"God, baby, I'm so close," Robby whimpered out, his dominant side slowly fading as he felt his cock contract and twitch inside of Y/N. "Me too," She panted. Robby's hands got a firm grip on her hips, repeatedly ramming his dick into her. "Oh yes," She whimpered softly.

Robby chuckled as he struggled to keep his eyes fully open, "You're such a pretty little whore, huh, Y/N?" He degraded, her walls clenching around him. She only moaned as a response.

Her heart was pounding in her chest, and it was probably through the roof due to all the pleasure she's being given.

After a matter of seconds, her body felt uselessly limp as she collapsed onto the bed, the only the holding her up was her elbows. Her orgasm hit her like a truck as she let out a loud, drawn-out moanish-scream.

Robby wrapped his hand around her mouth, "Shhh, be quiet," He whispered in her ear. His orgasm came soon after, and luckily for Robby, she was on birth control, and he knew because they had discussed it before they even did any of the foreplay.

Robby came inside her as his whole body shook. He let out a pathetic whimper right in her ear, that would've easily made her come once more if she wasn't coming down from a current high.

"Jesus Christ, you guys are hot together," Hawk said with a large smirk, as Robby looked up still partly out of breath. "But out of the way, pretty boy. It's my turn." The words that seductively left his mouth and the tone he murmured them in gave Y/N shivers down her spine.

Hawk flopped onto the bed next to her, "Ride me, babydoll."

With a smirk, she willingly obeyed, sexily walking over to him. "Okay, baby," She said, throwing her leg around his lap, straddling him completely as one of his hands attached to her ass, while the other roamed around her neck, then using his thumb to tilt up her chin. "That's sir to you." He spat.

She got extreme butterflies and still managed to listen to what he had to say. "Yessir." She responded, grinning deviously.

Hawk quickly rammed his cock into her swollen pussy lips, as her mouth fell open and she threw her head back. "Fuck yes!" She whimpered, her voice shaky. Hawk slowly pulled out of her.

She sank down onto his throbbing dick, and the two let out a derogatory moan. "Fuck yes," Hawk whispered under his breath. Y/N began to roll her hips at a teasingly slow pace. Hawk hissed quietly, the pain and pleasure coming together as one.

His hands teasingly roamed up and down her glorious body, as she rocked her hips back and forth, bouncing every once in a while as Robby sat in the same chair Hawk was in before.

"Baby, I- fuck, that feels so good." She filthily moaned near his ear, before Hawk's muscles contracted. According to his reaction, he must've enjoyed her hushed profanities.

The pleasure the duo was feeling was unbelievably immaculate, as Hawk's hands harshly gripped her ass, probably leaving marks.

"Look at you, such a fucking mess for me. Such a dirty slut you are for me, hmm?" He tormented despitefully, his bitchy tone making her gulp. His words made her clench around him. "God, do that again, sweetie." He moaned, extremely turned on. She listened, clenching around his cock once more. "Shit." He painted.

"Open," Hawk demanded, as Y/N quickly opened her mouth. He used his hand to squeeze her cheeks together, quickly spitting into her mouth. "Swallow." She quickly obeyed.

He grinned sinfully, happy that she had stopped her stubborn ways and actually listened, but little did he know her persistent antics were far from gone. "Good girl," He whispered, his breath just barely tickling her neck.

She pulled him in for a kiss, which quickly turned into a heated make-out session while she continued to repeatedly ride his dick. Hawk pulled away just to smile at her, "You look so fucking hot right now," He said, his eyelids heavy as he stared into her eyes.

"As do you," She responded, looking at him deeply with passion.

It's been said many times before, eye contact really turned her on, but this type of eye contact, which takes place during sex and happens to be exceptionally intense, made her not just turned on, but also made her feel extremely safe. Not that she didn't feel safe in Robby's arms, because she definitely did. And there's no but to that sentence. She fancied them both, quite a bit may I add. Hawk's gorgeous eyes traveled down to her lips, colliding his with hers.

The kiss would've lasted fairly long, if it weren't for Hawk's cock reached deeper spots inside of her, causing her to pull away and gasp. "Oh-oh god," She whimpered desperately. The sound of her whimpers made him simply smirk, knowing that he did that to her and that it was because of him that she was full of clemency.

"Mmm, fuck," He moaned, his page beginning to quicken as he felt his cock twitch inside her, and his climax begins its climb. "I'm close, Y/N." He was ashamed to admit it, because they had only been going for a little while, but he was close to coming. And normally he could last longer, but the sex he was having currently was just superior.

"Fuck," She panted breathlessly, "So am I."

He simpered audaciously. "You gonna come for me like the naughty fucking whore you are, Y/N? Hmm?" Hawk quickly went from sweet and sappy to degrading and despiteful, but you couldn't catch Y/N whining about it. "Yes sir." She answered.

Hawk let out a drawn-out moan, "Ahhhhh fuck, I'm gonna come Y/N, Jesus fucking Christ," He groaned, the hard grip he had on her ass probably leaving bruises and scratches. "Mmm," She hummed, "Shit, me too!"

Her whole body shook as Hawk rested his head on her shoulder, struggling to keep quiet while he endured his high. Hawk mumbled gibberish-sounding profanities. Y/N moaned Hawk's name as if it were a mantra, as he came hard into her swollen cunt. Not long after, she came onto his throbbing cock.

Robby quickly speed-walked to the bathroom, getting a damp washcloth ready for Y/N for when she and Hawk were fully finished.

Once Hawk could finally open his eyes again without seeing stars, he smiled at the girl in front of her, pushing a fallen strand of hair out of her face. "You did so well, babydoll." He comforted, with a kiss on her nose. She smiled sweetly, "Thank you. You were not as bad as I'd thought you'd be," She teased with a smirk. "Hey!"

"I'm kidding, love, I promise." She chuckled, "Now help me get onto this bed of mine, I doubt I'll be able to walk."

Hawk laughed with her, then gently set her down onto her soft bed, getting up himself. Robby walked into the room with the rag as Hawk went to find her toothbrush. Robby carefully wiped down her face, before changing sides and wiping done any extra cum that was left. "Thank you, sweetheart," She said, cupping his face sleepily. "My pleasure darling, you did amazing."

"Wait, Y/N, where's your toothbrush?!" Hawk shouted from the bathroom. "It should be on the counter- Oh, wait! It's all in the cupboard, Jordan moved them when she was cleaning the bathroom." She said, "That little clean freak," She mumbled to herself, but Robby happened to hear. "You aren't any better!" He shouted back as he also walked to the bathroom.

She laughed and shook her head as Hawk approached her with her dull-colored toothbrush in hand. "Okay, sit up, love." He said nicely. She let out a little whimper as she sat up, her muscles hurt.

"You need help?" Hawk offered, hovering his hand near her back to make sure if she fell he could catch her. "No, I'm okay." She argued drowsily, "Thanks, though." She exclaimed with a genuine smile on her face.

Hawk chuckled, "Okay, open." She laughed sneakily, "I'm having extreme deja vu." She joked. "Ha-ha, very funny, but seriously, princess, if you want me to brush your teeth, you're gonna have to cooperate with me."

She nodded, then smiled largely and Hawk started to brush her teeth for her. "Hey, Robby could you find and bring me a cup?" Hawk shouted, knowing that soon she was gonna have to spit.

Robby shouted a 'yeah' back and brought him a cup. Once Hawk had finished brushing her teeth and Robby had finished his business in the restroom, the three had layer together in her bed, the boys on either side of Y/N.

"Y'know, although I won't be able to walk for a week, I really enjoyed that," Y/N admitted, taking a glance at the two around her. Hawk and Robby both nodded their heads in agreement.

"Do you guys wanna keep doing this? But not just sex?" Y/N said, a little worried that they could possibly disagree. Robby smiled, "Y'know, I would like that." He smiled. "Yeah, me too," Hawk said. Y/N smiled sweetly, moving closer to the two boys around her.

She slept pretty well that night, she was extremely tired and I bet having not one, but two genuine boys at her side, probably helped a little bit as well.

♰

When Y/N woke up sleepily, both boys were still in a deep sleep. She carefully got up, it was around 10 am, but also a Saturday so she luckily didn't have many classes that day. It was hard for her to walk, but she knew she was gonna have to so she just decided to push through it. Or at least, try.

She quickly got herself dressed, slipping on her pajamas to go downstairs to get coffee.

Luckily for her and her classmates, the dorms offered coffee and donuts every morning to try and help the young adults so they didn't have to struggle with money if they were, and even if they weren't it was just nice to give them a little treat.

Y/N rubbed her eyes as she limped carefully down the hallway, and saw Jordan sat at the bar table, in their fuzzy pajamas and slippers, happily stuffing their face with a powdered donut. "Y/N!" They exclaimed with a mouthful as soon as they caught the eye of their best friend.

"Hey!" She smiled back, taking a seat next to them. "Where'd you end up staying last night?" She questioned. Jordan seemed to have gotten all excited, "Moon's dorm! Luckily for me, her roommate was visiting home yesterday, so she let me stay there." Jordan explained cheerfully. They were really a morning person, Y/N on the other hand, was not.

"Nice. But did anything... happen?" Y/N asked, hinting toward... well you get what she's hinting toward. "Yes, actually!" Jordan smiled proudly. Jordan before that night hadn't lost their virginity, they were waiting for the right time, and right person, and as soon as they laid eyes on Moon, they knew she was the one.

"That's great! Congrats, dude." Y/N smiled, punching Jordan's shoulder as they looked down bashfully. "Yeah, I'm really happy about it."

It went silent for a few seconds.

"Oh, shit! I totally forgot, I gotta bring Moon back a glazed donut, so I should probably go." Jordan said, quickly getting up, then grabbing a napkin and using that napkin to get a glazed donut.

"Well, good luck! Not that you need it, though." Y/N said. They softly smiled at each other, before Jordan speed-walked away, but only making it halfway before they stopped.

"Love you!" Jordan shouted at Y/N. She chuckled to herself as she shook her head, "Love you too!" Then blew a kiss their way.

#cobra kai smut #robby keene smut #Hawk moskowitz smut #hawk moskowitz #eli moskowitz #robby keene #robby keene x reader #polyamarous #smut headcanons #velvrei #trending #writing #smut #hawk cobra kai #cobra kai imagine #cobra kai

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sarahowritesostucky · 6 days

Text

📖"The Carter Academy for Omega Excellence" Pt 8

Rated: Explicit

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Tags: age gap, boarding school au, a/b/o, dub-con/non-con, spanking, feminization, dumbification, sexism, misogyny, prostate milking, discipline, D/s elements, hurt/comfort, mentions of past self-harm, predatory behavior, teacher/student, bathroom use control, humiliation, omorashi

Summary: Bucky Barnes is young, confused, and conflicted - a real "rebel without a cause" type. His parents ship him off to Steve's reform school to help him get straightened out into a "proper young omega."

Wait! I haven't read an earlier part of this fic! Story Masterlist

I've gotten a couple of asks about the worldbuilding behind this fic. If you'd like to read a little more context about how things are in this world, my answers to the asks can be found here and here

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Part 8

"Extended Suppressant Use in the Omega Patient: a literature review" (Mueller et al. 2019)

The bathroom incident does not give Steve high hopes of an easy first week with Barnes. Many new students wind up requiring extra attention in their early days at the school, so Steve is honestly surprised when he isn’t paged that Tuesday with a similar fiasco. He’s outright impressed when Wednesday and then most of Thursday passes by with no incidents, either. Whatever Sharon’s doing, it must be working well.

Steve can’t say he doesn’t think about the boy regardless. He can’t help but remember their encounter in the bathroom; holding him down and dominating him into submission, pressing on his belly until he finally lost control. The sounds of the boy’s sweet whimpers are burned into Steve’s memory, the earthy and lightly floral hints of his scent still so easy to draw up in his mind. It’s a good thing that this is a busy week for Steve, otherwise he’d hate to think of how much more preoccupied he’d be by thoughts of his new omega charge.

As it is, his schedule is chock full, his time eaten up with all of his normal headmaster duties (which are considerable), seeing through the end stages of the Academy’s formal division between the girls’ and boys’ sides, and a renovation that they’ve got going on in the south wing corridor. All of that, coupled with the small squabbles that Peggy manages to come up with on an almost daily basis, helps to keep Steve’s mind occupied. And on top of everything, there’s still a lot to be done for the upcoming parents’ weekend.

He spends most of that Thursday morning dealing with matters directly related to the event that is, in essence, their biggest fundraiser of the year. All day, he's coordinating with his faculty; making sure that everything’s been ordered, scheduled, and arranged just how it needs to be to give the right impression to their guests, provide the right experience.

It’s crucial that all of the right people be well taken care of over the three day weekend, in order to ensure that their endowments to the school keep flowing in. Steve liaises with his staff over the details of the family picnic, the various assemblies and presentations that will be made, the planned activities for each afternoon and dinners that’ll be hosted each evening, and—perhaps most important of all—the formal presentation ball that caps off the weekend of festivities. This year they’re having a few ice sculptures flown in from Edinburgh. Silly in Steve's view, but a classic touch of extravagance that the guests will appreciate.

European nobility, old-money aristocrats, and even some high profile celebrities have been known to show up to the school’s annual matchmaking ball, always seeking amenable, traditional omega mates for themselves. And when your guest lists regularly include names like Vanderbilt, Kennedy, and Stark, good first impressions become very expensive and very necessary. Last term, a Greek shipping heir worth billions had scooped up one of the graduating class’ students, and once news of that had gotten around, enrollment for the next semester skyrocketed.

Steve takes great pride in the academic education provided by his school, but he’s also a realist: He knows that parents place high value on the promise of even a chance for their offspring to be so suitably matched. That, along with the behavioral outcomes the school is known for achieving, is a big reason why many families elect to send their sons to Carter Academy over other, similar schools on the continent.

With so much to get done, Steve doesn’t get around to eating his lunch that day until well into the afternoon. He eats alone at his desk—a decision that has very little to do with the fact that he can monitor the school’s video surveillance system from his desktop computer. It’s not because he wants to check up on Bucky and hasn’t been able to stop thinking about the kid since Monday. Nope, not at all. Steve always uses the camera system to check in on the happenings around campus, it’s nothing new. And it’s good practice, anyway. A headmaster needs to be involved in his school for it to run smoothly.

If Bucky’s seventh period class is gym, and the gymnasium is the first area Steve decides to check, well that’s just happenstance.

He logs into the system and scrolls through the long list of camera views. He has the most heavily trafficked areas bookmarked, but there are hundreds to choose from, every inch of the Academy’s buildings and grounds monitored by the StarkTec cameras.

Carter Academy has its own dedicated security team to keep an eye on things, of course. Rumlow and his men do a very good job of making sure the close to three hundred hormonal teenage boys that the school houses stay in line. Every year there are inevitably fights, students caught in each other’s bedrooms at the wrong hours for the wrong reasons, or a few runaways who gravely underestimate the distance and terrain between Carter Academy and the nearest town. Nothing that isn’t always quickly remedied, but parents appreciate the close eye that Steve and the rest of his administration are able to keep on their children at all hours of the day.

He navigates to the camera views of the gymnasium and sports complex. The majority of students get scheduled for some sort of physical activity at the end of each school day. Exercise is important for omega bodies, and the gym period is thus positioned after all academic lessons have concluded, to allow for the running off of excess energy. It’s a time when their Handlers can take their well-deserved breaks. With only Mr. Odinson and the other Phys-ed staff looking after so many boys, gym period can get quite chaotic, and it predictably takes Steve a few moments to locate Bucky in the throng.

Eventually he sees him: loitering off to one side of the indoor soccer field, half heartedly kicking a ball back and forth with the Parker boy. He’s changed into his gym uniform, though he hardly seems to be exerting himself. Rather, he’s in deep conversation with Parker, which Steve is happy to see. Every first year student coming into Carter Academy usually struggles at first, but it’s always a good sign when they make friends quickly. Parker, who can normally be found bouncing off the complex’s obstacle courses, seems to have dialed it down a notch to hang out with Bucky, the two of them talking animatedly between themselves. Steve even catches Bucky smiling a time or two, which lifts his hopes that the kid will assimilate well into his new routine. Perhaps this won’t be as hard as he’d imagined.

“Sir?”

He flicks off the monitor when his secretary knocks at the door. “Yes?”

“Ms. Carter here to see you, Sir.”

Sharon comes in, and the two of them hold their pre-planned meeting about Barnes’ first days on campus and how Sharon has assessed his needs so far. Barnes is attitudinal, but Sharon seems to be amused by him, more than anything else. She hands over her recommendations for protocol, telling Steve that she’s not sure a male handler wouldn’t be in the boy’s best interest.

“Oh?” Steve raises an eyebrow as he’s perusing her checkmarks along the list. “Why do you say that?”

“You’ve seen what a handful he can be,” Sharon drawls. “Not that I don’t think I can handle him, but he responds more submissively to the male staff, and I think he’s primarily same-sex oriented.”

“You think?” Bucky’s transcripts from his old school had noted that he was equally as promiscuous with boys as he was with girls.

“Yes. And after Monday’s bathroom incident, I think he might do better with a man.” At the mention of ‘the bathroom incident’, Sharon fixes him with a meaningful look. “He responded well with you.”

Steve nods, flipping through the assessment packet. “Yes, well I am the headmaster. They tend to kowtow faster to me.” He tries to think of which male Handlers he has available at the moment. Typically, he doesn't over-prioritize students’ attractions when placing them with a Handler, as romantic attachment is something to be avoided at all costs, but if it’s a behavioral issue that can be corrected with something as simple as the gender of an assigned Handler, then Steve will consider it. “Thank you Sharon,” he tells her, once they’ve wrapped up the meeting. “It sounds like he’s doing alright, so I’ll keep him with you for now.”

“You’re the boss.”

“Alas, yes.” Steve sighs and so does Sharon, mocking him in a friendly sort of way. When she heaves a genuinely heavy inhale and declares that she has to 'get back to the grind', Barnes’ seventh period is almost over, Steve steps in. “Why don't I take him off your hands for the evening?” he suggests. Sharon looks pleased, but not overly surprised, her knowing smirk making Steve feel the need to defend himself, “It’s been a few days now, I should check in with him.”

“Sure.”

Steve frowns at her continued smug expression. “He’s got an appointment with the doc I need to escort him to, anyways.”

“Sure thing, boss.” Sharon is still smirking when she bids him farewell, leaving the office to take the rest of her day off.

Steve huffs and rolls his eyes. Whatever. He’s not giving Bucky any more attention than he’d give any other troubled new student. He grabs the boy’s folder and rolls out from his desk, planning to head for the gymnasium complex and intercept him there.

… If he checks his reflection in the little mirror by the door on his way out, it’s only because he always does that and it's habit at this point. It’s the professional thing to do, to make sure one looks put together before heading back out in public. Certainly it doesn’t have anything to do with how he’s heading out to deal with Barnes. That’s just happenstance.

Seeing Bucky again after several days is refreshing, and seeing him being friendly with another student brings a literal smile to Steve’s face. This is a good sign. It bodes well for how Bucky will do adapting to his new life.

Peter Parker can be hyperactive and spirited, but he’s a sweet boy at heart with a solid head on his shoulders and a brain between his ears that he actually chooses to use more often than not. He’s done well in the Academy’s program, and he’ll be an excellent person for Bucky to attach himself to during his time here. Steve stands by the gymnasium door with a delighted smirk on his face, because he really couldn’t have chosen better himself.

The boys still have a few minutes left to their gym period when Steve gets there, so he leaves them to their uninspired soccer ball kicking and goes to touch base with Odinson in the athletic director’s office. Thor is all smiles and has nothing negative to say about any of the boys, as per usual, and Steve thanks him and tells him to make a note that perhaps Barnes could be encouraged to put a little more effort in and try out the parkour courses or the rock walls with Parker, moving forward.

He intercepts Bucky just as he’s coming out of the locker rooms. His hair is curling at the edges after having showered (amusing—the boy was barely exerting himself) and changed back into his regular uniform. The relaxed expression falls right off of his face when he sees Steve standing there. “Oh,” he says, coming up short. “You.”

Steve smiles indulgently. “Yes, I’m afraid. Me.”

“Hey Bucky I’ll see you at dinner maybe?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says distractedly, eyes still on Steve. “Sounds good.”

Parker heads off with his handler—Natasha, Steve notes, one of the very best and most dominant females he keeps on staff. "Making friends?" Steve asks.

Bucky ignores the question. “Why’re you here?” he asks mulishly, as Steve begins escorting him in the direction of the medical office. “Where’s Sharon?”

“Sharon’s taking a well-deserved break,” Steve drawls. "She and I had a progress meeting about you in my office, just now.”

Bucky gets tightlipped then and doesn’t say anything, but Steve can see the wheels and cogs turning in his head as he wonders what was said about him. “She had mostly good or neutral things to report,” Steve offers, figuring the boy could use some reassurance. “But of course, I already knew from our interaction on Monday that you're having some difficulties adapting to school protocol.”

Bucky scowls at the floor as they walk. “Just because I don’t like pissing in front of people every day,” he grumbles. “At least we get some privacy to shit around here. Go figure.”

Steve laughs, then decides to strike the fear of God into the boy by remarking, “Oh, that’s a privilege that can be stripped away, too, if needed,” as they approach the end of the hall where the medical offices are. Bucky’s eyes shoot up to him, wide as saucers, and Steve snickers. “Yeah, I know. A true case of a ‘this is going to hurt me more than it’s going to hurt you’ punishment, that’s for certain.”

Bucky all but ‘meeps!’ and Steve snickers and puts a hand on his back to guide him into the office. “Appointment for James Barnes,” he tells the receptionist, who immediately starts checking the computer screen.

Bucky turns on Steve, leery, as he gets a look at their surroundings. “What’s going on? Why are we here?”

Steve ignores him until he’s gotten the go ahead from the receptionist and is guiding Bucky back towards one of the exam areas. “Just a check up. Standard practice for incoming students.” He pushes Bucky into the curtained off area and draws the curtain around to Bucky’s squawks of protest.

“What?! I don’t need to see anybody. I’m totally healthy.”

“That’s the goal. But we need to get you checked out, make sure there’s nothing that needs addressed.” Bucky opens his mouth to complain again, but Steve beats him to the chase, bending to pick him up by the waist and depositing his protesting butt onto the exam table. “Sit.”

“Hey!” Bucky’s scowling, but Steve doesn’t miss the light flush in his face at having been manhandled and reminded of his size and comparative weakness in the face of an alpha like Steve. He doesn’t try to get off the table at least, only shifting in annoyance and making the paper cover crinkle under his butt. “Could’a done it myself,” he grumbles.

Steve shakes his head fondly. “We need to get you examined. Behave, or I’ll have no problem with disciplining you while you’re under my care." Bucky goes tight-lipped at that. Steve nods in satisfaction. "Good."

“When’s Sharon coming back?”

“I told you: she’s been given a well-deserved night off. You’re with me until bedtime, young lady.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Steve sighs and shakes his head. What might’ve been considered affectionate a generation ago, now elicits only indignation and pushback. It’s sad. “Just behave for the doctor, will you?”

Bucky doesn’t say anything, but when the nurse arrives and introduces herself, he’s generally obedient as she runs through his medical history with him. He speaks more quietly when answering the questions about his sexual health, but Steve doesn't get the sense that he's lying—only that he doesn't want Steve to overhear. (Steve still hears everything, including the boy's very reluctant answer of having had "thirty something" past sexual partners).

Far from evoking displeasure, it mostly just makes Steve sad for the boy. Omegas may have very high sex drives, but they don't fare well in promiscuous situations. Bucky's lack of a reliable partner is probably one of the major contributors to his present mental health issues.

Steve remains quiet and allows Bucky his illusion of privacy on the other side of the curtained off area. The nurse listens to Bucky's heart and lungs, charts his blood pressure and other vitals, and takes a blood draw. It isn’t until she hands him a privacy sheet and tells him to undress below the waist that he kicks up a fuss. “What?"

“The doctor will be right in to do the pelvic exam.”

“What? No. Why?!”

Used to tantrums, the nurse completely disregards him and looks to Steve. “Headmaster?”

“I’ve got him.” The nurse nods and leaves, and Bucky starts to move to try and get off the exam table. Steve rolls his eyes and goes over and pushes him back into place. “Not so fast, son. Now if you can’t behave we’ll have to do this the hard way.”

“What’s the hard way?”

“Strapped face down on a bench,” he tells him, no-nonsense (though really, that's the easier way for omegas. He just knows Bucky will fight it more). “And that'll earn you a guaranteed spanking in my office, after.”

Bucky growls an angry little omega growl at him, “Why do I have to do this? What’s the friggin’ point?!”

