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milliedazzledust · 3 years

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Viens, Embrasse moi (Bucky Barnes imagine)

Request by @husherstan: One Shot with Bucky Barnes in which he and the reader are spies. Idk if you watched The Man From Uncle - American and Russian spies together to get an intel. They hate each other and have all that sexual tension. Based on the song ,,Les Yeux Noirs" by Pomplamoose (I have no idea what the lyric says) where they dance to prove who is the best.

Words: 4.689 words

A/N: I spent the last couple of days listening to tango, Pomplamoose and the ost of tfatws, I guess I was inspired coz this is super long so be aware. Thank you for that request - I’m really self-conscious about my writing so I’ll hope you’ll it! (ps: the title mean “come and kiss me”)

The mission was simple. Get inside the mansion during a fancy party by some rich man, retrieve valuable informations about Hydra’s whereabouts and get the hell out of there. Steve had decided to pair Bucky and Y/N for this. Two spies with specific skillsets that he knew would get the job done. This is why they had landed in Paris earlier that day.

They had taken a hotel room inside the infamous Le Meurice, courtesy of Tony Stark. He thought it was hilarious to provoke them since he knew they didn’t particularly like each other. That was what everybody thought, except Natasha. She had told Y/N she could see right through their games. The frustration and the tension together were a ticking time bomb that would either lead to one of them dead or both of them in a bed.

They hadn’t talked to each other the whole flight, they were too busy studying the blueprints of the mansion they would infiltrate, rehearsing their role and getting into character to care about annoying one another. Bucky had ditched the uniform for a white shirt and a black tie. His suit jacket slung over a chair next to the luxurious bathroom where Y/N was getting ready.

“What is taking you so long ?” Bucky complained as he sat on the bed, putting on his cuffs.

He heard the bathroom door opening behind him.

“Gotta look the part if we want to blend in” The woman smirked.

The moment he saw her, he froze. If there was an undeniable truth he would never lie about, it was her haunting beauty. She was breathtaking. She had chosen to wear a provocative dress that night, a dark shade of green falling of her shoulders, putting the tattoo on her back on full display. It was made of silk, so soft Bucky swore he could feel his fingertips aching to run through the material. The high-length skirt sat perfectly on her curves and the Sergeant gulped when his eyes trailed down her leg. The dress was slit to the middle of her thigh. He could almost see the knife strapped around her muscles, hidden just under the satin gown. His gaze finally stopped on her high heels, admiring the whole outfit. She looked feminine yet deadly and had a confident glow, a radiance he could feel across the room. She was captivating.

She sniggered, pleased by his reaction. Like a wolf hunting his prey, she walked up to him without hurry. He was still sitting on the bed, his eyes glued to her body, following her every move. His mouth was dry, no word were enough to describe how mesmerizing he thought she looked. Without breaking their gaze, she started to undo his tie. Making it roll agonizingly slow around his neck, she tossed it on the bed. Bucky felt his heart skip a beat when she opened up the first two buttons of his shirt.

“That’s better” She whispered, adjusting his collar. He shivered when her fingers grazed his skin and tried to hide it with a cough, but she could see right through him.

“You look …”

“What ?” She coyly cut him, a hint of defiance in her voice. “Sexy ? Ravishing ? Yeah, I know”

She had a glint in her eyes he couldn’t miss. She was enjoying his bewilderment.

“Pick up your jaw off the floor, Barnes. We’ve got work to do”

And with one last cheeky smile, she was on her way out. He shook his head vigorously, swearing under his breath, before grabbing his jacket and following her to their rental car.

Nestled in the woodland, away from the noises of the city, was the mansion. It wall all concrete and tall glass windows. The architecture made it seem a few centuries old and Y/N stopped for a short moment to admire the gigantic house surrounded by trees.

“And here I thought nothing could impress you” Bucky joked as he noticed her interest.

She rolled her eyes in annoyance, letting him lead her to the entrance. Before they could step inside the venue, a man in a grey suit stopped Bucky, putting a hand on his chest to prevent him from coming in. The Sergeant tensed, hoping he hadn’t been recognized. He had told Steve earlier that day that it might be a mistake to send him inside a place filled by Hydra agents. Even with the fresh haircut, somebody that knew the Winter Soldier could have easily recognized him.