With his hands clamped on Bucky’s shoulders, Steve bends down and gets in his face. “Because you were popping suppressants for two years, Honey. That stuff can cause all sorts of problems.”

“No it can’t!”

Steve ignores him and gives him a warning look to keep him in place. He reaches down and pulls one of the exam table’s metal stirrups out, which makes the kid even more visibly upset.

When Steve reaches under the skirt of his uniform to get his underwear down, Bucky growls and tries to kick him, nearly kneeing him right in the nose. Oh. That does it. Steve gives up on playing nice, standing up and grabbing him, using one hand to scruff him while he wraps the other around his waist. “Okay, bud. That was your one chance. If you’re gonna be difficult, we’ll do it your way. Let’s go.”

“Nngh! Lemme go!”

“Calm down, Honey. Stop fighting, it’s not going to work.”

The kid whimpers and goes limp for a few seconds from the endorphins of the scruff, but still wiggles in Steve’s arms once he’s manhandled him into the next exam room over—where there’s an exam bench quite similar in function to a traditional spanking bench. Bucky balks when he sees it. “No! Wait!” It takes laughably little effort to get the boy face down on the bench. Steve gets him strapped to it, and by the time he’s removing his underwear and securing his ankles, all the fight has left Bucky and he’s begging instead. “Please, Mr. Rogers. I’m really sorry.”

Steve grabs the room’s extra chair and pulls it over to sit by his head. “I know Buck. This won’t take long. Just try to relax.”

“Please lemme up. I’m sorry. I’ll go back. I’ll do it the other way, I will!”

“Can’t do that, Sweetheart. We need to check that everything’s alright and you’ve proven to me that you can’t be trusted to hold still.” He might’ve considered the request to go back and ‘do it the other way’, if he didn’t already know full well that the prone position is much more soothing for omegas to be in. “This’ll be better,” he promises. “It’ll help you stay relaxed. It feels nice to be strapped in like this, yeah?”

“But I don’t want tooo,” Bucky whines, not refuting Steve’s statement, and with less fight in him as he realizes that he’s been stripped of all control. “It’s embarrassing.”

Steve smiles sadly and pets his face. “It’s for your own good, Sweetheart. Something every omega has to do. The doctor’s just going to come in and use a tool to examine you and make sure everything’s alright. It’ll hardly take a minute.”

Bucky sniffles and turns his face into Steve’s hand, nuzzling his inner wrist and subconsciously seeking out the alpha’s scent for comfort. “Will it hurt?” he whispers.

Steve’s heart constricts—both at the question and the scenting behavior. “No, Honey. Of course not. Haven’t you ever had a reproductive health exam?” It’s supposed to be a standard part of healthcare after an omega’s first heat, but with only two beta parents in the home, Steve doesn’t know why he’s surprised. “It won’t hurt,” he reassures him. “Just relax down against the bench and be good from now on, and we won’t do a punishment spanking after, okay?”

“Really?” Bucky is clearly motivated by this promise, as he stops sniveling as much and nods when the doctor comes in. “Okay,” he says quietly, and Steve smiles and praises him,

“Good girl.”

The school’s doctor is a calm and friendly beta male, and though he doesn’t make any attempt to ascertain Bucky’s consent or opinion on what they’re doing there today, he does speak calmly to Bucky and talk him through each and every step of what happens, before it happens. Steve stays sitting right in front of Bucky the whole time, holding his hand and keeping his own wrist up by Bucky’s face so that the boy can continue to use his scent to self-soothe.

Bucky goes red in the face as soon as the doctor flips his uniform up and starts palpating and examining his genitals. Even though Bucky's almost certainly trying his absolute best not to get aroused, the faint scent of slick still hits the air after only a moment or two, and he cringes and whines in embarrassment. "Hngh ..."

“It’s okay,” Steve murmurs, trying to placate him with the words and a gentle rumble in his chest. “It’s completely normal to have a reaction. The doc's used to it. No big deal.” Frankly, for an omega to be touched between their legs and not become aroused would be cause for concern. They’re so sensitive down there that it’s to be virtually expected. But Steve can tell that this is little comfort to Bucky, who goes even redder in the face when the doctor hums in agreement and makes an additional comment about Bucky's arousal responses being healthy.

“I’m going to prep the speculum now,” he tells Bucky. “It’ll be cool and hard, but it won’t hurt you.”

Bucky whines in mortification, his eyes clenching shut. Steve shushes him and pets his hair, which he seems to like because he pushes into it and untenses somewhat. Steve knows the precise second that the speculum goes in though, because Bucky's eyes pop right back open and he makes a small, shocked sound of, “Oh!"

Steve cups his face and tries to keep his attention. “Hey, you’re doing so good,” he praises, swiping his thumb at the corner of the omega’s eye, right where an overwhelmed tear has broken out. “Doesn’t hurt, right?”

Bucky trembles and shakes his head. “N-no.” He whimpers when the doctor does something from behind, and then his eyes go a little unfocused. “Oh …” The next time he whines, it’s verging a little closer to a moan of pleasure than one of sheer worry. “Ohnn… nngh, just … mmm, s’weird.”

Steve tuts sympathetically, slightly aroused himself at seeing Bucky react this way. He clears his throat and tries to remain professional. “I know, Sweetheart, I know it’s a lot. Just hang in there for me.” He meets the doctor’s eyes from over Bucky’s back, shooting him an anxious look.

The doctor nods. “Everything seems fine, Headmaster Rogers. He’s just a little swollen.”

“Swollen?” Steve straightens, concerned. “Is it bad? He was on oral suppressants for about two years.”

The doctor smirks and shakes his head. “No, not that kind of swollen, Sir.”

“Oh.” Steve’s shoulders untense. "I see." He's maybe read a few too many medical journal articles since Bucky told him on Monday that he'd been on suppressants. "Good. That's ... good."

The doctor hums and looks back down, examining Bucky for another long moment before humming in approval and removing the speculum. Bucky’s back slumps and he makes another tiny noise—this time one of relief. “Is it over?”

The doctor pats his hip with an approving nod. “He’s a healthy boy. Nothing to indicate any lasting effects from the medication.” Over Bucky’s back, he meets Steve’s eyes again. “The risk for complications doesn’t go up very high until after the five year mark. We’ll wait on his bloodwork, but I expect it’ll all come back normal.”

“Oh, good.” Steve can’t help but be relieved. He’s definitely read too many articles, seen too many students come through the school's infirmary with much more serious side effects. “So no chance of infertility?”

“Very low,” the doctor reassures, even as Bucky makes a hurt little sound of concern over hearing that possibility. The doctor rolls his stool out from behind Bucky, pulling off his exam gloves and tossing them in the waste bin. “Nope. He looks perfectly normal, Headmaster, both inside and out. From the state of things I’d say he’s about midway through his cycle. So you can expect a heat within the next two weeks.”

Steve nods. “Yes, he reported as much. He's used an app for tracking on his phone.”

“Oh. Would you email that data?” The doctor is already standing and heading for the curtain that divides their little area from the rest of the room. “It’ll be good to have in his records.”

“Sure thing. Thanks, doc.”

“Of course.” At the edge of the exam area, he looks back at Steve. “Ahm … he’s fairly aroused right now.”

Steve smirks. “I know.”

“Right.” The doctor glances back at Bucky, then to Steve. “I can send one of the nurses in, if you have anywhere to be.”

Steve shakes his head and dismisses the man. “That’s alright. He’s mine for the evening. I’ll handle it.”

Reassured, the doctor nods and ducks out around the curtain. He’s barely gone for a second before Bucky’s shifting in place on the table. “Um, Mr. Rogers?”

Steve looks back down. Bucky is blinking at him, flustered and uncertain. Steve pats his shoulder. “You did really well, Bucky.” He stands up and goes behind him, over to the room’s glove dispenser. He pulls out one of the large sized nitrile gloves and pulls it on. “How’re you feeling?”

“Uhm. Okay.” Bucky can’t see him from his position, so he wiggles impatiently. “Can you help me to, erm, get off of here?”

“Hmm.” Steve walks over and sits on the doctor’s abandoned rolling stool. He rolls to Bucky’s side, popping into his field of vision and giving him a knowing look. “You sure you don’t want help with this first?” At ‘this’, he lets his gloved hand touch Bucky’s flank, edging closer to his exposed backside. He watches as the boy's eyes widen and his cheeks colors anew. “It’s okay to ask for help,” he reassures. “You don’t have to be embarrassed.”

“I’m not embarrassed,” Bucky lies.

Steve arches an eyebrow. “You sure? Masturbation isn’t allowed. Did you remember that rule? You need to ask the staff if you need release.”

Bucky huffs angrily. “Why not? Why do we have to ask you guys? Why can’t we just—”

Steve taps his ass lightly, more to get his attention than anything else. “Submission, Honey. We’ve been over this already. That’s what everything here comes back to: learning to depend on somebody who can take care of you and give you what you need. You have strong sexual urges, and that’s okay. It’s completely natural. But you need to learn to turn to your alpha to get your needs met., otherwise they never fully will be.”

Bucky pouts. “You’re not my alpha.”

“That collar around your neck says different. And so does the paperwork your parents signed.” Bucky's face twists into a frustrated moue, stubborn little thing. Steve sighs. “Hey, I know you didn't choose this. I’m your official alpha right now, but one day you’ll find someone you actually want to be with, someone you want to marry and have a family with. All these rules you're learning are just to help you adopt healthy habits. So you can model correct relationship patterns.”

"I already do."

Steve snorts. "Honey, casually sleeping with 'thirty-something' people by your age is not a healthy relationship pattern."

"You just want us all to be lily white virgins."

Steve rolls his eyes as he rolls the stool farther back towards Bucky’s backside. "Certainly not. But hookup culture only serves irresponsible alphas and betas. It doesn't do anything to help you guys with your needs for bonding hormones."

"Another scientific study?" Bucky sneers.

"You got it." Steve looks down, a quick glance showing him what he already knew he’d find: a wet and swollen, little pink rim, clenching hard on nothing. He tuts sympathetically. "Oof. That looks painful."

“Hey, don’t … don’t look,” Bucky complains.

“Oh, hush.” Steve pats his butt—he really does have the sweetest little ass. “You’re very beautiful, Bucky. Every part of you is.”

That, right there, is Steve stepping over the line. Oh, he’s got no qualms about personally appreciating the form of an attractive young omega student, it’s only natural for him to find Bucky beautiful. What’s less appropriate is him commenting on it. Because, to be blunt, not every student in Steve’s care is traditionally attractive. Steve’s still responsible for helping them all equally, and thus it’s always been his policy to avoid complimenting students on their looks when possible. It avoids hurt feelings, subverts any competition between the students who are more naturally prone to jealousy over their shared Alpha headmaster.

But the words are out of his mouth before he can think better of it, and Bucky reacts obviously in the way that he flushes and squirms, instinctively pleased at being approved of in such a way. Steve decides that, since it’s just the two of them alone, he might as well let his guard down a little bit. Bucky’s shown a propensity for skewed thinking, after all, and he needs to be helped to form a positive self image. “You’ve got a lovely body, Buck. Even here.” At ‘here’, he lets his thumb dip a little further into his crack, not touching his hole, but pulling his cheek out enough to get a really good look at the sweet little clench of his rim. Steve hums appreciatively. “Just like the doc said: very healthy.”

Bucky whines and squirms. “Let me up.”

“I can do that. But you’re very wet, Honey.” Steve reaches down between Bucky's legs to glance fingers over his stiff little prick. “And hard.”

“Nnn.”

“You’re not going to have a very pleasant evening if I leave you like this. Are you sure you don’t want some relief?”

Bucky’s body stays tensed, his asshole blurting out more slick from Steve’s hand touching him even just that little bit. He seems to consider it as a real option for a moment, waffling over his decision, but eventually gets out a terse little, “No,” forcing himself to ignore what his body needs. “I don’t.”

“Really?”

“I don’t want you to do it,” he grits.

Steve sighs, not too surprised by that. Bucky’s still resentful of the one person who has complete authority over him. Steve'll probably be the last person he yields to. That’s the way it often goes with the bullheaded kids: they come around to their teachers first, Handlers second, and submit to Steve as their alpha last of all. It’s to be expected, but Steve can’t say he isn’t more disappointed than usual, in this case.

Because he isn't lying to the kid just to improve his self esteem: Bucky really is uncommonly beautiful. A handsome, small but strong boy who is exactly Steve’s preferred type when it comes to omegas. And his scent is … Well, all omegas smell lovely, but Bucky's scent is unusually fascinating.

Ever since that first day in Steve's office, when he'd submitted with such an easily provoked release, Steve’s wanted to get a better sense of him. This would have been the perfect chance to do that. Steve would’ve relished the chance to coax an orgasm out of him today, but if Bucky needs more time to truly relax into it, then he's willing to wait. Not like there won’t be plenty of opportunities in the future, once the boy's sexual urges have built up enough to have him eagerly submitting.

Steve closes his eyes and takes one last, indulgent inhale of that spiced, floral scent that’s only made stronger by the arousal. Viburnum, he realizes. That’s what it reminds him of. It clings to the edges of the earthy undertones of Bucky's scent, enhancing it to something truly alluring. Regretfully, Steve pats his hip and rolls away on the stool. “Okay,” he says, trying not to let the disappointment come through in his voice. “That’s alright, Sweetheart. I’ll have the nurse sent in to help you.”

“What? No.” Bucky twists his head in the restraints once again to look back at Steve where he’s removing the medical glove and standing up. His eyes widen when he sees the blue glove going into the waste bin, not having realized that Steve had donned it, having literally been prepared to finger him to orgasm. His mouth works helplessly for a moment, open and shut in a loss for words. “I don’t want anybody to do it.”

Steve walks back around in front of him and crouches down to his level, fixing him with a doubtful look. “Well that’s your choice, Honey. But you still won’t be allowed to touch yourself, you do realize that? If you change your mind after lights out tonight, then you’ll have to wait all the way until tomorrow morning to get a staff member to give you any relief.”

Bucky pretends to be unaffected, but Steve can see the brief flash of panic in the boy’s eyes at the prospect of going that much longer without an orgasm. “Fine,” he says, putting on a brave face. “I don’t care.”

Steve isn’t a fool. He knows that Bucky is almost certainly planning to break the rules and touch himself at the first available opportunity. Still, some lessons can’t be taught until mistakes are made and bad behavior corrected, so Steve nods and stands up to start unbuckling the bench’s restraints. “Okay, your choice, bud."

Bucky climbs off the bench once he’s able to, and Steve hands him his underwear to put on. His little prick is completely erect as he hurriedly pushes the uniform’s skirt back down, and he winces in discomfort as he pulls up the two layers of his underwear and gets them into place on his oversensitive body. “Ugh,” he huffs quietly. “Stupid.”

Steve chuckles, though he honestly feels more pity for the kid than anything. Bucky’s regret over having turned down an orgasm is so obvious it’s near palpable, his scent still rich with arousal. And just like Steve knows without a doubt that the back of the boy's underwear is already getting a wet spot, he also knows that he'll be checking the dormitory’s security feed later that night. With the level of certainty he has over Bucky’s plans to break the rules and touch himself, Steve figures he might as well start planning out what corrective measures they’ll inevitably be instituting as punishment.

“Come on,” he says, putting an arm around the kid’s shoulders and guiding him out of the room. “It’s dinner time. You must be getting hungry.”

Bucky says that he isn’t, but his stomach betrays him by growling loudly not two seconds after.

Story Masterlist

Masterlist

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Event: @sebastianstanbingo Card: sarahowritesostucky Square O4: Floral Scents

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electricbluebutterflies · 1 year

Text

and it always leads to you in my hometown

Post-canon-divergent Hellcheer... fluff-adjacent? Someone described this as a dark-chocolate kind of fluff so we're gonna go with that. PG-ish and also on ao3

It becomes a routine, in the way of such things.

Chrissy gets out of Hawkins, to the surprise of most people who know her, packs her important possessions ten days after graduation and leaves a note saying she’s going to try to start over in Chicago and makes sure to call home two days later to confirm she’s still alive. She finds a life for herself in the inner suburbs, gets a job as a secretary at a law firm, starts taking night classes to become a paralegal. Does okay, in the grand scheme of things. Calls her parents every other Thursday night like clockwork because family is still family, but tries to block out the voices in her head otherwise. Heals.

But she comes home for the holidays every year, because she’s still a nice girl even if she didn’t really keep in touch with anyone from high school. There’s still the obligation to remind people that she exists and is living a mundane but happy life, and no she isn’t seeing anybody but her dog’s real cute, and what may or may not have happened in spring ’86 matters less and less every winter.

She has routines. December 23 is one of them.

The thing about her leaving that didn’t make it into the local story was exactly who disappeared for three days that summer to help her, out of the goodness of his heart and a sense of obligation after she did almost die in his trailer a couple months earlier. They became friends after that, in a trauma-bonded opposites-attract sort of way, and by the time she realized her plans would be easier with a getaway driver it was a logical enough option. Eddie is good people under all his armor, Chrissy had learned by then, one of the most loyal people she’s ever known, and that too became a routine phone call, every Saturday around noon, only real thing tethering her to what hasn’t felt like home in years and-

He stayed, to the surprise of pretty much everyone who’s ever met him. He had a younger herd of misfits to supervise for a couple years, and before that project ended he tended bars across two counties and turned out that was enough of a life, and there are people who need him, and he never really was the sort of person who actually gets out of southern Indiana, and-

December 23 is their routine, a standing meetup at dusk at a particular park shelter. Not always the only time they ever see each other – the band came up to Chicago twice this past year for different gigs and he ended up on her couch both times because he didn’t feel like being crammed sardine-style in a cheap hotel room with the other guys – but the high point of her year if she’s honest with herself. Every year she waits for something to go wrong, for him not to show up or there to be a ring on his finger that wasn’t there last time or-

She looks different now, looks different since he came up back in August – a week or two after that she decided she needed a change and she wanted a haircut like Princess Diana, and wow was that a mistake, and it’s at an awkward stage of growing-out and there was no way in hell she would’ve been able to stuff all of that in a hat. Every year she’s a little more worried about how she looks, the genuine kind of worried not like she used to be when she thought that was all she had, more like…

Chrissy is, in her way, a little bit in love. Turns out she’s a bit of a loner if left to her own devices – she has a lot of acquaintances and does get out of her apartment enough, but no one really close – and if she has to be one cliché then let her be this one. Let her be the woman who never quite got over the high-school crush she never admitted. Let her be-

Eddie’s sense of time has never been reliable, and he’s a little late but not quite enough to worry her. He’s changed too, in little ways – she can’t remember ever seeing his hair pulled back but she knows that’s probably more practical than aesthetic, and it looks like he hasn’t shaved in a day or two longer than whatever his usual routine is and goodness she shouldn’t be thinking about yanking him down and-

“You’re here,” he says, and this is why she kinda loves him, the enthusiasm in how he approaches life, no false fronts just raw emotions at all times and no self-consciousness whatsoever.

“So are you.” She can feel herself blushing, and she’ll blame the cold for this, same explanation for her hands in her pockets because she’s not sure what kind of physical control she actually has right now. At least it isn’t snowing this year. At least-

“Nowhere else I’d rather be.”

“What, you don’t have better plans?”

“I have my choice of burnt hams for the next few days. Tonight is all yours.”

The thing is, she’s not sure there was ever a time when they didn’t flirt like this, like there’s always that line they’ll go right up to but never cross. She knows he thinks she’s pretty in the most real way, and he’s been a nice daydream over the years, and-

He pulls her into a hug, and he smells like boy and home and she’s a little overwhelmed. “Keep waiting for you to cancel because you got some lawyer to put a ring on you,” he murmurs. “Can’t imagine they’d-“

“Lawyers aren’t my flavor,” she counters. “And you haven’t met some girl down here?”

“I’ve met too many girls,” he laughs, and she knows, there have been a few mistakes over the years that she got to talk down in the way only an out-of-state phone call can resolve. “Nothing stuck.”

She can’t hope. She does anyway.

Normal people, Chrissy tells herself, don’t do this. Normal people don’t linger in long-distance mutual pining for so many years because they’re too damn fragile to think about anything more. Normal people, like she’s trying so hard to be, don’t-

“Any reason for that?” she asks, and her breath catches and they’re both too close and not close enough for the conversation she suddenly needs to have right now.

“Thought you’d never ask. See, the timing keeps not being right, and who the hell am I to compete with a dog with a ridiculous name, and-“

“Excuse me, Peppermint is not-“

“So, you know. Waiting on the girl who got away is a little distracting.”

“I’m right here.”

“And you won’t be in four days.”

“You could come with. You didn’t complain about my couch last time, Peppermint likes you, and… you’re better than this.”

“What, and leave my empire?”

“Didn’t you always want to?”

He kisses the top of her head and they haven’t done that before and she wants to melt, and she feels so small and that’s nothing new but it’s always been safer like this than anywhere else. “You know how to make a proposition,” he says, and the delight in his voice is infectious. “No let’s take this slow, no let’s make out in the back of your car and see if that even works, no, you’re straight to-“

“I’m offering my couch,” she says, faking indignation. “Not my bed. Yet.”

“Exactly my point. Can’t imagine you’ve extended that offer to anyone else.”

“I’m not really in touch with anyone else from here.”

“That’s still amazing, you know that? Our former queen bee isn’t-“

“I wasn’t happy,” she points out. “That’s why I kept you. Because you make me happy.” Because none of those fake friends would’ve waited for two hours for an ambulance to show up, lied about her hitting her head on a piece of furniture because that was the best explanation they could come up with for what they didn’t understand, snuck in to visit her every day and charmed a few nurses in the process, made sure her hospital room was covered in probably-stolen flowers by the time she woke up and-

That’s the sort of experience that binds two people, and she’s spent the past seven and a half years thinking that might be the only reason he puts up with her, because he owes her after that, and… maybe that’s wrong. Maybe they’ve both always been more than this.

“Do I?”

“Yeah. Completely.”

She’s feeling impatient, and she gets her hands around his neck and pulls him down like she’s been wanting for minutes like she’s been wanting for years, and she’s kissed more people than she cares to admit but this is different. This is anticipation and awkwardness and the kind of love too many people told her she’d never actually get, and she wants to cry and she can’t cry while someone’s mouth is on hers so instead she sorta accidentally bites his lip and he makes a pretty noise and-

“You can’t just do that,” he breathes, still so very close. “Now I’m ruined for anyone else.”

“Maybe that’s what I want. Maybe I want to keep you forever.”

They do, as usual, end up in the back of her car for warmth.

This year, it’s a lot more tactile warmth.

It’s a beginning. She’s never wanted anything more.

#ebf writes fic #hellcheer #edissy

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omegal0ki · 6 months

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tw for some c/s/a talk i guess

mostly im just putting this here because i get to ramble a bit more than i do through twitter ... though it feels kind of ridiculous to wail about this online to strangers, i've always found solace in that, haven't i?

i had a really really difficult therapy session last thursday that kind of left me picking up a lot of shattered pieces of my childhood. i casually mentioned to her that i have the passing thought now and then that i was sexually abused as a child, but i never press on it because i've always had so much going on otherwise. but for once i let myself press since i was safe enough to do so. and i just.

how do you deal with something you have no memory of, but all of the scars remain? how do you just have a realization like this and try to continue life as normal? i feel like i've always had clear "before" and "after" moments in my childhood wrt traumatic events, but now that clarity has completely shattered, because there was never a real before. there was just always an after. and you don't even remember what happened— theres only signs pointing to that direction, leading you down the road only to open up to a giant pit that you can't fathom going down right now.

i've always known what sex was. i could basically reenact it as a child. i let the neighbor boy lock me in a closet with himself while he tried to "make out" with me and i just sat there and didnt move, and just accepted that until the door was finally opened and i could leave. i let a girl at daycare show me a hiding spot where she could touch my vaginal area and i could touch hers, but then once it was done, she threatened to tell all of the teachers on me. ive always had a fixation on romance and the physical aspects of a romantic relationship even if i never "fully" understood— since i was a young child, all the way to being a teenager.

when i discovered masturbation i felt so fucking ashamed and guilty. i could never penetrate myself until i started having sex later on in life, but penetrative sex has usually had a very sharp, stabbing pain deep inside of me that i always did my best to ignore because maybe eventually it could go away. (sometimes it does, sometimes it's there.) oral sex is completely off the table. it's always induced a kind of nausea in me to think about performing it at all.

i don't know who could have done it. i always left my aunt and uncles house in tears after spending weekends there as a child, and i don't remember any of those weekends. my uncle has had a weird fixation on me since i was young. last year during the holidays, as i was leaving with my wife, he was really drunk. he grabbed me and all i felt was a sense of panic. he grabbed my face and it was terrifying, watching him lean down like he was gonna kiss me directly only to turn my head at the last second and kiss my cheek. and then he says "you know i love you, right?"

but then theres the fact my siblings had friends in and out of the house a lot. i hung out with boys older than me when my mom brought me along to see her friends. i would be left alone unsupervised with them a lot. my parents have always been convinced im dramatic and a liar.

i never really understood that i was a person until i was nearly 10. i always viewed my life as never my own. i was just a puppet for someone to watch on tv, i even remember sitting there imagining a group of men were watching my life play out on the tv while i took a bath as a very young child. i know i blocked a lot of pieces out, and my brain really cherrypicks memories, but something isn't adding up. something isn't right.

i waffle on this and my mom's voice lives in my head telling me i'm making this up. but if i was making this up, would my body have such a visceral reaction? i spent the entire night after my therapy session wide awake replaying every moment i could remember from my childhood. i've felt so fucking bad and listless since thursday. the only moments i feel grounded are when i have the company of others. when im alone or quiet my brain always comes back to this now. if i try to press on any one memory that i think could be a hint, i feel dizzy and heavy all at once. i've read countless articles and reddit posts and posts here just to make sense of everything. i get worried i never showed the extreme symptoms, but i certainly had depression and anxiety before i was even an adolescent.

sex was a very carefully avoided subject in my house. it was never brought up, and my family worked double time to ensure i wouldn't see suggestive content of any kind. i was sitting with my siblings once while they were watching a movie where two girls end up making out, and right when it started happened, i was shuffled out of the room immediately. i wasnt allowed to really enjoy pre-teen or teenage media of any kind until... i don't know? one day they kind of stopped trying to hide it. but sex was still never brought up to me. always avoided. i was never asked if i was having sex as a teenager. never asked if i messed around with any friends. i was still always free to sleep over at friends houses when i was in elementary school, but i really only ever had one friend i was consistently sleeping over at, and when i was a teenager our sleepovers were in large groups.

this post has no real direction. i like to treat this like a diary sometimes. i know if i have it here im not just exaggerating how badly i've been doing over the last few days, and if i doubt how much it's affected me down the line, i have this to fall back on. i have therapy again on thursday. i have a lot of things to unpack. i know eventually i may uncover something i've kept hidden in me for a long time. there's a strange relief to know i'm not just someone who's kind of always had a weird, poor relationship with sex and my body— my body remembers. even if i don't, my body does, and it's always tried to tell me.

but now i have so much to reckon with. im finally safe enough in my life that i can process these emotions, yeah. sure. how do i deal with the idea that there's never really not been sexual trauma within me? how do i deal with the fact that one of the worst things that can happen to a child happened to me, and if i said anything to my family right now, i would be called a liar? how do i deal with the fear that people doubt my claims on this since i dont have memory of it happening?

i'll be ok. i know i will be. i have a good support system in place. i just wish that i had a chance as a child. i never had one. nobody gave me one. all the brief moments of love i felt from my family feel so empty now. what do they know that i don't?

#txt #god i feel like suchhhhh a babyyyyy but my therapist said im not allowed to describe myself that way #so i shant #but just know that it is nerve wracking

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sssssssssssscomplaining · 1 year

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why am i such a sad person. this wasn't meant to be me. i was the friend staring at my other depressed friends, confused because i couldn't understand and annoying because i couldn't help.

now here i am, typing in all lowercase looking over this blog full of my complaints. i'm even writing about sad girls and their actual disempowerment. yet i cant change.

i feel like the loneliest person in the world. and i know that's not true but i'll allow myself a little teen angst. as a treat. i have my partner and she's wonderful and we get along. but she's my only company.

and sometimes she will talk to me about how she feels lonely. and i don't mean to enter into a misery contest (especially one that is against her will) but i can't help but wince.

she has so many people who know her, and look up to her, and talk to her, and accept her, and play and talk and laugh with her. i know that you can still be lonely in a crowd, but these aren't strangers. these are friends she has known for years. that stick around. she exists to them.

i only really have her. and my family i guess. but i can't Talk to them. i'm once again, stuck in a little square room, alone with my thoughts. i think i have a real problem with feeling like i don't exist. feeling like i can't reach out into the world. to touch and to feel, to touch and to be felt. there has always been a curtain between me and the world. finn completely ignores me. we were friends. we were close friends. i relied on them, leaned on them, we went on walks together and talked about our lives. now they can't even look me in the eyes when we're in the same room. i heard finn and finn's gf footsteps coming through the ceiling, but i didn't once spot them for 3 weeks. i can't tell who the ghost is.

Almost no one reaches out to me. Ed does, which i appreciate. I should message him sometime soon. But no one reaches out to me who is in this city and could hang out. I messaged Phoebe from horrorsoc once, and we talked a little and it was good. And we used to talk every Friday before and after the movie. But she's never once messaged me, and she's been away from horrorosc for weeks. A failure in friendship.

Fransisca from Indonesia is here, of all people. My mom wanted me to talk to her. It almost felt like both of our mom's tried to push us together, like they were playing dolls. She didn't message me and i felt like it was either because she forgot i existed, or she felt awkward with how things ended in high school. so my gf convinced me to message her. and i did and it was good. we met up, walked around the city and the campus, sat down and talked for hours. it was really nice. and i felt like a real, existing person. made up of flesh and a body. a body that moves and feels, a body that is seen. and normal.

she told me to message her if i wanted to hang, i told her the same. but i haven't seen her since. it's been a week. i think i can see her this thursday at anisoc, but if not i will ask if she wants to check out the cat cafe in town, since i haven't been.

otherwise, i don't know what i would do. if i have the right to occupy her space and time. or anyone's for that matter. i want friends. i so desperately want friends. and i want to incorporate the world into me. i want to feel as though i am perceived as real. not just a shadow in the corner, or the accessory to my partner. to be ignored, to be overlooked, to be forgotten. i am simply sick of that.

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cherienymphe · 4 years

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Rapture (Sherlock Holmes x Reader)

WARNINGS: NON-CON, loss of virginity

!!! DNI IF THIS OFFENDS YOU !!!

➥ {page breaks done by @firefly-graphics }

summary: taking on the case of the disappearance of your father, Sherlock Holmes finds himself drawn to you, the daughter who holds more mystery than any riddle he’s ever encountered

“Y/N, keep your chin up, dear.”

Swallowing down your ire, you listened to your mother and did just that, raising your chin and pushing your shoulders back. A soft breeze ruffled the skirt of your dress, and goosebumps erupted over your arms underneath your sleeves. You could hear your mother fussing over your sister, lightly scolding her for the dress she’d picked out, something about the color.

“We want to look our best for when Mr. Holmes arrives,” you heard her say.

You heard your sister let out a soft huff, having no desire to hide her annoyance. Those classes your mother made her attend weren’t doing much for her character, but she was young. No longer a child but not yet a woman, instead stuck in that place in between. You did not yearn for those days…

You did once, longed for the innocence and ignorance that clouded your childhood, but adulthood had long taught you that ignorance was not bliss. Ignorance kept people blind from the truth, and some truths needed to be known.

Your mother’s change in tone alerted you to the carriage that was being pulled into the yard. A soft sigh escaped you as it drew near, a far cry from your sister’s intrigue, eyes wide and neck strained in order to get a better look. The three of you were poised on the steps in front of the grand house, having been patiently waiting for Mr. Holmes’ arrival.

Sherlock Holmes.

The detective whose name was known far and wide was arriving to help none other than your family. Out of all of the possibilities that had taken up residence in your mind, the infamous Sherlock Holmes taking on the case of your missing father had never been one of them. You supposed that you shouldn’t be shocked that the mysterious disappearance of the wealthy patriarch had caught the man’s attention. It was all anyone could seem to talk about these days…

All three of you watched the mountain of a man step out of the carriage, but for three very different reasons. Your sister was curious, intrigued by this new person, a new puzzle to figure out, a thing to study and observe. Outside of father, your sister had never interacted with many males in her life. Your mother looked at the dark-haired gentleman like a beacon of hope, a savior to bring her peace in some form or another. You, on the other hand, you watched him like a snake would a hawk.

If you didn’t keep an eye on him, he could very well eat you alive.

“Mr. Holmes,” your mother rushed to greet him, and the contents of your stomach tossed at the relief you heard in her voice.

In her mind, he had already solved the case and returned your missing father to you. She was comforted by the detective’s mere presence, and you grimaced.

“It is an honor to have you here. Truly. You do not know what it means to me and my girls,” she told him, voice already shaking.

“It is no great deal to me, madam. I wish to find your husband just as much as you do, to bring peace and relief back to your household.”

You shifted on your feet, hands clasped in front of you as the low timber of his voice reached your ears. It was smooth, soft even, but no means wavering. His steady diction exhibited his refined background that you’d heard so much about, and you warily eyed him.

He towered over your mother, making the strong woman look so incredibly fragile to the point that it scared you. You suddenly had the urge to push him away. As your mother conversed with him, your sister tiptoed to your side, admiration in her voice as her lips brushed your ear.

“He is quite handsome, isn’t he?” she said, surprising you.

She had never expressed any interest in boys, but Mr. Holmes clearly struck something in her that even she could not ignore. As you ran your eyes over him, you found you were unable to deny the truth in her words. His features were indeed striking, the kind of face that artists begged to paint. His dark brows and hair complimented his eyes, strong jawline and pink lips moving fluidly as he talked to your mother. His curls gave a boyish quality to his otherwise manly countenance, and you had the brief thought of touching them, wondering if they were as soft as they looked.

“…and these are my daughters,” your mother’s voice reached you as she neared, the imposing man a step behind her.

Both you and your sister greeted him properly, your sister’s name falling from his lips as your mother honed in on her. You sent him a small smile when your mother gestured to you, and he returned it, eyes alight as she introduced you.

“This is my oldest, Y/N. My pride and joy,” she praised.

Your sister squirmed beside you, and you frowned.

“Mother,” you quietly admonished to which she quickly brushed off.

“Oh, hush. She will bring greatness to our name just as her father did. Rest assured, she will be a great help to you,” she told him.

He eyed you with something unknown as your mother continued to speak praises to your name, and you looked away, gaze landing on your sister instead as you took her hand. She had begun to shrink in on herself, and you swallowed down a sigh.

Your mother wanted her youngest to be something she was not. She wanted her to be you, but the young girl couldn’t ever be anyone but herself. And you didn’t understand why mother would want her to. It was a great source of insecurity and frustration for your sister, to constantly be compared to yourself, and it hurt you to see the adventurous girl make herself small.

“Do come in,” your mother ushered him inside.

Mr. Holmes followed her, and you and your sister him, your eyes never straying from his broad form. You’d heard of his skills, his observation, but of course you had never seen the man in action before. At first glance, it seemed like an innocent perusal, as if he were simply taking in the new scenery, admiring it. However, it didn’t take long to realize that he was taking note of every detail. Every plant, every painting that was askew, even the liquor cabinet, eyeing which liquors were consumed the most.

Your mother was prattling on about nonsense, and Mr. Holmes had already begun to work.

“Tell me, when did Mr. Y/L/N disappear?” he suddenly murmured, fingering a plant on a nearby table.

“Tomorrow will make it…what is it? Three weeks without him?”

She looked to the two of you, and you both nodded.

“Three weeks,” she confirmed. “We only noticed his absence the next morning, so it had to have been that Wednesday night. At the very latest, the early hours of Thursday morning.”

“…and you are sure it was a Wednesday?”

She thought for a moment before nodding.

“I’m sure of it. It rained all day the next day, finally making the ground soft enough for my dear Y/N to start her garden. She adores plants,” she told him with a smile.

Your heart sank to your stomach, and you resisted the urge to roll your eyes as you realized what was happening here. Leave it to your mother to prioritize finding you a husband while investigating your father’s disappearance. Mr. Holmes’ gaze met yours, and you held it until he was forced to look away. At least she thought highly enough of you to think you worthy of someone like Sherlock Holmes.

All three of you watched him pace around the living room, a soft hum leaving his lips here and there. Again, he returned to that plant that he’d been fingering, eyeing the carpet beneath the table before finally looking to your mother.

“I’d like to take a look at the rest of the house.”

With a wide smile, she was all too happy to oblige. Your sister bid him goodbye with a soft smile, and you did the same when his eyes met yours, face falling as soon as he turned his back to you.

“Do you think he will find father?”

You glanced up from your breakfast to gaze at your sister, her anxious eyes already on you. You swallowed, wiping your mouth before offering her a shrug.

“Who is to say…”

“He must! He’s the best detective there is. He’s only been here for two days, and already he seems far more diligent than the others,” she quietly argued.

“I cannot argue with that,” you admitted.

You were unnerved by the unfamiliar man. He was indeed great at his job, and his acceptance of your mother’s offer to stay in one of the many rooms here only gave him more time and free reign to gather clues as to where your father could have gone. He spent the first day with your mother, having her recount everything she could remember, anything that could help. The next day was your sister, so you knew it was only a matter of time before he demanded your time and attention as well.

You didn’t like the thought of being alone with the man. His piercing eyes were scarily perceptive, taking note of much more than you could possibly give him credit for. They were ever watchful, and that unnerved you to no end. True to your suspicions, he entered the dining room just as you were finishing up, heavy gaze finding yours, and you bid your sister adieu.

“Your mother said that you went to bed early Wednesday night,” was the first thing he said as soon as you sat down across from him in the dimly lit living room.

The dark curtains allowed for little sunlight to peak through, and shadows casted over his aristocratic features.

“I did.”

He hummed, a faint smile on his lips, so small you could miss it if you blinked.

“Tired?”

“Extremely. I don’t sleep very well,” you honestly told him. “…and so I figured the earlier I rested my head, the earlier my eyes would follow suit.”

He nodded at that, eyes trailing over the room.

“Does gardening help with that?”

“…sometimes,” you answered.

“Does your mother or sister help out with that? Or is it just you?”

“It’s just me.”

His eyes were on yours again, gaze inquiring, yet guarded. He was probing for something, and you knew it was his job, but it filled your mouth with distaste.

“…so you are the only one who attends to the plants in the house?”

“Yes.”

He stared at you for a moment before releasing a small sigh. He stood, and you did as well, eyeing him as he paused at your movement before slowly beginning to pace about the room.

“I am here to help…Ms. Y/L/N.”

His voice reeked of well-hidden frustration, and you sighed as well.

“I know that,” you responded, briefly closing your eyes. “…and I am cooperating, am I not?”

He paused, and his eyes met yours again, flickering between your irises before humming.

“Indeed, you are, but I want you to cooperate because you want to. Not because you feel like you have to. I am merely here to help, to find your father’s whereabouts, so I want you to feel comfortable around me.”

“I am,” you lied.

He knew that you were lying, if the look in his eyes was anything to go by, but he let it go.

“Your mother and sister said that you all searched the grounds for him all day. Enlisting the help of the police for the next week and a half before the search was eventually called off,” he suddenly said, moving on.

“Yes. No stone was left unturned. My mother felt it was best to leave this in the hands of detectives, but the lot of them were…incompetent at best.”

Disdain and disgust coated your words, and Mr. Holmes eyed you.

“…and at worst?”

You crossed your arms over your chest, pursing your lips.

“Greedy perverts trying to get their hands on our money,” you admitted.

You threw him a humorless smile, and the corner of his lips quirked up just the slightest as he turned away.

“None of them sparked your fancy?”

He was teasing, and you fought back a smile.

“No. I don’t daydream about marriage, Mr. Holmes. Of course, it is what my mother wishes for me, and I know that I am to settle down eventually for it is the way of the world, but I am certainly in no rush. Marriage does not appeal to me in the slightest.”

It was the one wedge in you and your mother’s relationship: your lack of prospects. However, no amount of snide comments from your mother about your age would sway you.

“Surely, your parents’ marriage must have softened your heart just a little…”

When you looked up, his eyes were once again on you, something in them that you could not name, and you held his gaze, a fond smile on your lips.

“Their marriage was like any other, I suppose. Of course, they had the occasional spat over the most trivial of things like all married couples do, but they were happy,” you replied.

He simply nodded, gaze lingering before pulling his eyes away, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say reluctantly so. His casual interrogation that wasn’t really an interrogation didn’t last for much longer, and somehow, you felt more nervous leaving the room than you did when you entered it.

Your mother and sister did not seem to share your sentiments. Indeed, they were ever comfortable around the dark-haired man. Part of you wondered if the holes in their heart that were left by father were temporarily being filled by Mr. Holmes. Having a man around the house again surely brought some mild comfort to them, even if they knew it was only momentary.

They happily invited him to eat with you all, participate in small talk, even showing him your garden. You felt that it was all unnecessary, distracting even. Mr. Holmes had a job to do, and the sooner he left, the better. You didn’t know how much more of his analyzing gaze you could take.

It didn’t matter that he would be engaged in conversation with your sister or mother for his eyes always found their way back to you somehow. He wasn’t a man of many words, but it seemed that you were an exception. Your mother did not miss how he always attempted to draw you into conversation, get you to talk more. It was becoming rather tiresome to explain to her that the man was simply doing his job.

Hell, it was becoming tiresome to remind yourself of that. It was his job to pry, to observe, to snoop even. The day that you’d found him in your chambers, standing by your bed, gazing around with his hands folded behind his back, you’d almost suffered a heart attack. It took the will of God to remind you that he was a detective, and that he was simply doing his job.

Sherlock Holmes was doing what he was hired to do.

And that was the problem.

You could hear footsteps approaching from below, and you paused on your reading, sticking a finger in the page before closing your book. The branch that you’d chosen to lounge on was higher than the usual, and you craned your head ever so slightly to look down below.

Mr. Holmes decided to make himself at home beneath the tree, leaning back against the trunk. His suit jacket was gone, one knee bent, and you watched as the autumn breeze ruffled his soft curls. You blinked, wondering to yourself how he managed to look both intimidating and vulnerable at the same time?

“No one in town seems to have any legitimate idea of where your father could have gone.”

His voice traveled to you from below, and you chuckled before you could stop yourself.

“No, I would imagine not. Despite what they may think, none of the townspeople know my father, at all,” you told him.

You could feel his eyes on you as you descended, and you brushed your dress off when you finally made it to the ground. He looked up at you with such intrigue, brows furrowed in a mixture of confusion and concentration. You cleared your throat.

“You’re staring, Mr. Holmes.”

He slowly blinked at you.

“Indeed, I am,” he said, rising to join you. “I do apologize. I was having a rather strong sense of déjà vu.”

Now it was your turn to frown in confusion, and he continued.

“My sister…she loves to hide away in a tree with a good book just as well as you.”

He ran his eyes over your face, drinking you in, and the hair on your arms stood on end.

“…you remind me of her in some ways,” he murmured.

“Well, she sounds like a remarkable young woman then,” you complimented.

“She is getting there,” he replied, a hint of pride in his voice. “Although, just like her, so much of you remains a mystery to me.”

You squirmed under his scrutinizing gaze, looking away from his narrowed eyes to walk towards your garden. You could both feel and hear him behind you, and you felt your face grow hot as the weight of his stare pressed down on you.

“You have a rather impressive garden,” he praised.

You looked to him, a small smile slow to spread along your lips.

“Thank you.”

“Crown Imperials,” he noted, and your smile fell. “They seem to be a favorite of yours.”

“They are. The bright blooms are so pretty to me,” you truthfully replied.

“You spend a great deal of time out here,” he hummed.

You bent down to finger a petal, a genuine smile on your face now.

“I find comfort out here. Looking at this garden, basking in its presence, puts me at ease. Flowers that bloom in the colder months, when all the leaves have fallen and the animals have scurried away to hibernate, symbolize rebirth to me. New beginnings,” you whispered, eyes unfocused as you let your hand fall.

You slowly stood, stomach flipping when your eyes met his as you turned around. His hands were at his side, broad form much closer than you remembered, and your eyes zeroed in on the way he flexed his fingers. Mr. Holmes opened his mouth to speak, but you interrupted him.

“I should get back inside to assist my sister with her studies,” you told him.

You bid him goodbye and scurried past him before he could utter a word.

The next night, you made your way downstairs in the darkness as you did every night. Your mother and sister were fast asleep in their rooms, Mr. Holmes having long gone to bed as well. With a soft sigh, you approached the front door, locking it with a resounding click. You pressed your hand against the wood, heart aching for your mother, pitying her even, before you turned around.

“Why do you lock the door every night?”

A scream threatened to escape your throat, but you swallowed it down as light flooded the foyer. You pressed your hand to your chest, glaring at the detective as he stood across from you…dressed for bed. You blinked at the sight of his bare chest, and you quickly looked away, face heating up.

“Mr. Holmes,” you slowly began, forcing your heart to slow. “…you frightened me.”

“You did not answer my question,” was his only response, and you frowned at him.

“I beg your pardon?”

He took a step towards you, and you resisted the urge to take a step back.

“Mrs. Y/L/N leaves it unlocked every night in hopes that her husband, your father, will return. She told me so, and you come down every night to lock it. Why?”

You heaved a sigh, guilt flooding you.

“…because it is sad. I hope for his return just as much as my mother, but I will not be so foolish as to leave me and my family completely vulnerable while we sleep.”

He didn’t respond, so you continued.

“My father, her husband, is God knows where, and I understand that she is worried, but she is beginning to lose all sense of reason ever since his disappearance. Someone must keep this house together,” you complained.

He eventually nodded at that, seeming to accept this, and your eyes fell to the floor, uncomfortable with his close proximity and inappropriate state of dress. Your eyes caught the end of your nightgown, and you realized with a start that you both were inappropriately dressed for this conversation. Especially one so late at night. You shuddered to imagine what your mother would think if she came downstairs this very moment.

You looked up, startled, when he stepped closer, and your throat felt incredibly dry all of a sudden. Your sister’s words that first day came back to you, and you thought to yourself that Sherlock Holmes was much more handsome than she knew. You took a step back, back grazing the door as you eyed his face, him doing the same.

“You brew medicine for your mother, making salves as well,” he suddenly murmured, and you frowned. “I saw them in her room. The herbs used to make them I found in the kitchen.”

Your frown deepened, unsure of how this was relevant to anything.

“I did not know she was unwell,” he probed.

You cleared your throat, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“She isn’t…unwell, I mean. At least…not really. As she said, it rained that Thursday after my father’s disappearance. She was worried and distraught and did not take note of the slippery steps. She fell, and the salve and medicine are simply to help with the bruising and the pain,” you explained.

He only hummed at that, and you made to move around him, a bidding of goodnight on your lips, but he blocked your path. You looked to him with wide eyes, heart beginning to race again, although you didn’t know why.

Even in the thin and exposing nightgown, you felt your body heat up under his heavy gaze, his eyes running over your frame in a way that you were familiar with. However, the disgust that normally coursed through you at such an action was nowhere to be found. Instead, something unfamiliar swirled in the pit of your stomach, and this scared you.

It must have been written on your face, that fear, or at the very least visible in your eyes for Mr. Holmes took a step back. You noticed that his jaw was clenched, face pinched in a pensive manner that was becoming all too familiar to you. He suddenly wished you a goodnight, and you did the same, feeling his heated gaze searing into your back as you ascended the stairs.

Sleep did not come easy to you. In fact, it smoothly evaded you for days, and the already dark circles beneath your eyes became even more prominent. Your mother and sister were used to your inconsistent sleep schedule, accustomed to the haggard appearance your face would take sometimes. If Mr. Holmes noticed, however, he did not mention it. Of course, that was a silly thing to think. He noticed everything, and it was no surprise to you to find him in the lounge room late one night.

The flames licked at the inside of the fireplace, casting a low light over the room. His daunting form was seated in your father’s chair, and neither one of you greeted each other as you made your way into the room. Sometimes on particularly trying nights, you liked to curl up with a book by the fireplace in hopes that it would lull you to sleep. You had a sneaking suspicion that Mr. Holmes knew this, hence his presence, and you sighed.

You didn’t wish to be alone with him, and you had every intention of making your way back to bed, but some part of you scolded yourself for your treatment of the detective. He was only doing his job, after all. You knew that your wariness of him was no fault of his, and you guiltily made your way to your father’s bar.

“Would you like a drink before I head back to bed?” you asked him, already reaching for a glass.

He didn’t respond, and you glanced up to find his gaze still on the roaring flames, a hand resting against his mouth, eyes thoughtful. You reached for one of your father’s more expensive selections just as Mr. Holmes spoke.

“He’s beneath the garden…isn’t he?”

You did not falter in your movements, but you could not stop the way your stomach churned, threatening to expel everything you’d eaten that day. You set the bottle down, and your hand shook around it. Your lips parted, but no words came out, and you snapped them shut, swallowing.

“I beg your pardon?” you eventually responded.

“I took on this case to pass some time really. It seemed simple enough to me. Your father had been murdered…that much was clear,” he quietly said.