“Votre invitation, Monsieur “ (your invite sir)

Bucky didn’t move an inch. He coldly starred back at the man, not understanding a single word of french.

“Il est avec moi” (he’s with me) Y/N quickly answered.

As soon as the man turned to look at her, his whole demeanor changed. With a smirk on his face, he eyes the woman up and down. By the way he licked his lips and he puffed his chest, she could easily guess he liked what he saw. She faintly heard Bucky grunt but ignored it. Seductively, she put a hand on the stranger’s shoulder and brought her face near to his.

“Pour être tout à fait honnête, il n’est pas de très bonne compagnie” (if i’m honest, he’s not very good company) She told him without a trace of an accent.

The man snickered.

“Puis-je demander le nom d’une si belle créature ?” (can I ask the name of such a beautiful creature?)

She smiled, pretending to be pleased to talk to him.

“Eléonore Charbonnier” She introduced herself with a name that wasn’t her own, faking shyness.

“Bienvenue, Madame Charbonnier. C’est un plaisir de vous avoir parmi nous ce soir” (Welcome, Miss Charbonnier. It’s a pleasure to have you tonight) He replied, bringing her hand to his lips before kissing it lightly.

She was playing with her hair, drawing his attention and Bucky didn’t like one bit to just stand there, silent, without a clue of what they were talking about.

“Tout le plaisir est pour moi” (The pleasure is all mine) She attractively responded with a lopsided grin.

She exchanged one last look with the french man and took a step inside. Bucky followed her closely, but not without one last threatening stare toward the stranger.

“That went smoothly” She congratulated herself.

“What ? You flirting with him or him eye-fucking you ?”

She laughed at his irritation.

“Such a potty mouth you have, Sergeant” She joked.

He responded with an unpleasing grunt before offering her his arm as they stepped into what seemed to be a ballroom. The place was enormous with a checkered floor contrasting with the golden walls. Crystal chandeliers spiraled down from the ceiling, illuminating the room while marble pillars surrounded it, carrying a large upstairs balcony. The place was already filled with wealthy people, all potentials investors for Hydra. Bucky glanced around the room, trying to spot the organization’s agents hiding among the guests.

“How are we going to get to the second floor ?” Y/N asked him discreetly.

“We mingle”

She raised an eyebrow.

“That’s your plan ?”

They were aware of the noises and the crowd but even more so of the curious stares in their direction.

“Alright” She shrugged. “Let’s dance”

“No” He quickly replied, which made her smile.

She turned to look at him and playfully tilted her head.

“No as in you can’t dance … or you don’t want to ?” She elatedly riposted.

“Both” He grunted, quickly glancing at anything but her.

He groaned when he saw how amused she was by the situation.

“My, my … and here I thought there was nothing Bucky Barnes couldn’t do”

He took a tentative step toward her, placing his metal hand on the small of her back. They were now inches apart and the attraction between them became a tangible thread in the air before any of them could speak a word.

“Now is not the time to play, doll” He muttered. She didn’t know if it was his tone, his proximity or his hand moving slightly lower, but she felt the premises of desire starting to form in the pit of her stomach.

“Steve should’ve paired me with Sam. At least he’s fun” She provocatively replied.

Her answer had an immediate response. He instantly stepped back, removing his hand from her body. She watched him closely, pleased when he pursed his lips with exasperation.

“You owe me a dance” She added and winked at him.

He gave her a dirty look and she chuckled before looking around the room, trying to think of something to get upstairs without being noticed.

“There’s literally one guard blocking the access” She stated seriously.

“Think you can distract him ?” Bucky asked.

“Consider it done.”

With one last glance, she moved to one of the waiter, grabbing a glass of champagne. Leaving Bucky behind, she took a sip of her beverage, seductively playing with her hair, swaying her hips until she was almost in front of her target. She knew he was already looking at her, she could feel his eyes on her body. Pretending to lose her balance right when he was next to her, she let him catch her in his arms.

“Oh my god ! I’m so sorry !” She apologized.

“Are you alright, Madame ?” He asked her with a thick accent.