Your throat felt incredibly thick all of a sudden, and your heart clenched in your chest, painfully so.

“However, it was only a matter of who.”

You felt tears spring forth, but they held off, collecting in your eyes as he continued.

“Your mother seemed the obvious choice, too obvious even, and I was proven right when I met her. She loved your father dearly, and I’d be a fool to think she could ever bring harm to him. I considered your sister next. Naturally. She is impulsive and wild, but that is precisely why she was ruled out. She’s not, how would my brother say it, refined?”

You briefly closed your eyes in defeat.

“No. Not like you…”

He stood to face you, and the tears finally spilled over when his troubled gaze met yours in the low lighting.

“She has not mastered the skills to truly be a lady. She has not learned to hold her tongue or hide her thoughts or school her features so that they are the picture-perfect vision of decorum and poise…to show the world only what you wish for them to see.”

His smooth voice did not bring you comfort, and you fought to hold his gaze as he neared you.

“…but you have. You’ve mastered it quite well, in fact.”

You opened your mouth, but no words came out, only a shaky exhale.

“Many people in town mentioned your mother’s clumsiness. Her constant aches and faint bruises…bruises you’ve been tending to for a while…”

He stopped before you, eyes somber.

“He was hitting her. Probably much more than that. When did you first discover it?”

Again, words failed you, and he shook his head, a dark curl brushing his forehead.

“That tidbit is not relevant, so don’t bother to answer that.”

“Mr. Holmes-.”

“You referred to their marriage in the past tense. You lock the door at night because you know that he is never coming home.”

You wrapped your arms around yourself.

“Crown imperial is an interesting flower to plant, most people avoiding them because of the putrid smell. Of course, a flower like that would cover up the smell of decaying flesh rather nicely,” he mused. “I know it happened in the living room.”

Your eyes widened at that.

“That plant on the table…there’s hardly any soil in it at all, the only one in the entire house like it. That and the pinches of soil on the carpet beneath it tells me that it had been knocked over. It matches the few grains found in your sheets,” he explained.

You blinked at him.

“You were evidently in a hurry to clean it up and get back into bed. After all, it must have been rather early in the morning at that point… This was after you buried him correct?”

Reluctantly, you gave a shaky nod, confirming his accusations for the first time. He pressed his hand to his mouth again, the other on his hip as he paced, brows furrowed.

“The only thing I cannot seem to figure out is how you did it…”

“…belladonna,” you softly said, speaking for the first time that evening.

He looked at you, and you held his gaze, tears at bay for the moment.

“My father never misses a nightcap,” you told him with a shrug. “Large doses of belladonna can be-.”

“Fatal,” he finished for you, and you looked away.

“So…what happens now? Surely you mean to turn me in…hand me over to the police to answer for my crime,” you tearfully said.

He didn’t say anything, and the only noise in the room for a while was that of the crackling fireplace. Eventually, you heard him approach you again, and you flinched when his hands landed on your arms. Reluctantly, you looked at him, and his eyes flitted over your face, unsure of what to settle on. His thumbs brushed along your bare skin, and your throat bobbed.

“I should,” he whispered to himself, brows drawn together as he studied you. “I should turn you in immediately.”

He stepped closer, and you could feel his body heat, practically feel his heartbeat beneath his chest. His hands tightened on you for a brief moment before loosening his hold.

“…but I can’t,” he confessed through clenched teeth.

Confusion filled you, and your lips parted in shock. His eyes seemed to be drawn to the action, gaze lingering on your mouth for far too long.

“I…I don’t understand…”

He drank you in, gaze vexed, like you confounded him. One of his hands slid to your neck, fingers brushing your jaw, and you sharply inhaled, lips trembling.

“Even now…I still cannot figure you out,” he murmured to himself.

Your confusion grew, frown deepening, and you watched as he suddenly blinked, taking a step back. It took longer for him to finally let you go, and his face appeared strained, movements stiff as if it took everything in him to do so. He took a few more steps back, getting as far away from you as possible before he spoke again.

“There is no doubt in my mind that you very well could kill me in my sleep, but I trust that you won’t.”

Your eyes widened when he made to leave, and you called to him. He paused in the doorway, fists clenched at his side as he refused to look at you.

“W-what…what will you tell them? What will you tell my mother?”

Your voice was but a whisper, disbelief coursing through you at this turn of events. His shoulders heaved as he sighed.

“…nothing for you to worry about…Y/N.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the sound of your name falling from his lips, and before you could process what he had said, he was gone.

“He…he’s simply run off?”

You leaned your head against the wall as you listened in on the conversation taking place in the dining room, and your heart constricted as her soft sobs reached your ears. You couldn’t imagine the feeling of fretting over someone for weeks, fearful for their wellbeing only to discover that they weren’t hurt at all. The opposite, in fact.

Only, it was a lie.

As you listened to Mr. Holmes spin the believable tale of your father running off with some mistress, you thought to yourself that the truth would have been better. Your mother could move past the truth. She could heal from the truth. How was she meant to heal from this?

You quietly pushed yourself off of the wall and made your way past the doorway. As you passed, your eyes caught those of Mr. Holmes, his heavy stare boring into you, and guilt tore through you as you caught sight of your mother’s distraught form.

No, the truth would have been far better. Your mother, the loving and strong woman that she was, deserved to know the truth, and you intended to give it to her.

Hours later when darkness fell, you found yourself outside, yanking out flower and vegetable roots. Thunder rumbled far off in the distance, and a light sprinkle of rain dampened your hair and dress. Tears soaked your cheeks as you dug through the dirt, sobs wracking your frame. You had buried him deep, and now that had come back to haunt you.

Or so you thought.

A startled gasp left your lips as firm hands yanked you to your feet from behind, and your eyes were wide as you were spun around to face none other than Sherlock Holmes. Lightning flashed behind him, illuminating his angry features, and you shrank in on yourself underneath his harsh gaze.

“What the devil do you think you are doing?”

More tears fell, and you shook your head.

“I cannot do this! I cannot go along with this lie any longer,” you told him.

His eyes softened, but his jaw ticked at your words.

“Y/N,” he sighed your name.

“Thank you for what you’ve done, Mr. Holmes, but I cannot bear to see my mother hurting like this over a lie. The truth…the truth will be much easier for her heart to bear,” you gasped.

You fought to get out of his hold, but he proved to be as strong as he looked.

“I cannot allow you to do this-.”

“Why not? You’ve solved the case! The great Sherlock Holmes figured it out, and soon my name and face will be plastered on papers everywhere as everyone learns what I did,” you cried.

“You were protecting your mother,” he argued.

“In the eyes of the law, I am still a murderess. I have reason to believe that you would agree with them,” you scoffed. “…why are you protecting me?”

He didn’t respond, and you huffed, jerking in his hold again, but he wouldn’t budge. The rain was coming down a little harder now, and your vision was blurry from both the weather and your tears. Your knees started to buckle as your movements slowed, and you would have collapsed to the ground if Mr. Holmes hadn’t been holding you.

He leaned you against your tree, and your fingers twisted into his rain-soaked shirt as tears skipped down your cheeks. He still hadn’t answered your question, and your eyes reluctantly met his. He looked at you like he had been looking at you for weeks, and that unfamiliar feeling returned…as well as the fear.

“You are not nearly as fragile as I initially thought you to be,” he quietly said, puzzling you.

He continued before you could voice your confusion.

“…but you are not nearly as tough as I thought you to be either.”

He reached up to brush his thumb over your lip, and you jerked, eyes widening at the action. Your heart felt like it was threatening to leap from your chest, and a thought suddenly occurred to you that had never occurred to you before.

“You have plagued my thoughts for weeks,” he confessed, making you freeze. “…entering my dreams the very moment I first had my suspicions.”

“Mr. Holmes…”

“Who would think that someone like you would be capable of such a thing,” he mused, genuine bewilderment on his features. “…and yet…I still want you so.”

Dread began to fester in your gut, and you pushed against his chest, but it proved to be useless. He pressed his forehead against yours, eyes boring into your own.

“Sh-Sherlock,” you said, hoping that hearing his name from your lips would snap him out of it, knock some clarity into him, but it seemed to have the opposite effect.

His fingers tightened, enough to make you wince, and his eyes fluttered close, a long exhale leaving him.

“Y/N,” he whispered your name like it was a prayer. “How do you manage…to be half heaven…and half hell?”

The words had barely left his lips before he fiercely pressed them against yours, startling you. A horrified gasp left you, and he clutched you to him, breathing you in as he moved his mouth over yours. He only seemed to take note of his actions when your palm met his cheek.

You stumbled back, hands grasping along your tree as he took a step back. His lips were swollen, hair damp and eyes troubled as he blinked at you. You pressed one hand into the tree behind you, the other to your chest as you stared at him in fear. Your chest was heaving just as much as his.

“Forgive me,” he whispered.

He swallowed, at least having the gall to look ashamed. You stared at one another for a painfully long time, ruminating on what he’d done, the line that he’d crossed. You didn’t move, too afraid to, and Sherlock’s jaw clenched as he eyed you.

His hands curled into fists at his side, features twisted with a myriad of emotions that you couldn’t place. There seemed to be a struggle going on, and your lip trembled as he dragged his eyes over your wet frame, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. His dark hair was damp from the rain, the strands curling around his ears and kissing his forehead.

His lips parted ever so slightly, and he straightened as his eyes finally met yours again. You watched the way his nostrils flared, a carnal hunger in his eyes that terrified you to the bone.

“Forgive me,” he whispered again, apologizing for something that he hadn’t done, but was instead about to do.

You turned and ran past your tree, but he was already upon you before you could even get in three steps. His muscular arms wrapped around you, holding you to him as he buried his nose in the crook of your neck, lips trailing kisses over your damp skin.

You reached back to tangle your fingers in his hair, attempting to pull his head away from you, but he only groaned against your skin. Fresh tears escaped, and you shuddered as he pressed himself against you, hard and threatening against your dress.

Your back met your tree, and Sherlock was quick in pressing his lips to yours. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, noises of protest escaping your lips as you pushed against him. You were sobbing when he finally broke the kiss, and you shook your head, pleas falling from your lips.

“Don’t do this,” you begged, knowing you were no match for him and accepting that pleading was your only chance. “Please, don’t- you’ll ruin me.”

Your eyes searched his.

“I’ll never be able to find a husband, to give my mother some form of happiness again after what I did. Let me make her happy,” you shakily whispered.

His brows were furrowed as he gazed at you, and his hands felt incredibly hot on your waist. The light rain had passed now, leaving only a partly cloudy sky and a bright moon to shine down on you. Sherlock closed his eyes as he pressed his forehead to yours, thumbs tracing patterns into your waist.

“…I suppose I will be your husband then.”

He gently shushed you as you cried, softly pressing his lips to yours. He didn’t budge no matter how hard you pushed against him, and you shook as he hooked one of your legs onto his waist. One of his hands pressed into the back of your head while the other tore at the skirt of your dress, all the while he kept you pinned between him and the tree.

It suddenly occurred to you that this was your punishment. This was your comeuppance for what you’d done. It didn’t matter that your father hurt your mother on a regular basis, murder was wrong, and you were being punished for it.

You cried harder when you both felt and heard him releasing himself, and the cool air you felt against your core told you that Sherlock had ripped away every barrier between you two. His lips were gentle on yours, and his entry did not differ from that.

He was slow in pushing inside of you, and you hit against his shoulder, mouth parted in a silent scream as he stretched you. Your nails dug into him when he could go no further, and a long moan lowly left his lips, satisfaction dripping from every note. You blinked back tears as he pressed his hands into the bottom of your thighs, keeping them at his waist as he held you to him.

He slowly moved within you, and one hand held onto him to keep from falling while the other dug into the bark of the tree behind you. He kissed you again, and you turned your head away. He let out a soft growl of frustration before pulling away from the tree.

You yelped and shuddered when your back met the cold damp ground, but your yelp turned into a gasp when he firmly thrust into you. It was a feeling unlike any other you’d ever known, and you squeezed your eyes shut, one hand fisted into his shirt while the other did the same to the grass.

You felt full, but it was an uneasy feeling, like you shouldn’t be full. Every drag of his member pulled a whimper from you, and your face crumbled when he pressed kisses to it, trying to bring some comfort to you while he had his way with you.

“You feel exactly as I dreamed you would,” he whispered.

You sniffed beneath him, core protesting his assault, no matter how gentle it was. You pushed against him again, but he gripped your hand, bringing it to his mouth, and a shiver traveled down your spine as he brushed his lips over the inside of your wrist. He held your gaze as he held your wrist to his lips, and the intensity behind his eyes scared you.

“I meant what I said,” he murmured. “I have every intention of marrying you.”

Somehow, the fact that he was telling the truth scared you more than the thought of him abandoning you. He was going to take you away from your mother and sister, and then who would look out for them? A shaky sob escaped your lips, and he shushed you again, hips curving into yours over and over.

“No one will ever discover what you did. I’ll see to it,” he told you, kissing you again. “…and I’ll make sure your family is well cared for.”

His breath hitched, pace changing, and your toes curled on their own accord.

“Why?” you tearfully gasped as he nipped at your neck. “Why…?”

He paused his movements, holding himself inside of you as he looked down at you. You felt defeated, and the only thing left was confusion, bafflement at why you. He brushed his fingers over your tear-stained cheek, eventually ghosting them over your swollen lips. Sherlock looked at you like you were the most magnificent creature he’d ever seen, and your stomach turned.

“…so much of you is still a mystery to me, and even if I never figure you out…”

He brushed his soft lips against yours.

“…at least you are mine.”

tags: @darkficreposter @xoxabs88xox @harryspet @readermia @opheliadawnwalker3 @nickyl316h @captainchrisstan @sebabestianstan101 @villanellevi @lokislastlove @notyourtypicalrose @coconutqueen21 @hurricanerin @trinittyy @hyoyeoniie @kellyn1604 @sherrybaby14 @jtargaryen18

#dark sherlock holmes #dark!sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes x reader #dark fic #sherlock x reader #henry cavill

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killerbananas · 2 years

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Hey guys! Little update rant novella. Mind the tags, please, and do not reblog.

Thank you to everyone that has contacted me. You're all gems. I genuinely want the best for you and hope the world is being kind to you.

tl;dr: I had another post explaining my issues, but in short, my neuralgia in my median nerve is extremely irritated right now. In combination with a few other health issues, including a longer lack of balanced nutrition and exercise, hormonal imbalance (I have extremely low progesterone), high resting heart rate and blood pressure, and extremely poor mental health (depression, brain fog/executive dysfunction, mood SWINGS, recurrence of maladaptive coping mechanisms), possible cancer on the bottom of my foot, I am a goddamn mess. Doctors are fallible, we all deserve respect and proper care, and I'm still keepin' on keepin' on.

I was hopeful recently of a medical professional that was locally known to treat my kind of issues with high consideration and thought things were going to be at least underway into being addressed. Well, I got Into it with their staff because they had continuously fucked me over in ways that I find no longer acceptable to continue a relationship with the office, good doctor or not. I have been gaslit, ignored for follow-up, charged incorrectly after being led to believe that I would qualify for their particular program, given multiple run-arounds. I am done. I walked in on Thursday morning, in absolute agony and with barely 90 minutes of sleep because my neuralgia was so bad. If you are familiar with it, you know what I mean. The only thing that really helps neuralgia for me is rest, ice, NSAIDS that only reduce inflammation (not pain), and extremely gentle touch massage (like barely tapping the skin), otherwise, it truly feels like acid or burning along almost the entirety of my dominant arm. Here’s a (tw for exposed muscle tissue/anatomical image) medical picture of the median nerve. I had it for 18+ hours leading up to this appointment with them. The appointment was for a general blood work follow-up and I planned to ask about treating my neuralgia (e.g., gabapentin, therapy) because this evaluation would be reasonably within their capabilities.

Well, in combination with all those other issues I listed, it’s pretty understandable that I would get a bit weepy when put under basically any amount of stress. I do my best to be cognizant of my defense mechanisms (e.g., knee-jerk defensive anger) and still tried to have as much neutral goddamn dignity to the cunts’ faces while they told me I also needed to pay $150 to get my blood work results (which was the incorrect price, for the incorrect appointment I was scheduled for) and that in tandem with information that kept changing in the thirty minutes I spent in the front office instead of seeing my fucking dr. Don’t get me wrong; I am willing to be understanding in a time of short staff, genuine accidents, and issues that can be out of someone’s hands. I can be reasoned with if your logical explanation checks out and apologize for my mistakes like a big girl, but here, this was some horseshit.

When I reverbalized the logic of what they told me (“Ok. So, if I am understanding you correctly, you are telling me that in order to receive a copy of my blood work, I must pay you $150. I do not have the right to receive my bloodwork results that I have already paid $300 for at the lab? That does not make logical sense to me.”) HIPPA says fuck you, bud. You cannot do that. I have a right to my medical records within thirty days of written request and only with a “limited fee” at most (e.g., paying for printing paper, relevant and legal minutiae of labor cost [see link below for more]). Well, they decided to handle me with kid gloves and get my out of their hair if I wasn’t going to pay them, with a broken-promise that the “nurse” that would be “authorized” to give me permission to allow me access to my records because of their business structure would call me in a six-hour block that same day. I’ve heard a lot about this nurse, but she seems to be a bit allergic to dialing my fucking number as this isn’t the first missed communication. I still have not received a call from them.

However, I did sob in my car for ten minutes once I realized how futile the situation was, have my wonderful partner help me google HIPPA and make sure I wasn’t full of shit on the phone for twenty minutes, and walked my ass two doors down to the lab that took my blood and received my records printed out with absolute full respect to my request when I asked politely. I could’ve kissed the lab attendant. I will not be going back to this doctor and will do everything in my power to relay my experience to anyone opting to engage with that office. Others had given me glowing recommendations from this place. This isn't my first experience being gaslit or treated poorly by a medical "professional" either.

I have actionable things to follow-up on with my own health, which is my primary concern or I will have long-term damage that will be harder to fix. I can do this. I can find another doctor for my hormones. I have an appointment in less than two-weeks with a dermatologist. Wish me luck here because I just have no idea about this spot on my foot and I am at-risk by my genes having all the predispositional goodies for this, as well as living in the sun most of my life, even with sunscreen.

Please remember to keep up with your own health if it is within your power to do so. If it is not, please ask someone for help. If that person fails you, doctor or friend, do not give up. Someone better is out there and you will find them. Doctors are not infallible and they are not GOD either. You are paying for a service at the end of the day, be it out-of-pocket, insurance, or in your taxes. Don’t take their bullshit and know your rights, I beg you. You deserve a healthy life and you should not have to struggle with a system to do so.

Here is a HIPPA reference if you would like it for your own use. Of course, I am not a doctor, just one little pissed off woman ready to wreck any medical professional that thinks it’s ok to fucking gaslight me in front of my face. I get a strong enough red-flag, I’m going to stop the conversation immediately, do my best to objectively say that this action is not acceptable to my professional relationship with a healthcare provider, and never fucking come back. Additionally, if anyone is well-versed in HIPPA application, or finds an error in my logic understanding this extensive legal text, please let me know as I would like the opportunity to correct my error. I’m going to be tossing the full legal text into a study pile for this year to keep revisiting.

HIPPA: https://www.hhs.gov/hipaa/for-professionals/privacy/guidance/access/index.html

If any of this information is incorrect, I will follow-up with an edit. Sorry if it's not sensible in any manner, but I am just working in the negative lately and thought this would be a bit therapeutic for myself as well as keep a few people updated that have been reaching out.

#Do NOT reblog #tw mental health #mental health #tw anatomically correct medical imagery linked via text #tw gaslighting #@ me if im missing a reasonable tw #bitching with kbee

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golddaggers · 4 years

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wRoNg

not my gif just randomly taken out of google

pairing: thor x reader

warnings: it’s nsfw, if you squint, there’s a bit of a breeding kink.

a/n: twice in the same week??? i feel so proud of myself xD but i am hopeful you will enjoy it! leave likes, reblogs or maybe some comments if you do.

word count: about 1,5k. a quick little ditty.

It was the last thing you should be doing.

Still, as your hips ground against his, you couldn’t find in yourself to think why it was so bad. You were both in need of releasing tension. What a better way to do that if not in bed? Sure, it wasn’t healthy. Most of the time you hated each other. Always bickering, with bitter remarks about battle stances. You’d say he was always relying on his hammer instead of having a proper fight technique and he’d reply you weren’t exactly playing on muscle strength when using your sorceress powers. It would go on forever if the others wouldn’t chime in saying you were being annoying.

Much to your surprise, you found him alone drinking. It’d been a rough week. You shouldn’t be so baffled he’d turn to alcohol when you were about to do the same. Sitting side by side, a few drinks on you, you realised he wasn’t so bad after all. Thor could be a nice company if he wanted to. Lighthearted jokes and pearly white smiles. Tomorrow you’d blame it on being intoxicated, but you were, doubtlessly, into him.

The invite over to your home hadn’t been awkward. Thor accepted it without even blinking twice. An arm wrapping around your shoulders as you both swayed your way out of the dimly lit club. Neither could drive, so you walked. His skin against yours was electrical. Literally. You winced in pain when the shock first hit you, hearing his hoarse voice apologise, thick in his own inebriation.

Your place wasn’t far. After a few minutes long walk, you were there, fumbling with the keys, trying to get the right one in the lock. As soon as the door clicked closed, he pressed you against it, the lips you fancied kissing on your neck, his warm tongue on your skin, sucking, marking while his hands squeezed your bare arms. It was a summer night, so you were dressed in short Levi’s shorts and an off-shoulder beige shirt.

A strangled sound slipped when he pulled in down, revealing the black strapless bra you had on. You’d be in serious trouble with your neighbours, because the way Thor kept touching you, you simply couldn’t tone it down, moans growing louder as his beard burned each little bit of skin it touched. As if you weren’t in enough trouble as it was, hooking up with a colleague. This sort of thing was forbidden, a sane bit of your brain tried to convince you. But the horny one shrugged it off.

For a few moments, you just made out. His hands pulled you up to wrap your legs around him, your nails digging into his back, within his white t-shirt, as your lips were entangled, a mess of saliva and tongues. There was nothing sweet. Or romantic. This was all about tension. And boy did you two had a lot of it. His hard-on pressed against you just right. You rolled back against him, borderlining a scream.

He hooks his fingers to the cups of your bra, pulling so your boobs spill out. The kneading is hard, you almost whimper in pain, but it sends a tingle down to your core, where you’re sure you’re a sopping mess by now. Thor’s mouth starts sucking on one of your nipples, teeth grazing the sensitive skin. A syrupy feeling clouds your brain, and you found yourself whispering his name over and over.

Effortlessly he takes you to the bedroom, questioning in a half snarl where it was, so you point towards it, shaky. Your back falls to the soft sheets you’ve set your bed with, a loud squeal slipping from you, and again when he rips the shorts in half, showing the purple panties you were wearing. A plea for him to not do the same to your shirt falls from your lips.

There’s a mirror in front of your bed, in which you can visualise your state. Your lips are swollen, hair all frizzy and out of place. Both your shirt and bra are pooled by your waistline. The remains of your shorts fall off when you stand up, to remove them properly. Thor does the same, stripping off the white shirt and dark jeans, kicking off the sneakers as well.

You watch, holding your breath. He’s so gorgeous. Tight and muscly. He feels like he’s made out of marble. A greek god embodied. Deep blue eyes stare at you then, eating you alive, like a hunter does its prey. You swallow hard, chewing your bottom lip, quaking in anticipation. Breathing comes out in ragged pants as he walks in your direction.

His voice whispers a “c’mere.”, low, raspy. You’re putty, unsure if your legs will support you any longer, but they do. This man radiates heat, you feel warm all over, though you aren’t sure if it has to do with his body heat or your own arousal. Slick is dripping from you.

"So wet for me…" He grunts, biting down on your bottom lip, "Tell me, how do you want me?"

Your lips part. You weren't expecting that. He'd been leading all along, calling the shots. And you've allowed him to do so. The tip of his fingers brush your clit, and your forehead falls to his chest, a hand on his forearm, trying to support yourself.

It's gentle, the way he's touching you. A thumb circling your nub, the tip of his index finger on your wet entrance, teasing. Your grip on him tightens.

"I want your fingers, inside me," You manage to say, your mouth open against the tanned skin of his chest, "Please."

The index slides easily to the knuckle and you roll your eyes. He doesn't rush, going in… Then out. A soft moan slips from you. It pains you that he's going so slow, the throbbing intensifying every time his palm hits your clit and the finger inside curls, touching you ever so intimately.

"More," Again, it sounds pathetic, a needy girl, "I can take more than that. Please give me more than that."

There's no need to look at him to know he has a smug grin on his face. You've known him for too long to not know it. Nevertheless, he complies, sliding another one, not once changing the speed. Goosebumps prickled your skin, you were almost crying with how much you needed him.

He pulls out the second he realises your breathing getting irregular, your teeth biting harder on his peck. You were just on the edge. It's no surprise a groan bubbles on your throat, he chuckles, stealing a kiss from you.

In the weak light of your room, you've never seen a man so handsome. Blond hair dishevelled, pink lips plump and parted. His body, a wonder.

"Want you to cum around me." Thor whispers, hoisting you up again, back pressed to the wall. "Are you going to be good for me, sweetheart?"

His eyes are glossy with desire, underneath you, you feel his dick, hard and throbbing. The air was heavy with desire. Of course you wanted him inside you, stretching and filling you up. So you tell him, breathlessly, "Yes". Thor seems to swell with pride, he loves having that effect on you.

The room spins when he pushes inside, it's better than you thought it'd be. Your hands grasp his broad shoulders, it's a hopeful way to cope with everything that you're feeling. You could swear even your insides were twitching.

Much like his fingers, he goes in and out slowly. Grunting like an enraged animal against your neck, squeezing your ass, leaving hand prints behind for sure, bringing your hips toward his with a slap.

You mumble his name, bringing his head up for a sloppy kiss, your hands securing his cheeks, a burn feeling against your palms. No one had even come closer to making you feel this way, trembling with each snap of his, the subtle bump against your clit as he tried to sink deeper into you.

"Gonna' cum," Blinded your pleasure, you throw your head back. "So fucking hard."

"Come on, baby girl, around me, yeah?" His nose nudges your cheek, him too is getting sloppier.

It's overwhelming when it does happen. A rubber band snapping, and you scream, scratching your nails down his back. Shaking. Lucky you his grip was strong, grounding in place, otherwise you would've fallen to the group, your whole body turning to Jell-O.

"F-fuck," You stutter, feeling him still rutting, searching for his own release.

"I'll fill you up," Thor says, rough, "Fill you with my babies. Gonna' swell your belly with them."

Somewhere inside you, you know it's wrong, you can barely stand each other, but at this point you don't mind. An itching to feel him spend himself inside you, feel hot and wet, filled up with his cum. Which happens soon, you know it's cornering him when he squeezes your waistline.

Then he caves. And lets out a sound that makes you clench. Hot. That was what he was. A bloody handsome guy who had made you fall apart like it was your regular Thursday. And when he places you in bed, wrapping himself around your body, there's a sense of familiarity you can't shake it off.

Maybe tomorrow you'll regret it. Tonight, though, tonight you're gonna live like there's no tomorrow.

#thor x reader #thor x you #thor x ofc #thor odinson x reader #thor odinson x you #thor odinson x ofc #smut #thor odinson smut #thor odinson x reader smut #thor x reader smut #thor x you smut #thor odinson x you smut #marvel #king of my heart

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tweedlydumbtweedlydoo · 4 years

Text

Not Perfect (JJ Maybank x reader) pt. 2

Summary: JJ Maybank is the one who makes sure your kook lawn is immaculate. Your family may look perfect just like the lawn from someone looking from the outside in, but it turns out you and JJ have more in common than you thought.

Previous Part: Part 1

!!warning: This story talks about abuse through out, so if that’s triggering please don’t read. This is strictly fiction.

A/N: Had not expected this to get as much attention as it did! I’m glad you all liked the first part :) Hope you enjoy the second xx

Tag list is at the end. Let me know if you want to be added xx

**MASTERLIST**

Requests: {OPEN} CLOSED

I am currently taking requests for:

The Vampire Diaries/The Originals

Elijah Mikaelson

Damon Salvatore

Criminal Minds:

Spencer Reid

Derek Morgan

Supernatural (I’m only up to season 2, so please don’t request something with spoilers)**

Sam Winchester

Dean Winchester

Outer Banks (Netflix):

John B Routledge

JJ Maybank

Rafe Cameron

********************************************************************************************NOT MY GIF, CREDIT TO OWNERS

It was Thursday night, JJ’s night to work at the country club. He was clearing off a table when he saw your family walking in, dressed head to toe in fancy clothes. Multiple people greeted your father, shaking his hand. He was a well-known man around the island, just like the Cameron’s. Your family was up on the popular pole with the Cameron’s, fighting for the richest and best family on the island. He thought your two families were in a feud for power over the island, but he wasn’t sure.

He watched as your dad put his hand on your back, pulling you closer, so he could introduce you. Your body tensed up at the touch and he watched you force a smile and shake the other man’s hand. Your eyes darted around and met JJ’s. He blushed because you had caught him staring. You gave a genuine smile and a wave. He smiled and started to wave back but the look your dad gave him made him think otherwise. He hung his head and continued clearing off the table. Out of the corner of his eye he watched your dad grab your arm and pull you inside the club.

You weren’t sure if it was the shadow from the outside lights, but it looked like his eye was bruised. You were pulled from your thoughts when your dad guided you into the country club.

JJ had stepped out to clean off another table when he felt a tap on his shoulder. Turning around he was surprised to see you.

“Hey.” You smiled.

“Hey.” He wipes his hand on the black rag and smiles at you.

“I didn’t know you worked here too?” You take a second to look over his features. His right eye was for sure bruised and there was a cut under his eye, looked like from a ring. It wasn’t a secret around the island that his dad was abusive. Everyone knew of it, but there wasn’t much for people to do, especially the kooks, so everyone minded their business. Especially, if it dealt with the people on the cut, also known as the pogues.

He nods, “Yeah I alternate between helping Pope, here and then landscaping.”

“You’re just a man of many talents, aren’t you?”

“I guess you could say that.” He chuckles and you laugh in return. He knows you’re staring at his black eye. He’d come home from hanging out with the pogues and had a run in with his dad. He wasn’t too happy about JJ showing up and interrupting one of his shows.

“what’d you do, Maybank? Run into a pole?” You motion up to his eye.

“I-uh..” he chuckles, playing it off, “Yeah. Was messing around John B and he got me good.”

You nod. Someone with a mean right hook. You weren’t a stranger to those. “Well, he’s got a mean right hook.”

JJ nods, “Yeah…” He clears his throat, hoping to change the subject, and motions to your dress, “You look pretty.”

You blush, glancing down at your dress and then at him, “You think? I think I look like a lemon.”

“A very pretty lemon.” He adds. Both of you laugh and it quietly dies down. He contemplates asking you if you’ll be at the boneyard tomorrow, but he’s interrupted by your dad yet again.

“Y/n. Let’s go.” His eyes are sending daggers JJ’s way.

You and JJ turn around, “Okay. Just one more minute. I’ll meet you in car?”

Your dad shakes his head, “No. Now, young lady.”

You give a nod before turning around to JJ, giving him a soft smile, “I’ll see you in the morning?”

He nods, “Yeah of course.” He watches as you walk away from him once more. Even after you have walked by your dad, he’s still glaring at JJ and takes a sip from his drink before turning away and heading after you. What was this guy’s problem?

The next morning when he arrived at your house, he could hear you and your dad yelling inside the house but tried to ignore it. It wasn’t his business. He heard the door slam closed and looked up from the lawn mower. You stormed out of the house and across the lawn, your dad now outside as well, “Y/n, you get back here right now!”

You ignored him and got into your car, your dad following close, but you had already closed and locked the door.

JJ flinched when he watched your dad bang on your window, “Don’t you dare leave!”

You started the car and pulled away as quickly as you could, leaving your dad standing in the dust. When your dad turned around, JJ was staring from the lawn mower, “What are you looking at, boy?! Get back to work!”

JJ quickly nodded, “Yes, sir.” He turned around and started the mower as your dad stormed back inside.

“There’s the perfect kook.” Kie rolled her eyes.

JJ turned around to see you had arrived, heading to the keg. You hugged a few girls and a couple of the guys, grabbing a drink from one of the guys and chugging it.

“Damn.” John B says, noticing. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her drink.”

JJ glances at John B then back at you, “I haven’t either.” You were the good girl, the one who didn’t drink or do drugs. You came and hung out at the Boneyard, had fun but never engaged in such activities. He decided then and there, he’d keep an eye on you, and it’s a good thing he did.

Usually, he wasn’t one to get into people’s business, especially kook business, but the way your demeanor was around your dad, it mirrored his own and his mind wondered if there was something more behind your perfect family. The perfect family and perfect life he wanted but would never have. You didn’t live like him though, did your dad really do the same thing his shitty pogue father did to him? No, there’s no way. Your life was perfect. Your life was one he’d never have, you had a family he’d never have, a loving father that he didn’t have or never would have. He was jealous of your perfect life, so why did he feel the need to protect you?

Two hours later, you are upside down on the keg as people yell “Chug! Chug! Chug!”

“Dude… she just beat the record.” Pope says, eyes wide, “And she’s never drank before.”

Taking a sip of his red solo cup he watches you get down, throwing your hands in the air as people cheer around you. This wasn’t you, but who was he to judge?

He watched from a far. He’d kept a watchful eye on you all night, ready to step in if something went wrong. You were dancing with a few girls and a guy, who had his hands all over you. You were stumbling and he knew it was time to step in, especially once the guy started to lead you toward the woods.

“Hey hey!” He hurried after you and the guy, “No you don’t.” He grabs the guy by the shoulders, making him face JJ, “What the hell are you doing?”

The guy looked at JJ, “Dude, what are you doing? Back off! She’s the one who wanted to go back here.”

JJ looks at your figure, the guys practically holding you up as you sway, “Yeah, I doubt that. Fuck off before I beat your ass.”

The guy rolls his eyes, dropping his hands, “Whatever.”

JJ catches you as you start to fall, “Alright… I think it’s time to head home.” He picks you up bridal style and heads toward the pogues.

“hey! You’re JJ!” You giggle.

JJ can’t help but laugh and nods, “Yeah I am. And you’re y/n y/l/n.”

You giggle again, “My daddy doesn’t like you.”

He looks down at you but is interrupted by Kie. Is that why your dad was always staring at him, giving him evil eyes?

“She okay?” Kie asks standing.

JJ nods, “Some guy was trying to head to the woods with her. I’m going to take her to the Chateau, she’s plastered.”

John B nods, handing him the keys, “We’ll be back soon.”

JJ carries you to the van and lays you down in the back as you mumble incoherently about needing to be a good perfect girl. You can’t do no wrong. You have to be perfect. Before he could close the door, you leaned out of the van and vomited, before falling back into the van.

“Lovely.” JJ mumbles, scrunching up his nose in disgust. You had luckily missed his feet but had managed to get some on your shirt. Sighing, he closes the door to the van.

When he arrives at the chateau, he picks you up bridal style and carries you inside. He thought you had passed out, but your head swung forward, looking up at him, “Why do people think my family is so perfect?” You slur.

JJ gently sets you on his spare bed, “Because you guys are perfect. Your house and yard are always clean. You guys are always a happy little family.” He grabs one of his t shirts, “I need to change you, you’ve got vomit all over your shirt.”

You nod, but then shake your head, swaying back and forth on the bed, “They wouldn’t think we’re perfect if they knew the truth….”

He carefully helps you out of your dirty one and then the clean one over your head, “Oh yeah?” He’s letting you ramble on as he grabs the trashcan and sets it by the bed. He’s taken back by your next statement. Your voice was slurred and mumbling but he heard you perfectly, loud and clear.

“If they only knew what Mr. y/l/n does to his daughter behind closed doors.”

When he looks up at you, you��re passed out on the bed. What he does to his daughter behind closed doors? Is that what he thinks it means? He gently picks up your legs and tucks you into the bed, leaving a glass of water by the bed. As he steps out of the room, he turns around to see your sleeping figure on the bed, suddenly looking so small in his spare bed. You’re a kook, a part of this perfect family, living in a perfect house, on the perfect side of the island, yet you’re living a life just like he is?

Obx taglist: @emmalvei-blog , @tregua-oca , @weirdbiwitch , @losers-club6 , @treestarrrrrrrr , @omgwhattheeven , @normatural , @lreincarnationl , @laurenron , @junkiemuppettxx , @beth-winchester21 , @divcrdown , @timotaychalabae , @moose-squirrel-asstiel , @tangledinsparkles , @prejudic3 , @lanarichards5 @ilikealotofpeople-younotsomuch , @fratboystark , @nas-marie-loves-u , @sunwardsss , @annedub , @jellyfishbeansontoast , @turtlee-says-rawr, @fanficscuziranout , @summer-clouds-and-long-days , @write-from-the-heart , @louisolos , @summer-clouds-and-long-days @outrbank , @sunset-d-rive , @family-buisnes , @traumaflavouredjuulpod , @http-cherries , @k-k0129 , @mileven-reddie , @eclecticpuppyhollywoodhumanoid , @cinnamon-roll-seth , @teamnick , @rockyyc77 , @ellojustafangirlhere , @sataninsatin , @lordsagittarius , @helplessquotess , @katerosexx , @kiarasgold , @thee-sex , @sunshinemadds , @ceruleanjj , @nikki082489 , @ilovejjmaybank

All my works tag list: @blossomreed

*If your name is crossed out then tumblr is being stupid and won’t let me tag you :(

*Also, if you wanted to be tagged in a specific post, I’m sorry, i only go by the fandoms, just because it’s easier to keep up with right now. So, if you’d like to be taken off, just send me a message :)

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natromanxoff · 3 years

Text

Queen live at Royal Dublin Society Simmonscourt in Dublin, Ireland - November 22, 1979 (Part-1)

(x)

Tonight is the opening night of the "Crazy Tour," the tour when Queen decided to go back and play the smaller, more intimate venues (especially the London ones). The lighting rig had to be scaled down to accommodate most of the venues. There used to be five rows of red and green lights and four rows of white, but the red and green have been cut back to four as well. Along with the change in the band's attire (particularly Freddie's pants with knee-pads) and Roger's bass drum head sporting a picture of himself, all these factors make pictures from this tour easy to distinguish from those taken earlier in the year.

Queen's old front of house sound technician returned to the job after a long illness (the Jazz album is dedicated to him for this reason).

The show now begins with an intense drone leading into the thunder and lightning. Combined with their lighting rig (even the scaled down version), this would be a very effective opening of their show. It has been said that people were often left breathless before the band even played a note.

Being their first gig in the UK since releasing Live Killers, the band decide to shake things up a bit by opening the show with Let Me Entertain You, followed by the fast We Will Rock You. The setlist is otherwise mostly similar to the live album and previous tour, with a couple new songs added to the repertoire (Mustapha made its first appearance in Saarbrucken in the summer).

Tonight would see the first performances of Save Me and Crazy Little Thing Called Love, which had been recently recorded. The latter has been released as a single and would fare quite well on the charts, becoming their first American #1. Save Me would be released as a single early next year, peaking at #11 in the UK. On stage, Brian May plays the piano on the ballad. Through 1981, he'd play the first two verses on piano and switch to guitar at the second chorus. The instrumentation would change slightly in 1982 with the addition of an auxiliary keyboardist. In the meantime, these 1979 versions would have the band finishing the song at the end of the last chorus, omitting the piano outro.

As for Crazy Little Thing Called Love, Brian would start on acoustic guitar, switch to a black Telecaster for the guitar solo, and to his beloved Red Special for the finale of the song. Unlike the 1950s-flavoured studio version, it would become a heavy rock song by the final verse. By 1982, the end of the song would often be a relatively long jam. Freddie would play a 12-string Ovation Pacemaker acoustic guitar for the song through 1982, and would switch to a cream-coloured Telecaster from 1984 to 1986. Throughout the years, he would often joke about how he knew how to play only a few chords on the guitar.

On stage, the band end Crazy Little Thing Called Love with a coda similar to the one in You're My Best Friend.

This is Queen's first of four shows they would play in Ireland, and so they perform a one-off version of Danny Boy in the encore. As told by someone who attended the show, almost no one in the audience knew the words of the second verse, while Freddie had done his homework.

During Now I'm Here, a fan manages to make his way on stage for a brief moment, and Freddie sings, "Now He's Here." An audience recording of the song was reportedly broadcast on the radio not long after the show, but no known copy has survived.

At the end of the show, instead of playing their version of Britain's national anthem as always, in Ireland the band use the outro from the A Day At The Races album - the only location where they would make a political gesture like this.

Here is a review of this show from the Dublin Evening Press, submitted by Rob Schoorl.

Photos 1-3 were taken by Eddie Mallin.

Fan Stories

“I couldn't believe it! Summer 1979 and I was reading a review of a gig in one of Dublin's evening newspapers. At the end of the review, added almost as an afterthought, was news that the promoter, Pat Egan, was planning to bring Queen to Dublin! I read and re-read it but still could not believe it. Queen, at last, would make their debut in front of an Irish audience! The Crazy Tour would begin in Dublin. Fast forward to the autumn and myself and a number of friends from school eagerly queued up to buy tickets to see our heroes. After buying the tickets, it was a long countdown to the show which would take place on Thursday November 22nd 1979. I still clearly remember the date even after all the years. Eventually the day arrived. That night Queen were on Top of the Pops with Crazy Little Thing Called Love but I didn't mind missing it. We were going to the real thing! After a long day in school we made our way to the RDS in Dublin. After a wait outside the gates we were allowed in to the venue and found a standing place near the front of the stage. I recall it got ever more crowded at the front of the stage and before the show, the tour manager (was it Gerry Stickells?) had to go on stage and appeal to people near the stage to relax and step back. Eventually the lights dimmed, there was a tremendous roar from the crowd, the Pizza Oven exploded into light and there were our heroes only yards away from us. I recall at the time being so overwhelmed by the amazing lights and the fact that we could almost touch Freddie, dressed all in black leather and sunglasses, that I barely registered that Let Me Entertain You was the opener. After that, it was into We Will Rock You and, largely the same songs and running order as the Live Killers album which I knew very well (!!) at that time and had almost worn out playing over the previous months. There were however some exceptions. Of most interest to Queen fans now and the biggest shock to me then was that Danny Boy was played live - a great version, from what I recall which received a terrific ovation from the audience. Also, If You Can't Beat Them was played which surprised me as it wasn't included on Live Killers and I wasn't even aware at that time that it was ever played live. The Dublin show was the first time that Save Me and Crazy Little Thing were played live. I remember being astounded at the power and range of Freddie's voice - even better than Live Killers. At that stage he was developing as a singer and over the next few years became recognised as one of the best rock singers and best frontmen in the business. (Am I the only one who was slightly disappointed with the quality and range of his voice during the final Magic Tour especially when compared to earlier tours?). The gig was a terrific show, especially to a young person attending his first major rock gig, and many of the songs are still memorable to me. During Now I'm Here one idiot actually got up on stage and Freddie sang "Now *he's* here" before he was removed from the stage. One girl also managed to get up on stage and plant a kiss on Freddie during the show. The following night, a couple of songs recorded during the show by someone in the audience were played on the Radio Dublin pirate radio station. These included Now I'm Here. A bootleg of the gig definitely exists *somewhere* but, try as I might, I cannot track it down. I would be grateful if anyone reading this comes across it or has it in their collection, that they get in touch with me!” - John Brogan

“The first night of the Crazy tour - amazing show. Seen some people on the web note that they played Danny Boy that night but for some reason I can only remember Brian playing it as part of his solo and us singing our heads off. Freddie handing out a champagne glass to a friend of mine who still has it. Anyway it was nearly 30 years ago and I find it hard to remember what I did last week never mind that long ago. They ended the show with the outro from A Day At The Races which took me a while to figure out what it actually was. The lighting rig was totally amazing - the pizza oven was aptly named - it was scorching and the intensity of the light when it turned around behind the band to face the audience was something else made a couple of friends that night (in the horse show bar opposite the venue) that I am still in contact with and we are all still crazy after all these years.” - Gary aka hoops

“A couple of notes on the Queen show in Dublin, 1979. Fred was in red trousers, not black as John Brogan has mentioned above. Small point but there you go. And when it came time for the audience to sing along to Danny Boy, almost no one knew the words of the second verse - I remember one chap shouting out to Freddie that he was doing a grand job all by himself. I saw them sixteen times in all and that show, the first, has a very special place in my memory. On the subject of bootlegs from that show, a chap in Aungier Street in Dublin used to have just about every show ever played in Dublin by anyone worth taping. I got a really bad and incomplete (C60) copy of the Queen show from him just as a record of having been there - his voice could be heard just before the start of the show, discussing bootlegging. The tape is somewhere in a box in my house and should I come across it, I'll let you know.” - Paul

Part-2

#queen #queen band #roger taylor #brian may #freddie mercury #roger meddows taylor #queen concerts

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foodcourtdetective · 3 years

Text

Sleeping with Other People AU: Chapter One: First Time

summary: Dr. Spencer Reid runs into his first time Y/N after a car chase gone bad. They decide not to complicate their friendship by not sleeping together, but it proves to be harder than they think as they slowly fall terribly in love with each other.

tags: sleeping with other people au, first time, virgin!spencer reid, slow burn, college!spencer reid but only in chapter 1, friends to lovers, TENSION, sexual themes, commitment issues, brief mention of cannibalism but it’s praying mantises calm down armie hammer

A/N: I have 12 parts planned out so please don’t let this flop girlies and non-binary buddies

word count 1.8k

AO3 x

May 13, 1999. Spencer Reid would not attempt to remember a day as unremarkable as this one. Sure, Mozart's first opera premiered, and the Bezalel Art School opened on the other May 13ths of history. But this particular date was in the midst of his finals. He was trying to work through a particularly difficult physics calculation when suddenly—

"HEYYYYYYYY!!! SOBEVICH??? YOU HERE, BUD???" The banging on his door, paired with an intoxicated feminine screeching, was incessant. Reid scoffed, maintaining focus on the task at hand. If you divide x by—

"MATTTTTHEEWWWW??!! COME GET Y'ALL'S JUICE!!" In response, he slammed the pencil down. A little shouting and banging wouldn't typically break his concentration that quickly. However, certain variables (a lack of sleep, other commotion in the dorms prior, not to mention a certain someone not responding to his AOL messages for over 48 hours) had brought him to the edge faster than a cliff diver. Rolling up the sleeves of his sweater and pushing up his glasses on the bridge of his nose, Reid stormed up to his door and yanked it open.

"Heyyyyy wait a second... youuuuuu aren't Matty boyyyyy!" The nuisance in question wasn't his type at all. Her hair was too black and choppy, her eyes too dark with liner smudged everywhere, and her skirt was basically a napkin over her lap that highlighted her purple panties that were visible to anyone with eyes. Her painted lips twisted into a pout as she looked him up in down with interest. Before he could speak, RA Gideon turned the corner of the hallway and, spotting his target, picked up his pace.

"YOU! Young lady, you're not supposed to enter a dorm without getting signed in!" The girl snapped her gaze away from Reid to roll her eyes and drunkenly face the RA.

"I'm heeere! Can't someone else sign in for me?? I'm waiting for a friennnnd!" Gideon's face darkened with barely veiled annoyance, looking over to Reid.

"Is this girl bothering you? I can call campus police to escort her—"

"N-no! It's fine! She's here to see my roommate Matthew." Reid grabbed the clipboard out and scribbled down the details, looking frantically at the girl for her name.

"Y/N L/N aaaand NERDDD BOY are besties!!" She slurred in response. Gideon huffed as he scanned Reid's face carefully.

"Are you sure, Reid? She's your responsibility if anything happens." The student nodded once in reply, muttering thanks as he handed over the clipboard. Taking Y/N by the wrist, Reid pulled her into his room. He shut the door behind them with urgency but was careful not to slam it. Y/N scratched her bare knee lethargically, accidentally flashing him further.

"Alllrighty, here you look a little cold," he squeaked, awkwardly averting his eyes and turning his attention to his dresser to grab her a Cal Tech sweater his mom made him before she had to leave home. Y/N stumbled, leaning on the bed for stability as she took her heels off. As she did so, she took notice of the two beds pushed together.

"Does Matty even live here?? The beds are holding hands?" Reid managed a pitiful laugh as he tossed her the sweater. Pulling a face, she pulled it on. He gulped, noticing the hem barely skimmed her thighs. At least the purple is put away. Realizing he had caused a long pause in the terrible attempt at conversation, Reid quickly looked away from Y/N again.

"N-no, he lives with his boyfriend at Baker." Y/N's eyes widened, her lip trembling a little bit in shock as she hugged herself with the too-big sleeves.

"Dammmn, I shoulda known a brainiac like that was a bisexual. Didn't peg him for playing so hard to get otherwise."

"Did he try to flirt with you? Because he's basically married to Adam and not to mention the stereotype of bisexuals cheating-"

"is inaccurate and offensive blah blah blah I know, I am one... Nah, I was just hoping that being more forward would seal the deal! But I would never purposefully try to hook up with someone taken... and you're no longer listening to me," Y/N cut off her rambling as he had gravitated helplessly towards his brick of a computer with a glowing screen. He chewed on his lip thoughtlessly, only looking up when he felt Y/N's exasperated gaze on him.

"Sorry, I-I've been waiting for a message..." Y/N scuffled over beside him, her bare feet sticking slightly to the wood floor. Reid winced as she leaned across him to rest her hands beside the keyboard. He tried to move out of her way, but she ended up with her back pressed against him. Don't be embarrassing. Digits of Pi GO! 3.1415926—

"Oh, I know Jennifer! We went to East Allegheny. Fucking smoke show, but she has this praying mantis vibe," she said matter of factly. Reid's mouth gaped open and closed.

"A-what vibe?"

"You know... how they fuck! With the—"

"Female praying mantis engaging in cannibalistic mating behavior, biting off the head or legs of her mate and eating them. I've heard of it, but you should know that that behavior occurs in less than 30 percent of all mating sessions in the wild." As Reid rattled on, he slowly became aware of her piercing eyes on him and the warmth of her back. He sucked in a breath, cutting himself off from going further.

"Wow! Guess you weren't really studying! I'm sorry I interrupted your terrible Thursday evening," she quipped, gesturing to the now-abandoned physics equation. He hurried to close the notebook, tucking it away in his desk as he began to sweat.

"Oh, that! That wasn't studying! I was calculating to calm down." Reid somehow didn't expect the not-unfriendly laugh to erupt in front of him. She bent down to brace herself on her upper thighs as she guffawed, unintentionally pulling the sweater up from the back. Without thinking, he pulled it down for her dignity, but she grabbed his wrist tightly as he completed the action and locked eyes with him.

"What are you, a physicist?" She asked playfully. He gulped again as Y/N watched the movement of his prominent Adam's apple.

"N-not really. I'm working on my chemistry and mathematics masters right now, but I finished my physics MA last semester." She whistled in response, impressed.

"They LET you have that many?? Wait..." Her heated eye contact wavered, flicking up and down his body.

"There's no way! You're only like sixteen!"

"I'm EIGHT-teen! And yeah, I signed a waiver saying that MIT is not responsible for any poor grades or drops in my mental state," he winced as his voice cracked on his age.

"Guess what they say about MIT being smarted than BU kids is right! My med-track major could never be as flexible as yours, virgin," Y/N quipped, cheekily checking out the dark flush of crimson on his cheeks as he pulled away from her grip, facing the wall in frustration of two different types.

"WH-WHY! Why would you-"

"Spence, you're waiting by the computer for a direct message!" Reid sputtered in response, the nickname he had signed off as in her mouth sounded both so wrong and so right as he adjusted his stance to hide an unfortunate situation going on downstairs. Y/N rolled her eyes again as Reid suddenly realized that he loved the color of her eyes more than any color he had ever seen in his life, including Jennifer's. After a long, not uncomfortable, silence, Y/N made a step toward him, suddenly hesitant.

"Don't get your sweater all wrinkled! I'm a virgin too. That's why I came— you better fix that expression on your face, kid!" Reid realized that his shock had painted his face too clearly, flapping his hands frantically as he watched her face drop. The visible vulnerability struck a nerve within him; he didn't know if it was good or bad. As she turned back to the computer, he touched her shoulder in an attempt to get her to look at him.

"NO! No! Not in a bad way! Just individuals who are sexually confident in their self-image with a certain presentation tend to have already completed the act!" Y/N scoffed, rolling her shoulder to get away as if it burned her.

"PLEASE! Now who's engaging in the stereotypes, genius?"

"I'm sorry! You're just too beaut-attract-hot..." Reid kept cutting himself off in an attempt to quantify her looks properly. Y/N chuckled to herself, charmed as she finally looked to watch him fluster himself to try to rectify the insult.

"It's okay... You don't have to say anything. I mean, I couldn't even get Matthew fucking Sobevich to fuck me. As the guest TA, he managed to make four of my classmates pass out within the hour." She cast her eyes downward, fiddling with the loose string on the sweater near the sleeve. Reid swallowed, stepping closer to her. He bent his knees, basically in a squat, to try to get eye contact.

"You deserve better than Matt. I mean, look at you!" He gestured awkwardly at her whole body before framing her face with his fingertips. Y/N finally looked at him, the inner workings of her thoughts almost visible in her eyes as she straightened her gaze to bring him standing up. She cautiously brought her hand up to his chest, right over his heart.

"Well, if you want to date someone like JJ... you might want some experience... We could-- let's get it out of the way!" Y/N carefully explained her idea, her fingers walking up to brush against his Adam's apple. Reid shivered, pulling away to retreat toward his bed, almost involuntarily giving in to her plan.

"I-this was all supposed to be very romantic!! And-and now you've gone and just fucked it up!!" He squealed, watching as Y/N crossed her arms to take off his sweater from the bottom. She came over to sit on the bed, thoughtfully taking a second to let him gather himself before curling her index finger under his chin to get him to look at her.

"You are going to drive some girl crazy someday. With your long, Kurt Cobain hair and that infuriating mouth of yours," Y/N whispered sincerely, moving her finger to trace up his jaw and to hook under his glasses. Reid's breathing hitched, but he kept his gaze on her as she pulled his glasses off and gently put them on the nightstand.

"Say the word, and I'll stop. Say you don't want this, and we won't," Y/N continued, her other hand shaking on his knee as she inched closer to him. As she closed her eyes, Reid closed the gap between them, the hiss of heavy breathing from his nose the only noise in the room. She responded immediately, wrapping her fingers in his hair as they fell against the bed. Suddenly, May 13, 1999, wasn't so unremarkable after all.

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atruththatyoudeny · 4 years

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Monthly Reads | July 2020

Happy 28th! As always, my undying love goes out to all the amazing authors this fandom still has. You are all incredible! Thank you for sharing your work with us ♥ Here are all the 21 fics I read and enjoyed this month:

⋙ The Murmur of Yearning | MediaWhore | historical - no smut - arranged marriage past rape/non-con - implied/referenced dubious consent - minor character death - slow burn - 93k Four years ago, Harry Styles was forced into a marriage of convenience to enrich and ally both his and his promised's families. The sudden, and slightly suspicious, death of the Marquess of Haxshire, however, brings great disturbance to Crescentfield Hall and, as his late's husband's closest male relative, Harry unexpectedly finds himself the head of a family he never felt he belonged to. Between a meddling distant cousin hellbent on inserting himself in Harry’s life, his wicked and mistrustful mother-in-law and his late husband’s advisors refusing to help or take him seriously, Harry struggles in the fight to keep what he’s earned and make the Estate finally feel like home. Luckily he doesn’t stand completely alone and finds himself an unlikely ally in Mr Tomlinson, the elusive Land Stewart who has been taking care of the property in the shadows for years. Louis Tomlinson is caring, patient, and unlike everyone else, he doesn’t seem to think Harry committed a murder.

⋙ Donor-Conceived | jaerie | a/b/o - omega/omega - friends to lovers - intersex omegas - pregnancy kink - unplanned pregnancy - fertility issues - miscarriage mentioned - male lactation - lactation kink - 31k When Harry receives the worst news of his life, it's now or never if he wants to carry a child of his own. Without an alpha, it's a daunting idea. But after it's a go, he finds another omega having a child from the same donor and become fast friends. It is only logical that they raise the boys as half brothers, making sure their sons keep up the relationship with the only connection to their anonymous father. It seems like the perfect plan but life doesn't always work out that way.

⋙ Just a touch of your love | anonymous | a/b/o - touch-starved - past abuse - past rape/non-con - miscommunication - anxiety attacks - 12k “What if something happened to you? What would I say to Niall?” “Nothing, he would have to wait to see my corpse on the news like everyone else.” Deadpanned Harry. Louis’ gasp was all the answer he got. Ok, so that might have been a bit too much. With a calmer voice, he said, “It’s really fine. I’ve walked to the tube countless times, I can handle myself. Just go home and tell Niall to stop mothering me.” Louis was finally walking by his side and gave him a sideways glance before talking. “He doesn’t know, does he? Of your, uh, condition.” Harry tensed and his breath became erratic, but he didn’t say a word. Louis continued. “His nose probably hasn’t picked it up, and you’re lucky Liam’s also a beta, but it took me a minute to confirm it. Your scent is gettin’ so…” He seemed to struggle to find a word. He didn’t finish the sentence, but the emotion in his voice made Harry’s tummy churn. -- Or, Harry is a touch starved omega trying to get through it on his own. Louis happens to be the only alpha around to realize it and offers to help.

⋙ We're Not Who We Used To Be | jaerie | trans female character - trans Harry - childhood friends - friends with benefits - transitioning - gender dysphoria - body disphoria gender identity - first time - self-medicating - reference to depression - 7k Louis comes back to his childhood home and sees an old friend who has changed quite a lot since the last time they saw each other.

⋙ Sincerely, Yours | anon | strangers to lovers - military - 25k Prompt:Historical AU where Louis is a soldier on his way to first deployment and Harry is working at a diner. They meet there when Louis is waiting for the bus, Harry tries to cheer Louis up and agrees to write to him while he's deployed because Louis doesn't have anyone else to write to. People kinda make fun of Harry for writing to (and falling for) a virtual stranger but otherwise everything is great until Louis stops writing. AKA travelin' soldier by the Dixie Chicks but gay and with a happy ending.

⋙ Ever Since I Tried Your Way | anon | historical - 1940s - 1950s - farm/ranch - internalized homophobia - hurt/comfort - emotional hurt/comfort - fluff - smut - gender exploration - body worship - 26k Harry had been kissed before, but never like this. He’d shared sweet, curious kisses behind bleachers and in soda shop booths, one or two more daring ones in cars parked on dark suburban streets, but the girls he’d kissed had never filled him with the desperation that erupted from Louis’ touch. He parted his lips and pulled him closer, as though he could breathe Louis straight into his lungs, as if he could swallow him. He wanted to consume Louis the way he consumed the body and blood of Christ. He wanted to place Louis on his tongue and feel him dissolve into a frothy mess of starch and saliva. He wanted to gulp him down until his teeth were stained purple and he was drunk on him. He wanted him in some violent holy way that made his hands shake where they were twisted in Louis’ shirt. In 1949 Harry left his bride at the altar, running away from the only life he'd known. When a kindhearted farmer offers him a ride in his truck and a place to sleep the two find themselves inexplicably drawn together. Isolated on Louis' farm with nobody but a field of dairy cows to intrude, the men are finally able to explore the parts of themselves they've spent their lives hiding away.

⋙ sleeping on our problems | falsegoodnight | a/b/o - college/university - mpreg - friends with benefits - angst - slow burn - hurt/comfort - 67k I’m in love with you, Louis thinks. He feels empty, weighed down by his sadness and the loss of Harry inside him just moments ago before his knot finally went down. There’s moments where he’s sure Harry feels the same. Like now, when he’s gazing down at Louis with so much adoration and tenderness. It’s like they’re both on the cusp of something more, but neither of them ever say a word. His confession is on the tip of his tongue ready to slide out like honey, and yet he remains silent. They both do, looking at each other and recognizing the reluctance mirrored in each other’s eyes. It’s then that Louis realizes they’re both scared. - Or Louis sleeps with Harry and they have more than just catching feelings to worry about.

⋙ in a world alone | falsegoodnight | a/b/o - Swan Lake AU - historical - royalty - magic - curses - friends to lovers - slow burn - mpreg - 51k Harry’s breath catches as the glow grows bigger and bigger until he’s squinting his eyes and blinking at the sudden intense brightness. He closes his eyes, rubbing at them helplessly. When his eyes open again- he gasps, grip loosening on his bow as he gawks at the sight before him. Because the swan is gone. And in its place is the prettiest omega Harry has ever seen. - A Swan Lake AU

⋙ The Baby Whisperer | jacaranda_bloom | strangers to lovers - prior mpreg - neighbours - fluff - smut - kid fic - 19k Harry’s newborn baby is having trouble sleeping and nothing he does seems to work. Tired and alone and at his wits end, Harry is at a loss until a new neighbour arrives to turn his world upside down. OR the one where being neighbourly takes on a whole new meaning.

⋙ was in no hurry, had no worries | defencelouis | strangers to lovers - car accidents - smut - daddy kink - 21k The year is 1999 and Harry can’t stop dedicating songs to Louis on the radio. Or the one where Harry hits Louis with his car.

⋙ Strong Enough | jacaranda_bloom | enemies to lovers - exes to lovers - angst - smut - divorce - 21k “So…” Liam starts, and Louis instantly knows where this is going. He’s actually glad it’s Liam that's dragging the subject out from the shadows and into the light. Louis turns to face him, mirroring his position on the couch and nods, ready for him to continue. Liam takes a deep breath. “Have you spoken to Harry recently?” Five years after Vertigo goes on hiatus, the band comes back together for a benefit concert. Can Louis and Harry work through their complicated past, or are some wounds too deep to be healed?

⋙ What's It Gonna Be? | zeldasayre | high school - 37k Louis looked thoughtful for a moment. “When are you meeting with Clare again?” “Thursday,” Bebe said, looking over at him, the ice clinking in her glass as she stirred it with a long spoon. “Why?” He grinned, narrowing his eyes. He took a long, dramatic pause, sipping his lemonade, and then said, “Scheming.” aka I've watched Shura's "What's It Gonna Be?" music video one too many times. ((Or, Louis and Bebe, best friends since childhood, have crushes on two of the most popular kids in school, and in an attempt to increase their respective chances, Louis befriends Harry Styles, quarterback of the football team, while Bebe befriends Clare Uchima, head cheerleader. Only... the plan... doesn't go exactly as planned.))

⋙ There Goes My Life | anonymous | older larry - colleagues with benefits - mpreg - unplanned pregnancy - smut - lactation kink - 8k Metallic taste in the mouth, check. Aversions to favourite foods, check. Nausea without throwing up, check. A heightened sense of smell, check. Sore and sensitive nipples, check. It had felt as though Harry had been ticking off boxes from his own mental checklist and every new addition brought him closer to an existential crisis. Pregnant. Everything over the last few weeks began to make sense; thoughts he pushed from his mind because he was too busy, and to be honest too scared, to think about. Getting knocked up from a few-night’s-stand was something that happened to teenagers and/or uni students, but certainly not to a forty-year-old Member of Parliament such as himself. *** Or, the one where Harry is single, a Member of Parliament, gets knocked up and has to deal with navigating motherhood in his forties. And Louis? Well, his life is about to change forever as well. This is a tale about colleagues with benefits and the consequences that can come with that.

⋙ Mother I'd Like to * | anonymous | implied mpreg - MILF Harry - 4k “What’s up, dad?” Oliver asks Louis, standing in front of Harry in a way that hides his friends from the view. “Is there something wrong with your mom? Your friends are staring a lot.” Oliver goes beet red at that. He groans and hides his face on his hands. “Oh my god. Oh my god.” --------------------- Written for the prompt: Harry’s and Louis’ son is like 16, so he is hanging out with his friends and his friends are teasing him about how hot his mother (aka harry) is, just like the 1D boys always did with Harry about Anne. The son feels super uncomfortable and Louis is super confused why these little teenagers boys always stare at Harry’s body when he is cooking for them whenever they visit until he finds out they think of Harry as the hottest milf in town (more humor than actual sexual references pls, this is supposed to be more funny than awkwardly sexual :D)

⋙ An Invincible Summer | Brooklyn_Babylon | farm/ranch - historical - 1940s - period-typical homophobia - adoption - minor character death - epilepsy - homophobic language - smut - 44k Never content to stay in one place for long, a few months down south researching for his novel seemed like an idyllic, slow-paced summer to Louis. He wasn't ready for the blistering heat, the backbreaking work of watermelon picking, or how stifling the attitudes in rural Georgia would feel. And he definitely hadn’t anticipated falling in love with the farmer’s son. The summer of 1946 would turn out to be everything worth writing about.

⋙ a trail of honey through it all | faeriestyles | strangers to friends to lovers - mild violence - D/s undertones - 27k The boy in front of him, well really, the man in front of him, was like something out of a confusing wet dream. Built, tall, tan and muscular, his skin glistened with sweat after a long day of working outdoors with his hands. He was wearing a cut up old American football shirt, the bottom hem was torn and the sleeves were cut off to the point where the t-shirt was really just a loose tank top. The shorts he had on had clearly been full length jeans at one point, and were now just crudely cut off above the knee. His white socks were pulled up too high on his calves, and the brown work boots he had on were old as fuck, the leather peeling along the edges of the soles. Curly brown hair stuck out from the edges of his backwards snapback, and there was a smudge of grease wiped along his brow bone. The smattering of hair along his jaw proved that he hadn’t shaved in a week or two, the hair growing in thicker across his upper lip and around his chin. His sinfully bowed mouth was pink and plump, and Louis was suddenly hyper-focused on the way that he chewed at the toothpick stuck between his lips. He looked like he needed a shower. Louis wanted to lick him. Or, the TPH fic we’ve all been waiting for.

⋙ The Recklessness in Water | LarryOn | light angst - smut - 50k Louis Tomlinson is miserable. He's stuck on a family vacation at a lake cabin in New Hampshire when all he wants to do is bemoan his sorry existence and wallow in his sweatpants. As if the humidity and mosquitos weren't bad enough, he becomes the singular target of an obnoxious lifeguard named Harry.

⋙ baby blue | soldouthaz | cowboy AU - famous/not famous - angst - hate to love - enemies to lovers - smut - hurt/comfort - minor violence - 39k Harry Styles takes his time coming out to greet them. Louis only knows what he’s seen on file and what he’s heard them talking about, but he fully lives up to the image he had inside of his head. He saunters down the front steps of the farmhouse in his Levi’s, brown snakeskin boots curving out from underneath the denim Louis’ sure he had specially made. He’s got on a plaid button-down tucked into the jeans because of course he does, curls spilling out from either side of his cowboy hat around his sunglasses and country-tan skin. “Harry Styles,” he drawls, extending a hand to Louis’ manager, “Pleased to meet ya’ll.”

⋙ with no way out and a long way down | we_are_the_same | royalty - soulmates - strangers to lovers - fluff - angst - no smut - emotional hurt/comfort arranged marriage - 31k Prince Harry is ten when he receives his soulmark.

⋙ adjudication | bottomlinsons | royalty - historical - enemies to friends to lovers - enemies to friends - love letters - betrayal - slow burn - light angst - arranged marriage - 75k Harry's been engaged to Princess Charlotte of Ryde for as long as he can remember. He's come to know her, to love her, through the letters she's sent him over the past three years. But when the wedding finally arrives, Harry quickly learns that nothing is as it seems. With his crown and country at stake, Harry must decide who to trust in this strange new land. And the sly Crown Prince of Ryde doesn't seem inclined to make things easy.

⋙ Something to Prove | trysomecats | a/b/o - enemies to lovers - mpreg - smut - 9k Louis is the first and only omega to work at Red Valley Medical Center. Despite being more than qualified, he still faces prejudice for his career choice everyday. From patients refusing his treatment to condescending alpha doctors intervening with his work, practicing medicine in Boston is more challenging than Louis had ever thought it would be.

#fic rec #28th appreciation #monthly reads #monthly fic rec #my reads #larry fics #completed fics

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2018shawn · 4 years

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prohibited | th x oc

If you grab a dictionary and look up the word ‘inconvenience’,

you’ll find Tom Holland’s name printed in huge, bold letters.

a/n: yoooo I actually forgot I wrote this so I'm pretty nervous about posting it actually. this is obvs gonna be a multi-part fic, no idea how many parts lmao. any feedback appreciated 💓

warnings: none

troupe: strangers → f.w.b → lovers (aka a rocky road)

word count: 1.7k

⌜intro⌟

One of Evie’s most annoying habits, and believe me, she’s been told more than enough times to know, is biting the end of her pen - or pencil - and twisting the plastic cap in-between her teeth. She’d done it since she could remember, it was just a way of releasing tension and nerves, but, considering it’s her boss’s pet hate and he picked up on it every time he entered the room, she really needed to nip it in the bud.

Evie twirled the black biro in between her index finger and thumb, the lid rattling against her teeth as she sunk further into the chair. Her chair was almost central in the line, pulled up to the longest conference table she’d ever seen in what she believed to be the largest meeting room of the building, and boy is it a gigantic building. “Lindsay on sixth floor said we’re finding out some new big ass movie plot,” Evie’s colleague and friend, Paris, whispered whilst leaning over to her chair from her own. Evie and Paris had been tight ever since she’d started as an intern after leaving school, she almost took her under her wing, showed her the ropes - even went as far as showing her where the fancy coffee capsules were kept. Evie soon learnt that coffee was very much needed when you worked at Sony Picture Entertainment, fancy capsules or not.

“Yeah well, Lindsay on sixth floor also said Tom Hardy tried to follow her into the ladies bathroom...” She rolled her eyes and turned to her friend, who simply shrugged and pulled away, sitting back straight in her chair. The door to the meeting room buzzed open, a key card access needed for entrance and everyone’s quiet muttering and speculations came to an immediate dead silence.

Much like the rest of the room, Evie straightened her back, crossing her legs underneath the table in an attempt to sit as presentable and professional as possible. As quick as everyone poised themselves into business mode, they relaxed just as quick. Maria, the super cute food and drinks assistant, who always snuck Evie an extra piece of bacon in her Friday morning sandwich, rolled in her trolley, laughing at the unsubtle atmosphere from the participants in the room. Paris leant over to Everly again, her blonde hair falling in between them both. “Champagne?” Her aggressive whisper drew more attention than she’d wanted, resulting in everyone else concentrating on the huge and expensive looking bottles of fizz on Maria’s trolley.

Evie’s mouth pulled to the side in confusion, knowing that Champagne only came out on the most appropriate of occasions. Maria set up her display, making sure the champagne flutes were crystal clear as she delicately placed them on the serving table. Another 5 or so minutes of muffled chat and theorising went by when the buzzer sounded again, only this time it wasn’t Maria and her trolley of tricks.

The amount of nerves that filled the room were uncountable as Mr. Big Boss walked in, otherwise known as Michael Stud. Michael Stud had intimidated Evie, since way back when, but she wasn’t the only one who felt like that. It was normal to be scared of your boss, sure, but when he came storming down your office hallways just because someone from the floor had tweeted about a movie review - it was extra scary. Said twitter user was never seen in the offices again, FYI.

Michael Stud wasn't alone. Behind him followed a small bundle of five individuals, talking and laughing amongst themselves, which made a nice contrast from the extremely silent room. Evie pulled the lapels of her spring coloured suit jacket together, trying to cover the stupid slogan tee-shirt and she suddenly wishes she picked the formal white shirt this morning. She also wishes she opted for a nice pair of heels instead of the white, canvas converse that she tucked under her chair, also in a bid to hide. Michael began with the formalities, introducing the crew behind him, some of who he offered to sit down, apart from the man with incredibly styled run-your-fingers-through hair who stay attentive at Stud’s side, eyes scanning the room as he admired all the faces in front of him.

Evie felt Paris’ presence yet again, Michael getting knee deep into the reason of why all senior department supervisors were bundled in the extremely warm room on a Thursday afternoon. “He’s been in... films n’ stuff,” she whispered, and Evie tried her hardest to remain professional, keeping eyes forward at all times. “I think maybe that tsunam...”

“Ms. Kershaw, is there something you’d like to add?” Michael asked, his eyes being the only pair that didn’t turn to face her because Michael could hear anything and anyone that would try talk over him. Evie winced, internally, lips pulling into a straight, thin line as she clicked eye contact with Miles who sat opposite. He slyly brought his hand up to his neck and mimicked running a knife across it, making it even harder for her to remain professional.

Paris shuffled awkwardly in her seat, picking up her pen and looking at her notepad as if there was going to be some miracle excuse written down on there. “Sorry, Mr Stud. I was just speaking aloud really...” Her palms were sweaty, but once she started talking she could never stop. “I thought I recognised our new friend here, and I think, maybe it’s just clicked, from that tsunami... impossible?... film?”

The handsome boy next to Michael beamed a wide smile, raising his eyebrows, “remind me to hit you up for the next pub quiz” was the first thing the young man had spoken since he’d entered the room and he even sounded attractive. Evie had dealt with her fair share of movie stars, she composed contracts for them for crying out loud, but never in her life had she come across someone who was so incredibly sexy and cute at the same time.

Luckily, Michael seemed to be in a good mood - probably something to do with the champagne announcement - and laughed along with the guest and everyone else in the room, only making Paris sink further into her chair, wanting the ground to swallow her whole. The five minute introduction felt like five years, not just for Evie but for the entire room. No thanks to Michael’s long and in depth ramblings about the man stood at the front of the room, anyone who didn’t already know learnt his name, the movies he’s been in and yes, it did include the ‘tsunami... impossible... film’ - to which Paris hid her head in her hands as everyone joint in the laughter again - and finally that he was here because he was going to be involved in the remake of something incredibly exciting. “So, everyone, meet Spider-Man!”

Joyous cheers and claps filled the room, not one person in there ashamed to say they were huge fans. Evie was most definitely not ashamed to be fan-girlling, she loved the previous movies and had always been a fan of superhero’s but she pinned that down to the fact she grew up with brothers, and chick flicks were the last thing on the movie menu. The drinks were poured and passed around, Tom giving a small speech about the usual - how grateful and excited he was to be working with everyone, how he couldn’t wait to get started and put his take on the classic.

Tom was his usual, charming self as he made his way around the room to meet everyone and introduce himself; all the time keeping an eye on the girl in the yellow suit. He admired the way she looked smart and professional, but also how her converse and tee shirt brought her back down to normal level. He loved the way her caramel hair hung in loose curls from her pony tail, the shorter front parts of her curls framing around her face, apart from when she would reach up and took them behind her ears.

Evie kept her flute in her hand, not once taking a sip from the fizzy liquid in the glass. She wasnt one to mix business and pleasure, and considering she was head of contractual agreements, she figured she’d have to be drafting up a pretty quick signable paper for Tom to ensure he would not leak the news. Michael was big on secrets, he thought it added to the suspense of a film release. “This is our quiz buff and apparent movie researcher, Paris Kershaw,” Michael spoke, interrupting the conversation between Paris and Evie. Paris’ cheeks flushed red, once again, as Tom outstretched his hand, shaking hers firmly. He’d probably given more handshakes than he’d had hot dinners, so it was very strong and Evie couldn’t help but bite her lower lip as his bicep muscle flexed, the hem of his shirt sleeve stretched against his skin. “And this young lady, is here to make sure what happens at Sony, stays at Sony,” he smiled, holding his hand out to her to signal who he was talking about and she brought her own hand up, modestly waving and smiling. Tom outstretched his arm again and Evie reciprocated, taking his gentle offer. She thought she stopped breathing for a short second when they touched, his thumb wrapping around the back of her hand and gripping with power.

“Evie.” She smiled, realising she was yet to introduce herself, most probably embarassing herself in front of not only her boss and colleagues, but now a movie star.

Tom’s hand tugged at Evie’s arm, surprisingly to her, as she stumbled forwards, the front of her body crashing into his. “Tom.” he had smiled back in the process, as if he hadn’t been introduced a million times and was the sole reason everyone was there. His other hand snaked around Evie’s back, resting on the lower part and she became suddenly nervous, only continuing to hold onto the hand shake in the meantime. “Nice to meet you.” He added, face hovering next to hers and breath fanning against her ear. It was at that moment she got goosebumps, tensing up and only able to nod in return.

#tom holland #tom holland x oc #tom holland fanfic #tom holland smut #tom holland fluff #tom holland angst #th x oc

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capnjay21 · 4 years

Text

A House is Never Still 5/6

Five years ago, Emma Swan disappeared under mysterious circumstances. Killian Jones’ disappearance, well, not so mysterious – given the denizens of Storybrooke all but blamed him for her murder. Drawn back to town by a series of strange events, he soon realises the story of what really happened the night she vanished is beginning to unravel, and what’s more: it isn’t over.

A/N: this week really got away from me - but here is chapter five! some answers are finally upon us, as we rattle towards the story's conclusion. thank you so so so much for everyone’s support, and as ever I send many large buckets and spades of thanks to @hollyethecurious for this glorious aesthetic - which, really, made the fic write itself. enjoy!

Rating: T

Warnings: mentions of suicide, canonical character death, and some Spooky Business™.

Continuing the tiny taglist I started last time - but if you want off this list, just let me know and I promise I will not be offended! <3 <3 and if anyone happens to want on the list for the last part, just give me a buzz!

@snowbellewells @carpedzem @kmomof4 @optomisticgirl

AO3 | one | two | three | four

-/-

5 - ghosts were created

October 25th 2014 – 5 Years Ago

She managed to catch David, Regina and Mary Margaret before they headed home after school, and drew them around the back of the building in order to afford some privacy. First, Emma had shown them the dagger, and then she had told them about the visit she and Killian had paid to Belle Gold. Then finally, and she had hoped Killian would forgive her for doing so, she had filled in some of the gaps in their knowledge surrounding the circumstances of Liam Jones’ suicide – the house, the papers, stuff they might have been too young to fully realise when it happened. And the fact that, some weeks before he died, he had been exploring the possibility of something more… supernatural making itself known within Brooke House. Something that the existence of the dagger might now lend far greater credence to.

Her fingertips tingled with the strange truth of it all.

Magic existed, and Emma did not know how much that changed the world.

They had been silent for a long time, exchanging doubtful looks that Emma understood but did not care for, but when it became clear she wasn’t going to jump up and shout ‘just kidding!’, David was the first to speak up.

“This is crazy, you know that, don’t you? You know this is crazy.”

“I know how it sounds,” she said, willing herself to look as sincere as possible. “And without the dagger I’d have written it all off as completely mad.” She gestured to the aforementioned implement, sitting on the ground between the four of them. None of them seemed to want to touch it.

“How did you find the dagger?” Mary Margaret asked.

Emma felt her cheeks warm, and thought about how she had found herself back at Brooke House last night. None of it was clear in her memory, just vague flashes of feeling, and it was a struggle to try and muddle through the fog. When she had awoken in her room she had been tired and groggy, and it certainly felt like she had been up half the night – but the truth was she just couldn’t know for sure if that strange, breathless walk by midnight was something she had imagined. Whatever had happened, stumbling about the woods at night in her pyjamas made her an idiot, so she had already decided she would be leaving that detail out.

“I left something at the house yesterday,” she said, avoiding a lie. “I went back for it after we’d all left, and I found it there.”

David had been for dinner at Mary Margaret’s house – there was nothing to suggest anything otherwise had happened.

Regina stalked forward and reached down for the dagger, whipping it off the ground with speed; to her surprise, Emma felt herself almost lunging forward to stop her before she stayed the movement. The callous handling of the dagger was suddenly so distressing to her. She forced herself to stay put, and let Regina carry on her examination. She traced the tip of a perfectly manicured finger over the grooves where Liam’s name had been carved into it.

“Alright, say it’s true,” she declared imperiously, eyes snapping onto Emma. David made to protest and Regina silenced him by raising a hand. “Say all of it is true. That there’s something going on with that house, and that it has something to do with how Liam died. If so, then why on earth are we messing around with the same stuff? If it’s all connected, surely following directly in his footsteps is a way to get us all dead at the bottom of that ravine.”

She flinched at the harshness of her words, but could understand the sentiment. Emma had been turning the same thought over in her mind the entire day – these were clearly forces beyond their understanding, maybe even beyond their control. So she decided to reveal one final detail.

“The truth is…” Emma began reluctantly. God, she hoped Killian would forgive her for saying this. “They never found a body. Liam’s body, I mean. There was enough evidence to suggest he had definitely been in the car, enough to rule out any reasonable doubt. And the river down there is aggressive, so the consensus was that it was probably swept out to sea. But they never actually found anything.”

Killian had told her this once, quietly. Had whispered it into the air when they were thirteen, as if he had just wanted to see how it would sound to admit out loud that, sometimes, he imagined it meant Liam was still alive.

Regina’s eyes dropped warily to the dagger in her hands. Liam Jones, it still said. As if worried she might meet a similar fate, she carefully laid it back on the ground and stepped away.

“What if this means that not only was Liam not crazy, but it could mean… well, I don’t have to spell it out.”

She didn’t want to say it, because to give it a voice would make it sound ludicrous and outrageous and would probably make them all give up on the idea, herself included. The others felt the same, she could sense it, but they were also all thinking the same thing.

What if it meant that something else had happened to Liam Jones? That maybe, and there was the slimmest chance for it, but it was there all the same – that Killian’s most fervent, irrational hope might be true. That he was still alive.

“Then we have to try.”

Emma was surprised to see it was Mary Margaret who had spoken, but felt immensely relieved to hear it. She had been sure the other girl would be the hardest to persuade.

David almost looked alarmed. “You believe all this?”

“I don’t know what I believe,” she said, and Emma could see doubt still marred her expression. “But I know what I hope, for Killian. If there’s any chance… we owe it to him to do this.”

Emma agreed wholeheartedly. “Exactly.”

Trying to summon some kind of evil spirit, or demon, or whatever she had felt inside that house may not be exactly what they wanted to do, but whether it succeeded or not, whether it was real or not, helping Killian was more important than any of that. Best case scenario, they discovered something important, something that changed theirs and Killian’s lives forever. Worst case scenario, it might stop Killian wondering. It might bring him some form of closure.

Emma picked up the dagger, and the metal felt warm to the touch. Welcoming. As if it were telling her to believe this would work, in the best way that they all wanted. It strengthened her resolve.

David and Regina exchanged looks, but they also agreed.

Which was what brought them later to the end of the gravel driveway of the group home, after Emma had asked Archie if Killian was around to come outside and join them. It still felt somewhat odd, even after a year had passed, to be knocking on the front door to the group home and behaving like a guest. In a lot of ways it still was her home, Archie’s kindly smile still her welcome, the redbrick walls the backdrop to her life. It was here she had experienced most of the formative moments of her life.

Although she cared very deeply for both David and Ruth, and was grateful for everything they had done for her, the quietly realised truth in her heart was that they had come a little too late.

Killian looked bewildered as they all recounted what they had decided eagerly, talking over each other in their enthusiasm to let him know they were here, they wanted to help, they’d do whatever he needed them to. He took the dagger from Emma as if in a daze, tracing the letters of his brother’s name faintly, but tenderly.

“You’d do this?” he said finally, still uncertain. “For me?”

“Of course,” Regina replied smoothly, as if just an hour earlier she hadn’t been voicing her own, significant doubts. “We’re your friends.”

“We’re in this together,” David agreed. “But you definitely have Emma to thank.”

Emma felt her face flush when he turned his gaze on her, and memories of their time spent at Granny’s on her birthday swam to the surface. He was looking at her like she’d hung the stars.

That wasn’t it at all – she’d just found the dagger, nothing more. Killian had done all the legwork. She was just stitching the fragments together.

His lips parted, and she had a sudden urge to stop him as she felt he might say something horrendously heartfelt and embarrassing in front of the others, so she spoke over him quickly.

“You can thank me later,” she said briskly, flashing him a smile. “But we’ve got to catch ourselves a demon first.”

They agreed on the following night, Thursday, as they didn’t have school on Friday thanks to a local holiday. After they parted ways, Killian keeping a tight hold of the dagger, Emma felt a certain buoy in her step but she couldn’t really work out why – it was that powerful sense of doing, of really getting ready to achieve something for a friend that had her so motivated.

David teased her about it, but she let him. Her mind was already on tomorrow evening, and the secrets they might uncover in the walls of Brooke House.

-/-

Present Day

Killian – Killian, don’t –!

Killian jerked himself back to the present.

When David had asked to meet him he couldn’t help the surge of relief within him; it hadn’t done much for his already troubled mind to remain at odds with the other man, especially not when he was one of the few people in Storybrooke who didn’t actively shoot poison at him through their eyes whenever they passed him on the street. He knew his continued association with Regina couldn’t have gone unnoticed, nor their frequent trips out into the forest while they visited Brooke House. They had spent a few days with their full, combined efforts on the house, but had turned up nothing.

Unless he was alone, Emma refused to make her presence known. With every passing day, Regina’s scepticism that there was anything to be found in Brooke House continued to grow, and he knew he was running out of time.

He had promised the dark, moonlit vision of Emma that he would help her escape Brooke House; she had begun instructing him immediately. She suggested herbs to burn and in which order, phrases to be spoken aloud and the intention with which they should be uttered, and Killian had begun slipping some of these practices into he and Regina’s attempts, passing them off as something he had learnt while he was away. What the spectre of the house did not realise was that he fully intended to release Emma – his Emma, and her alone. He was sure she was in there, she just had to be. The only thing left to figure out was how to get her out, and weakening some of the enchantments around the house had to play a part in that. So for now, their goals somewhat aligned.

David had asked to meet by the lake in Memorial Park, and Killian had arrived a good ten minutes early. It was only because his plan for the morning had been for naught – on a whim, and because it was nearby, he had decided to visit the group home. He wasn’t exactly sure why. Mostly, he felt like the person he wanted to speak to most was Archie Hopper, and although he had been hoping he might run into him around town by an act of providence, it was yet to occur.

Archie’s counsel hadn’t always been something welcome to Killian. He had been a stable enough figure in his teenage years, when stability had been the thing he lacked most in the world, but after Emma’s disappearance Killian had forced a gulf between them as wide as he could muster. He hadn’t wanted to look at Archie’s kind, sad face any longer, and he had vehemently rejected any attempts of comfort, or wisdom, when all he had wanted was to be angry that the world was not done taking people from him.

They had spent much of the year on bad terms, but had departed on worse. Their final argument after Killian announced his plans to leave town the evening following graduation had been full of vitriol and spite – all stemming from himself. Archie had wanted him to stay, to grow, to move past his personal tragedies and face those who condemned him. Killian had wanted to disappear. With reluctance, the older man had let him go – but the worst of it was that this had only made more concrete his younger self’s belief that nobody would fight for him anymore, not even Archie.

With age he could see the affection Archie had borne for him for what it was – genuine, and without conditions. He had been able to feel his heart pounding as he raised a knuckle to the old wooden door of the group home, anxious at the idea of meeting him again, of giving the apology he knew to be long overdue.

He needn’t have fretted. The social worker at the door informed him, rather tersely, that Archie had moved on some years ago and no longer worked there. Perhaps his disappointment had shown rather more clearly than he intended, as the young woman took pity on him and told him that the last she had heard he had moved to Portland, but even that information might now be outdated. She offered to see if a forwarding address had been left for him, but Killian assured her it was fine, and thanked her for her trouble.

His heart felt like a lead weight. There was so much he had wanted to say, and he was sure he might never get the chance to now. To clear his head he had taken a few turns around the park, but like everywhere else in Storybrooke it was drenched in memories of Emma, sweet and sad, of water fights on the grass or climbing trees as tall as their younger bodies could manage.

Before long, he found himself at the edge of the lake, awaiting David’s arrival. The afternoon was brisk, and he was regretting his decision not to wear gloves as his fingers felt brittle and slow, now curled up in the pockets of his jacket. The sky had turned a bruised grey, and the surrounding forest left the surface of the water the murky colour of moss, disturbed only by the occasional ripple of wildlife or the breeze brushing across it.

“Hey.”

Killian turned and found David striding towards him, a look of trepidation clear on his face. David had always worn all of his emotions on his sleeve. They exchanged a few awkward pleasantries, but it didn’t take long for David to jump to the heart of the matter.

“I’m sorry I blew up at you,” he said quickly. “It was unfair.”

“You don’t need to apologise,” Killian assured him. “You were right – I haven’t been here. I should have been more sensitive to how much things had changed.”

For a moment he thought about the first few months of their senior year, before it all happened. The five of them had been thick as thieves. Killian and Regina had always been friendly due to a shared acerbic sense of humour, but it wasn’t until Emma had brought David and Mary Margaret into their lives that he had really, truly begun to think of anyone else other than Emma as a close friend.

Killian could almost see them now, clustered in a circle at the end of the driveway of the group home, telling him in no uncertain terms that they’d like to give summoning a demon a go, just because friendship didn’t need any other excuses.

“I know you don’t care for Regina much anymore, but she’s been really helpful.” He let out a long breath. “Still has the emotional capacity of a lawnmower, but in her own way I think she’s been looking for Emma all this time.”

Looking for magic, looking for purpose, perhaps. To Killian it was all the same thing.

“We tried to be there for her, after her dad died,” David shrugged, but he clearly carried some remorse over it. “She didn’t want to know.”

That didn’t surprise him. She had only been nineteen, and she had become distant enough after Emma disappeared, even to him. With a twinge of regret he considered that perhaps his sudden up and leaving after graduation didn’t do much for her ability to rely on others, not that she would ever admit it. Just one more thing he’d done wrong that year.

They started walking, catching up properly in a way they hadn’t had a chance to since Killian came back to town. David talked about his job at the animal shelter, where old schoolmates had ended up, how Ruth was faring. Killian coasted over the harsher details, but tried to give David a similar recount of what he had been doing with himself over the past five years. It mostly consisted of travel stories, of the odder jobs he had picked up on the road in order to keep himself afloat. He didn’t want to talk about living hand to mouth, of the multitude of nights he had spent freezing and sleeping fitfully in his car, or the reasons he had chosen certain places to visit, and their penchant towards the supernatural. It was easier to pick the funnier things to talk about, and he sensed David knew he wasn’t telling the whole story, but probably preferred it that way.

After a little while, when they had almost exhausted every other curiosity, Killian finally decided to bring it up.

“Do you want to come?” he asked, gently. “To Brooke House?”

David’s steps faltered, and Killian could see his eyebrows had knitted together in concern.

He swallowed. “Is – is she –?”

“She’s there,” Killian admitted, even if he hadn’t done the same for Regina. David had seen her, after all. A troubled mix of joy and trepidation overcame David’s expression, a smile threatening to pull at the corners of his mouth, and although Killian hated to pull the rug from under him, he didn’t think it would be fair to give him false hope. “She’s… not herself. But I think you know that.”

David deflated instantly.

“So it’s – it’s what I thought, then. It’s not really her. Emma. It’s just… that house.”

Killian had found himself wondering the same thing. “I’m not sure. I’m investigating, Regina is helping me.” He hesitated, but decided to offer again. “Do you want to come?”

Emma had been special to David in ways far different to Killian. Killian may have shared a roof with Emma for many more years than David had, but he was under no illusion as to what his true feelings for Emma had been – David’s had been much more fraternal. The idea of not being able to protect her had hit him particularly hard, even if Emma had only ever indulged his strong sense of brotherly vigilance with an arched eyebrow.

It would be difficult for him to see her as she was now; fragile, unhinged. Twisted. It was why Killian had initially wanted him as far from it all as possible.

To his surprise, David actually agreed with him.

“No, I – I don’t, really,” he said, wincing as if he were afraid Killian might be cross. How could he be, when he understood better than anyone? “I want to remember her the way she was. I don’t want this to…”

He trailed off. Killian tried to look as understanding as possible, to assure him it was all perfectly fine. From the miserable look David was giving him, he wasn’t sure he succeeded.

“I should never have called you,” he muttered with dismay, “and put you through all this again. I brought you right back into it.”

Killian smiled ruefully. “The truth is, David, I never really left it.”

For a long while they were silent, only the rustling of trees surrounding them, and Killian felt that even the chirping of birds sounded morose and downcast.

It was difficult to find reasons to stay cheerful.

“Let me take you somewhere,” David said finally. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to show you.”

Seeing no reason not to, he allowed David to take the lead. He led them farther into Memorial Park, and Killian realised with reluctance that he was taking them in the direction of the old chapel behind the Convent of the Sisters of Saint Meissa. He wasn’t too thrilled about it, not just because of the unhappy association with Belle Gold that the convent reminded him of, but also because he had a strong inkling of why he was being brought here, and he didn’t much care for it.

Following David past the chapel, his sense of foreboding only grew as they began to walk cautiously among the headstones of the graveyard, many weathered with age and moss as if they had sprouted from the ground themselves. After they had passed a tall statue of a woman cradling her face in her hands, David slowed to a stop and turned.

Killian froze. From where he stood, he could see only the back of the headstone. The stone was light, an unremarkable, opalescent grey, unmarked by time. It was impossible to see whose name had been engraved across it without closing the distance between he and David and turning around, but it was also impossible to imagine it being for anyone else.

Killian stood, stranded between it being her and not being her, and felt a weary agitation begin to rise in his gut.

“I – can’t.”

David seemed to understand, for he didn’t beckon him any closer.

It was odd, Killian felt, that David could not bear to see Emma alive, but at Brooke House – and yet Killian could not bear to think of her dead, at peace, in the earth.

“We had a service, just a little while after graduation,” he said, quietly, crouching down in front of the stone. “When they officially closed the investigation. I didn’t want to, it felt like… but I agreed for Mom, you know?”

Ruth had taken Emma’s disappearance almost as hard as Killian had. Certainly as hard as Archie had, and Killian had done nothing but punish him for it.

“I wanted to invite you. I would have invited you.” The hurt in his tone was unmistakable. “I had no idea where you were or how to contact you.”

A full year had passed by the time Killian tried to touch base with his friends from Storybrooke – he had bought a phone, and texted David the number. By then he had missed the death of Regina’s father, and whatever event had finally made the gulf between her, Mary Margaret and David unbridgeable. Truly, he was relieved. Killian didn’t have the heart to tell him just how vehemently an invitation to a funeral service for Emma would have been rejected.

He said nothing.

“It might help,” David suggested. “To see it.” He reached out the tip of his fingers to gently trace the words, gaze flickering up to where Killian stood a few feet away. Killian shook his head tightly. “Maybe it would be better if we all just let go.”

Killian struggled with his reply, forcing down the wave of indignation that came with the suggestion. “I appreciate what you’re trying to say, Dave. But I can’t. If roles were reversed, Emma would never have let go of me.”

She didn’t, in fact, when Killian had been nothing more than a ghost himself. Twelve-years-old and she had clung on tight.

David acquiesced, but he did not look like he agreed.

They waited for a little while, breathing between the whistle of birdsong, remembering. Then David stood, and wordlessly they began the slow walk back into the park. Killian left the headstone unread.

In his fractured heart, there was nothing else but her. There was no other choice.

-/-

October 29th – 10 Years Ago

Killian’s new room was cold.

The group home was much airier than the little flat he had shared with Liam, which had been only a small bedroom attached to a sitting room. They had just one window, and in the summer it had been unbearably hot; he had spent many an hour sat miserably in front of the cheap fan Liam had picked up from a convenience store, begging for fall. When they moved in Liam had insisted Killian take the only bedroom while he slept in the sitting room, which Killian did not envy in the balmier evenings.

By contrast, the group home was all flat edges and cold surfaces. The corridors were so wide you could fit three people standing abreast, and footfalls against the landing echoed noisily against the walls of the building. This room he also had to himself, but it felt too big. Another empty bed rested against the opposite wall, a reminder that at some point, this space would be shared – it wasn’t really his. Not the way his room in Liam’s flat had been. He didn’t want to unpack his suitcase. It would be like admitting that all his worldly possessions belonged here now, where someone else could pick them up and touch them whenever they liked.

He missed Liam.

He missed Liam so much, he could feel hot, angry tears begin to well in his eyes every time he thought about it.

Curling his knees up to his chest, Killian took a steady breath and tried not to cry. They wanted him to go back to school on Monday, and he didn’t think he could make it through seventh grade if everyone thought he was the kind of kid that cried.

There was a sharp, abrupt knock at the door. The impatient rapping of knuckles against old wood. Killian hurriedly wiped his eyes, but the visitor didn’t wait for him to invite them in. He supposed he might have to get used to that.

In tumbled a girl with blonde hair and bright green eyes, who he knew took one look at his red-rimmed eyes and decided immediately to pretend she didn’t realise he was crying, by marching over to his window and looking out. Even this act of compassion made him burn with humiliation, piss off, he wanted to scream, he didn’t need their pitying looks. He didn’t want their kindness.

He just wanted Liam back.

The girl whirled around, and to his consternation she was smiling like she was in on the joke.

“Another banner year, right?”

Killian blinked. “What?”

“We’ve all got ghosts here.”

At the mention of ghosts Killian bristled, his mind flashing back to the headline on the newspaper in Archie’s office. The man had tried to hide it once he realised Killian was staring, but he had seen it. The social workers had told him Liam wasn’t well, and that was why he had done it. Killian knew he had been perfectly well, and that the rest of the town thought he was completely mad and believed in ghosts and thought that was why he had decided to do it. Killian didn’t know either way. He just wished he hadn’t done it.

Killian directed the cold fury that headline had ignited in him at the intruder. “Are you making fun of me?”

“No,” she said shortly, and she looked offended at the idea. She looked familiar to Killian, and he had a feeling she was in his grade at school – he thought he might’ve seen Regina speaking to her a few times. Regina was the only sort-of friend he had made so far in Storybrooke. Sort-of, because he felt like they weren’t really friends, so much as aware of the fact that no one else really wanted to be their friend, so they may as well stick together.

Killian didn’t care about Regina right now. He just wanted this girl to bugger off, and for him to get Liam back.

“I’m just saying, we’ve all got tragic backstories in here. No one will be all that bothered by yours by Tuesday.”

This was not all that reassuring. The idea of Liam fading into memory made him feel even more wretched.

“What’s yours then?” he said, rather nastily. Mostly because he wanted her to go.

His tone didn’t phase her in the slightest. Instead she dropped on the opposite bed and ticked them off on her fingers one-by-one, as if they were a grocery list.

“Parents abandoned me by the side of the freeway when I was a baby, got carried to the nearest diner but the boy who brought me in vanished three months later, got adopted by a family until I was three but then they had kids of their own so they took me back.” She grinned wryly. “Thank God they still had the receipt, right?”

Killian eyed her warily; she spoke with the sort of nonchalance that suggested she would allow him to make fun of her the same way she was making fun of herself, but it was also completely transparent. It was obvious these experiences were painful for her, even to talk about as a joke. And from the sounds of it she’d been living in a group home all of her life. Her whole life in big, cold rooms like this. The thought of it made Killian balk.

Despite himself, he felt a twinge of sympathy for her. For both her determined eyes and her bravado, too. He knew what that was like.

“What are you doing?”

“Talking,” the girl replied, giving him an odd look. “With you, I thought.”

“Why?” he demanded.

She shrugged. Killian didn’t remember if he’d seen her with any friends at school, all he could really remember were those few nebulous occasions she had spoken to Regina around him. He didn’t know her name, which definitely meant she wasn’t friends with the bigger, more boisterous groups in his class. That was okay, though. He didn’t particularly care for them either.

There was only one thing Liam had wanted out of him at school. It didn’t matter what grades he got, or whether he was good at sports or got involved in clubs. All Liam had ever made him commit to was being kind.

And the last thing he had said to Liam had venom enough to last for the rest of his life.

I’m not finished, his brother had barked, don’t you walk away from me.

If he had known it would be the last time – which, Killian had learnt, was what made last times so devastating, you never really knew when they would be – he might not have slammed his bedroom door and refused to come out.

But who could say, now?

Thinking about Liam had the same affect it had for the last few weeks – it was like a punch to the gut. He could feel the frustration that had started building since they put him in that room begin to ebb away, feeling much calmer in a matter of moments.

Kindness, that was all Liam had asked for. That wasn’t so hard, was it?

“What’s your name?” he asked.

The change in tack cheered her up immensely and she grinned. “Emma.”

Emma, right. Yeah, he remembered now. Emma sat right at the back of class, near Leroy. Definitely one of the least desirable seats in the room.

“I’m Killian.”

Something easier settled between them, but it didn’t completely assuage the awkwardness. Killian felt tired. He stared at his suitcase, still zipped tightly shut, and he still wasn’t really ready to make it otherwise. He could sense Emma following his gaze.

“So,” she said brightly, to draw his attention away. “Do you wanna know where Archie hides the good snacks?”

After a moment’s hesitation Killian relented, and when she bounded over to the door he followed suit.

Somehow, the prospect of going back to school on Monday seemed just a little less daunting. Maybe, he thought privately, he could ask if Emma wanted to sit by him instead.

That would be nice.

-/-

Present Day

“That’s it,” Regina declared glumly. “That’s the last spell I have in here. We have officially tried everything that might be relevant.”

The air was scented distinctly by a combination of cedar and sweetgrass, thick enough that Killian could feel it catching in the back of his throat. He flapped a hand in front of his face, suppressing a cough, and reached for the bottle of water he had brought with him. The haze had started to rise into the high ceiling, and Killian could spot it escaping through a gap in the brickwork where a roof slate had come loose near the top corner of the room. In his opinion, Regina had somewhat overdone it on the herbs; she had a tendency to rely on the more physical ingredients required, and actually ignored the fact that she did appear to have a natural instinct for the craft.

It was normal, he supposed, for somebody trying to dip their feet into something as intangible as the mystique, to try and ground themselves in more physical expressions of it – but she didn’t need to. Not that she would welcome his advice.

Besides, he was somewhat put out by her announcement. “Everything?”

“Short of getting down on my knees and begging, yes, everything.”

Killian snorted. “Now that would be real magic.”

It had been a week already, and nothing had changed. Whenever Regina was inside it, Brooke House remained vacant, a gaping wound they kept determinedly placing themselves inside, suggesting nothing at all beyond brick and rotted wood and revealing even less. To every suggestion or provocation they made, the answer was only silence, and Killian could already see Regina losing hope. Either in her own abilities or in the idea that there was anything to find, he couldn’t be sure, but neither boded well for continuing their efforts.

Privately, Emma goaded him into bringing the dagger to the house. Every night she coaxed and cajoled, only to rage and curse once she realised he had not brought it – he daren’t, not yet. Unknowingly, Regina had helped him loosen the chokehold the spirit claimed the house held on it, and the final step was bringing her the dagger.

The way Killian saw it, the looser the hold, the nearer to the surface Emma must be.

But nothing they tried looked like it had made any impact. Every night, Emma was the same. Beguiling and capricious, aggressive and cold. And he was running out of time.

“There has to be something else,” he insisted, stepping across the room to where Regina had left her book of shadows and began flipping through the pages.

Irked, Regina stepped over to join him. “You’re right, why would I know all the options in my own book?” she scowled, peering over his shoulder at whichever page happened to be open. “Why don’t we try that fertility spell and see what happens? I’ll get the pinecones, shall I?”

“Very funny.”

“I mean it, Killian. That’s it. There’s nothing else in here worth trying.” When Killian still looked chagrined, Regina’s expression softened. She laid a hand on his arm. “Do you really think I’d hold anything back if it were for Emma?”

Resigning, Killian shook his head. He let out a long breath. “I just don’t like dead ends.”

“Neither do I. But have you considered we are not the problem?”

The air felt too thick. The herbs had mixed with the musty smell of the old furniture and left a stench in the air like something unpleasant had congealed, or gone rotten. Deciding he needed to get something a little fresher in his lungs, and feeling oddly like he didn’t want this conversation to be observed by the walls of the house, Killian gestured for her to follow him out of the front door.

The afternoon was beginning to shift from a light coolness to something much colder, the forest a palette of dappled light through a deep, copper canvas. From the outside, Brooke House looked like it always did. Silent. Daring. Even without their history together, it begged to be explored.

“I’ve always wondered,” he said lowly, watching the house with a critical eye, “why Liam got involved in all of this in the first place.”

Without Liam, they would never have started down this path. The house, Belle Gold, the rotted pieces of orange string tied around the peeling skin of old birch trees. Killian reached for one nearby, picking absently at the knot, hardened through time and years of ill treatment by the elements.

“He was restoring the house,” Regina offered cautiously. “That’s what everyone says.”

He had certainly begun that way – you could tell that much just by looking at the work he had started on the far wall of the sitting room.

“But then why the rest of it? Why did he go to see Belle?”

“Maybe he found the same picture you did – he could’ve just wanted to know more about the house.”

The same questions and the same answers he had cycled through hundreds, thousands of times before, once again began the lap around his consciousness. Brooke House had taken so much already and he still understood so little about it. There was the dagger, for one. Emma’s name was on the dagger now, and that twisted, dark vision of her in the house was what remained, with his Emma buried deep inside.

Liam’s name had been on the dagger once, back before Emma had disappeared. Could that mean –?

No. Liam had been in the car. He’d been over this a hundred times; they said the evidence was incontrovertible. He’d been in the car that crashed into the river even if they never found his body.

Even if once, quietly, he had admitted to Emma that sometimes he imagined that meant he was still alive – somehow.

And say they were all wrong; if Liam wasn’t in the car and had ever been like Emma was now, why didn’t he appear before?

But Liam’s name had been on that dagger. And he was only just scratching the surface on what that might mean.

Killian scrubbed a hand over his chin thoughtfully.

“Gold – Belle’s husband – she said he went to Brooke House because he knew there was a power inside it, and he wanted it. To… possess it, I suppose. And that’s ultimately why he disappeared.” There was power inside it, certainly. And Killian didn’t doubt its ability to lure someone out of their homes, their lives, and seduce them with the promise of something more. “But Liam wasn’t like that.”

But Liam, but Liam, but Liam.

Killian had never been able to reconcile the two motives in his mind. Gold wanted to control the spirit, but what had Liam wanted? He had done all the work for them with regard to summoning the demon; he had doodled the key elements to the ritual on an old piece of paper and had stuffed it in his toolbox. Killian could see the scribbled note as clearly as if it were still in his hand. Salt circle. Curvy dagger. Five points. Where had he gotten all this from? And what did he want from it?

And after all of that, the same question hammered against his skull with ever pressing urgency. It had been ten years since Liam Jones had driven his car over the edge of the ravine, but Killian could still barely restrain himself from hurling his head back and screaming until the heavens gave him an answer.

Why?

Why did he do it?

The gaunt face of Emma Swan from that first night swam before him, promising to give him every answer he had ever asked for, in exchange for her freedom. Maybe the only thing left was to give it to her, and damn the consequences. It might, for one sparing second, finally quiet all the tumult that had lived within him for far too long. Put the ghosts to rest.

Get Emma back.

“The darkness is seductive,” Regina said, but Killian had already forgotten what he had said before it. “Even for the kindest of souls.”

So good of you to come and see me.

“Come on,” he said, after a long moment, “let’s just go get our stuff.”

It was with great reluctance that they gathered their things back in the sitting room. Killian packed away each piece of his equipment with greater care than necessary, slowing down the process enormously. Regina seemed to mirror his sentiment as she started to needlessly take inventory of every herb or crystal she had brought with her, and which of them she was expecting to take back. She even decided to pack away the old scarlet scarf that had been there since the house had returned, and lifted the Ouija board from the ground. Killian knew why.

She was not planning to come back.

It felt right, somehow, to remove all evidence of their ever having been there, even as Killian’s heart began to feel heavy at the prospect. He already knew he would be returning tonight, and he would bring the dagger, finally. Only sights unseen could decide what happened now.

“Killian.”

It was quiet, but sharp. For a moment Killian didn’t register that Regina had spoken, until he looked over his shoulder and saw her staring, frozen, at the darkest wall, the one opposite the front window. The one Liam had abandoned his work on all that time ago, where he had pulled part of the wallpaper away and begun scrubbing at the dirt underneath.

It was not the curling, rotted sheet of wallpaper that Regina was looking at now, but the bared wood panelling that had rested underneath it. Killian knew this because there was something there now that had not been there before.

Written in bold, spiky letters on the wall in some kind of permanent marker, was the word COME.

Killian’s heart began to pound. As he rose hesitantly to his feet, he could feel more than hear the floorboards groan with protest underneath him.

“Don’t,” Regina got out, when he started towards the wall. “We – don’t know where that came from.”

Killian thought he had an idea.

As he approached, he could hear his own blood rushing in his ears, thumping, beating, alive, he had never felt so alive, so sure, so ready for whatever came next. COME, it beckoned, he came, and lifted a trembling finger to the wall to touch the letters. The end of the black pen lines faded into a patchy grey, as if they had been scribbled in a hurry. Killian traced the edge of the E, and realised the end of it extended beneath the wallpaper.

Digging his fingertips underneath it, Killian grimaced as the paper was moist to the touch, and then ripped at it as harshly as he could. A strip of it came clean away, and his eyes widened once he saw what was underneath it.

Another word. LISTEN.

In a frenzy he dug again, harder this time, but pried with a little less force, hoping to bring more of the paper away in one go. The entire sheet pulled away, tearing in his fingers and baring the entire panel down to the ground.

Regina audibly sucked in a breath.

COME, it had said, LISTEN.

But that had only been half of the message.

In a daze, Killian suddenly remembered a detail of the night Emma had stolen his kiss that had slipped from his mind, something hastily stuffed into a bookcase upstairs and promptly forgotten about.

COME LISTEN TO YOUR RECORDER.

-/-

October 26th – 5 Years Ago

They were far quieter this time around.

Their plans had to be put off until long after dark had fallen, for convenience’s sake and in order to avoid arousing suspicions from unaware parents – and because they all knew (but would not own up to) they probably had a greater chance of success by attempting the ritual at night. The moon was bright and full, and Brooke House was lit only by the constant flicker of torchlight and the clear, silver shadow it cast through the sitting room window.

Killian had cradled the dagger close to him while Emma had shouldered a bag full of his black marker, the candles and the salt he had stolen from under Archie’s nose again. Regina had brought her Ouija board, for no other reason than because it felt appropriate, and David had brought an Apollo chocolate bar.

“What?” he had said defensively, his mouth barely forming around the word as the wrapper crinkled in his grasp. “I’m hungry.” He had brought one for Mary Margaret too.

Emma had quickly decided that they all looked ridiculous. They were each dressed in as many layers as possible while still retaining motor function in order to combat the chill night air, highlights including Mary Margaret’s wide eyes being the only visible portion of her face as she had practically wrapped her entire upper body in a bright red scarf, while Emma struggled to keep her beanie from catching on errant low-hanging tree branches as they made their way there. She had always assumed looking cool was something that came naturally when you were as burdened with solemn purpose as they were, but all that really meant was nobody said much and everyone was nervous.

It was perplexing how much spookier Brooke House looked at night.

Where before Emma had seen vivid green ivy climbing the walls from its foundations, now she saw black, curling fingers creeping upwards with unfaltering progress. The cracked windows and shattered roof slates now looked threatening instead of symbol of fatigue, as if something from inside the house and pushed and screamed until the glass exploded and the roof flew open. She thought about the attic, about the thumping of the wardrobe door that had led her to the dagger, now clutched carefully in Killian’s grip like a prayer. Maybe they had already let the danger out. Or maybe there was more to find.

Without much preamble Killian had leapt up the steps to the front door, but the rest of them followed more slowly behind. Emma felt she could understand the source of their reluctance, as even her heart hammered with trepidation while her fingers trembled with excitement.

Magic was real and the world was different now.

Emma had thought that while she and Killian set up the pentagram and the salt circle, that the other three might play again with the Ouija board as they had the first time they had been there. They did not, instead sitting in almost silence while David munched on chocolate and Mary Margaret and Regina stared anywhere but at she and Killian making preparations. The board sat on the ground, untouched, the planchette a few feet away. Mary Margaret took off her scarf.

She had just finished setting up the last candle when Killian called them over, softly, and wordlessly they took their places at each point of the pentagram. The air felt damp like the forest outside, and tingled with something unsaid between them. Emma felt charged and ready to snap.

Killian cleared his throat. “Listen, whatever happens, whatever we find… I’m so grateful, to all of you.”

“We’re with you,” David said, and they all murmured their agreement. Emma took his hand.

Killian squeezed it once, tightly, and in the tremor of his fingers she could feel how nervous he was. Then he released her and reached for the matches, making his way around the circle and lighting each of the five candles, and they all switched off their torches as they did so. Soon, the only light came from the moon, and the flicker of candlelight in front of him.

Then, finally, he placed the dagger in its centre.

Emma heard something hiss, like the sudden suction of air after opening a can of soda. It was so brief that she almost thought she hadn’t heard it, but she knew she must have. Nobody else seemed to, though, so she pressed her lips together and chose not to mention it. The blade glittered in the warm orange glow of candlelight. Killian took his place by her, folding his legs beneath him. The candle left half of his face bathed in shadow, but Emma thought she could see his mouth moving, his eyes flickering closed for a moment. For a moment she imagined he might be praying, and resisted the urge to dismiss that notion as soon as it came to her. He hadn’t believed in any sort of deity for as long as she had known him, but nobody laughed at God when they were staring at the evidence that the world was already stranger than they had dreamt it.

Like before, they reached for the hands of those either side of them, completing the circle they had made on the first night. Except this time it wasn’t about them; it wasn’t about David and Mary Margaret, shyly but enthusiastically clutching at each other, it wasn’t about Regina’s desire to be heard or the impossible sounds that had come to Emma from the wardrobe upstairs. They knew what it was about, and they knew who. It seemed only natural that Killian would speak.

“Show yourself,” he said.

He announced this with confidence, as if he had already decided who it was they were speaking to. As if he knew them already. As if he had just been waiting for them to know him.

It began in much the same way it had before, except this time Emma knew what to expect.

She shut her eyes tightly, and felt the noises from outside the circle begin to dissipate; the rustle of the trees, the old creeks and groans they had come to expect from the ancient framework of Brooke House. The air had gone still, as if it, too, was holding its breath and waiting, and although she knew the others weren’t far from her, she could no longer sense their being close in the same way – it were as if they had all been thrust underwater, and the only true sensation was Killian’s hand in her right, and David’s hand in her left.

The temperature had begun to drop, as if by welcoming some spectral presence it had to absorb everything that made the room conducive to life, but a different kind of warmth had begun to vibrate from somewhere near her collarbone. It tugged at her, touched her, wanted her to lean forward.

Yes, it purred, come.

A low buzzing began to circle around them, and with it Emma began to feel the air moving again, picking up into a mild gust brushing past them and Mary Margaret let out a squeak of alarm.

“Don’t let go,” someone said. She thought it might have been Regina.

The breeze began to grow into a flurry, and Emma felt her beanie being whipped off her head and carried into some other dark part of the room. Orange light swam behind her eyelids as the flames from the candles darted about violently, but they did not go out as she would have expected them to. On they burned, and the buzz rose into a roar until it drowned out every other sound, and the buzz was now a whisper except it had always been a whisper, and she had no idea how she could have ever thought of it as otherwise. A thousand voices whirled about them in chorus, speaking too quickly or too loudly for Emily to distinguish any of the words, but when she heard the others gasp in fright her eyes flew open, and she couldn’t stop the noise of alarm she made once she saw what the others had been looking at.

The dagger was now floating above them, suspended in mid-air.

Even though she knew she was seeing it, and she knew exactly what she was seeing, Emma found it difficult to reconcile it with everything she knew to be real and true.

The world was different now.

“Why – why is it doing that?” David had to yell to be heard over the roar around them.

“Don’t break the circle!” Killian hollered back.

The air began to crackle, and Emma was again caught by the sensation that a storm was about to break out, and half expected to feel the patter or rain on the back of her neck. The wind was whipping her coat and her hair in all directions, but she tried to keep her focus on the dagger – which was the moment she realised it was vibrating, moving in such infinitesimal increments and with such speed that it was impossible to focus on its outline, and it had become a muddled blur of bruised grey and black.

Killian’s hand tightened on hers.

And that was when lightning struck.

Mary Margaret screamed. David let go of Emma’s hand to shield his face from the sudden blast, but it was unlike any kind of lightning Emma had ever seen before. It was aggressively black, and once it struck the dagger it stayed attached, like a sharp, pulsing vein, whirling violently in the squall. Then another struck. And again. And again. With more clashes so loud that her ears began to burn with heat, with pain, darkness latched itself onto the dagger hovering above them. She felt Killian’s touch like an anchor, keeping her tethered to the ground, and David’s loss was like a gaping hole in her side, a vacuum where something strong and indomitable should have been.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. She thought her face might already be wet, where tears had rolled down and struck her dumb and more than anything she wanted Killian to look at her, but his awestruck expression remained focus on the obsidian zephyr that had engulfed the dagger, swirling dangerously like a storm they were only just out of reach of.

It was too late, now, to put it back in the box.

They should never have done this.

Emma knew it like she knew the shape of her own heart, like she knew the jagged edges of Killian’s soul, like the sharp blade of her fishing knife, like David’s warm, warm embrace.

In Brooke House they had touched something evil, and flung its cage wide open.

Emma gasped, which was how she knew she was struggling for air.

She heard someone call her name, but she had no way of knowing who it might be. She couldn’t see through the vortex to Mary Margaret and Regina, David was cowering away and Killian, and Killian, and Killian.

Killian watched, his mouth open in a silent cry.

Liam, he said – his heart shouted it – Liam, Liam, Liam.

Emma tore her gaze back into darkness.

Which was when she realised someone was inside it.

The realisation struck her with the force of an icy wave. Struggling inside the hurricane there was a man, his arms held up to shield his face, his scream noiseless amongst the thousands of other voices the storm had brought with it, and it was clear he was trapped. Emma couldn’t see his expression but knew immediately that he must be in pain from his posture.

She jerked forwards – and suddenly she was in herself, in fact, she felt so aware of her arms and her hands and the shape of her own eyes that she hadn’t realised she had been away from them until that very moment. It felt like the way she had stumbled in front of Brooke House the night she found the dagger. She was dazed and released and confused but she could breathe, and with a jolt she remembered the man imprisoned inside the vortex.

Her head darted from side to side, but David didn’t look like he had seen him, he was reaching for Mary Margaret – Killian couldn’t have either, or he would not be so frozen and still, she was sure, she was the only one – she was the only one –

She was the only one who could –

“There’s – there’s someone in there!”

Killian had heard her, and immediately jerked his head to look at her. His mouth formed around Liam’s name, but Emma couldn’t hear it over the roaring in her ears. Killian’s eyes darted back to the dagger, unseeing, and he looked at Emma again, helpless. He couldn’t see the man.

Emma could see him.

She was the only one who could –

Emma let go of Killian’s hand.

His cry of alarm was the only thing she heard before she stood, stumbling against the force of the wind all around her.

“EMMA!”

The man saw her. His mouth opened in a silent scream.

She had to help him.

Emma hurled herself into the storm.

She was nothing but air. She was stirring, shattering, waiting, hoping, spinning, crying out, she was screaming, oh God she was screaming, thrusting, grasping, wanting, hurting, oh it hurt, it hurt, it burned like the day she had first been born, like the day she had made herself all over again. She pushed and she pushed and her arms were aching and there was blood, there was so much blood, but she felt something solid in front of her and her fist closed around it.

The dagger.

It was white hot to touch but she couldn’t let go, her hand was locked. It was all over her arms. Her wrists erupted in angry, crimson welts and she screamed, and she could see Regina, wide-eyed and fearful. She turned, she turned, she turned. She could see Mary Margaret. She turned, she turned, she turned. There was David, standing now, shouting, she couldn’t hear what he was shouting, his legs were braced, he was readying himself for a fight.

Where was the man?

Was he okay?

Unseen hands grasped at her skull, tugged and everything was a blur of colour except everything was white, and she gasped, and it hurt, and she couldn’t release the dagger, and the voice was telling her to let go, to let go, to let go.

Come, it hissed, listen –

She was being unmade.

And then she saw Killian.

She saw Killian and her heart hurt. She wanted and she wanted and she wanted and then she wanted more, she wanted everything from him, she wanted everything for him, he was yelling but she couldn’t hear him, and she wanted nothing more than to hear his voice and beckon him inside, yes, yes, every voice was screaming yes, bring him in, bring him in, bring him in –

No.

No one else.

Not one more person.

She wrenched her focus back onto Killian, she could see him ready to pounce, to throw himself into the hurricane and follow her, always to follow her, to the end of the world or time and –

And she loved him.

The darkness would not claim one more person. Not a single person, for as long as she was alive.

And she was alive.

She opened her mouth.

“Killian – Killian, don’t –!”

Her cry made him hesitate – and it was enough to stop him in his tracks.

It was enough, he was safe, and she let go.

-/-

As suddenly as the storm had struck, it was gone.

Gone was the wind, the noise, the charged black lightning, and the stench of something rotted, something old, something wanting. The dagger clattered down onto the ground.

David was the first to recover, breathing heavily, eyes wild.

“Where’s Emma? Where – where did she go?”

Over and over, Emma’s final cry rang like crystal in Killian’s ears.

Killian – Killian, don’t –!

It had all happened so fast.

He could still feel her hand slipping free from his grasp.

He’d been ready to jump in after her, if he’d been just a second quicker, if he hadn’t hesitated – why? Why did he hesitate?

Killian – Killian, don’t –!

Because he’d seen her eyes, black as charcoal, her wrists stained crimson. He didn’t think he would ever forget it; especially since it had made him falter. Since it had possibly cost them everything.

Killian tumbled forwards, reaching blindly for the dagger. He didn’t want to look at it, but he was sure he knew what he would find. The others were slowly coming back to their senses, recovering from the suddenness of something that had been very much there, suddenly not being there, and realising along with David that Emma had vanished. That Emma had let go of his hand. That Emma had screamed at him not to follow and he had obeyed.

In the second where everything had mattered most, he had been afraid, and he had obeyed.

“Bring her back.” It was David again, but Killian could scarcely even hear him. He felt like he was speaking to him through fog. “You bring her back right now, Jones, or I swear –!”

Killian never found out what he would swear to. His attention was fixed on the dagger, and he heard the breath escape the others once they realised what it was he was looking at.

The name engraved across the blade had changed. Liam Jones had gone.

He could still feel her hand slipping free from his grasp.

The dagger, glittering in the dark, now read Emma Swan.

In his bones, he already knew the devastating truth, even as his soul railed against it.

Killian – Killian, don’t –!

Emma was gone.

#jay writes #a house is never still #cs role reversal #cs fic #cs ff #captain swan #cs au #cs halloweek #killian jones #emma swan #i hope you guys enjoy this!

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