“Yes, just a bit dizzy” She answered with an alluring chuckle.

She noticed his hands on her hips, she knew he didn’t let them there to keep her steady. When she looked up at him, she purposely bit her lips and placed a strategic hand on his arm. She saw the man gulp and smiled. It was working.

“You look …” He didn’t finish his sentence but instead put one of his hand way lower than it should have been. If it was anybody else, she would have break every fingers of that hand, but right now, it was exactly the reaction she was hoping for.

She glanced back at Bucky, who was fuming. The guard caught that and tried to turn his head to see what was distracting her, but before he could do that, she kissed him. Slowly, without an ounce of passion and with force she pressed her body against his. Her eyes stayed open, and she watched Bucky taking advantage of the situation by sneaking behind the french man and quickly getting upstairs. Once she was sure he was out of sight, she took a step back. She cleared her throat, smoothing her dress.

“I should go freshen up” She shyly told him, fluttering her lashes.

“There’s a bathroom upstairs” He offered.

She smirked. She knew her plan would work.

“Merci” (thank you) She told him with a fake accent.

She climbed the stairs, pretending to look for something, while the guard resume his position. Bucky was already waiting for her in the hallway, standing against a wall where no one could spot them.

“Did you have to kiss him ?” He inquired, infuriated, as she joined him.

“If I remember correctly, you told me to distract him”

“With your lips ?” He ironically continued.

She chuckled, her fingers fiddling with his jacket. She slowly leaned toward him, her red lips tentatively grazing his cheek.

“Careful, Barnes, one might think you’re jealous” She whispered against his ear.

He rolled his eyes.

“I don’t get jealous, doll”

She smirked, lowering her eyes on his lips.

“You keep telling yourself that”

“I’m just saying …” He kept talking as they walked to their destination. “Stop flirting with every man we come across”

“Is that an order, Sergeant ?” She knew she was on thin ice and she loved every minute of it.

He groaned. He was exasperated and she could see how much it drove him crazy. It had been that way for months now, they were always bickering, ready to bite each others head off.

Walking strategically through the corridor, they knew exactly where they were going. They had studied the place. Behind one of the doors was Hydra secret files on the super soldier serum and their experiment to create more Winter Soldier. The mission was to retrieve those informations to thwart their plan.

They had no trouble finding what they were looking for. From outside, what seemed to be an abandoned storage room was in fact a huge chamber with computer equipments and piles of files. For a second, Y/N thought it was unusual there was no one to guard the place before she silently followed Bucky inside. While he was looking through the papers, she took the flash drive she had hidden in her cleavage and plugged it into a computer. It was a malware designed by Stark to discreetly sneak inside their files, break every firewall and find their secret without leaving a trace.

“Anything interesting ?” She interrogated Bucky while Stark’s program was doing its magic.

He looked up from what he was reading and she visibly saw him gulp and shut the file he had in his hands.

“Nothing that I didn’t know of already”

She eyed him suspiciously.

“Why don’t I believe you ?” She accused him, backing up against a desk.

“Because you're a spy” He answered truthfully. “You don’t trust anyone but yourself”

She hummed.

“And that’s exactly why I know you’re hiding something” She continued, crossing her arms at his reluctancy.

He stopped what he was doing and looked at her. She could see his jaw tightening and his fists clenching. For some reason, he was getting angry at her. She tilted her head, curious at his reaction. Without a word, she raised an arm, opening her hand. It was a silent request to give her the file he was reading, which he eventually did.

She started to read and realized it wasn’t about the Winter Soldier initiative but about the Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes and what had happened to him in details after he fell off a train in 1945. She didn’t go through the end of the first page and shut it before handling back to the man in front of her.

“You’re not reading it ?” He questioned.

“No. If you want to talk about it, you will.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t need to know the details of a procedure you’d rather forget”

He raised an eyebrow, surprised by her actions. He was expecting her to be more curious and try to prey informations out of him, but instead she just stood there and gave him an honest smile.

“Don’t look so flabbergasted, Barnes. I might be a spy but I’m not cruel”

“It’s just … I wasn’t expecting that”

“Expecting what ?” She asked, turning back to the computer.

“…To be given the choice not to talk about it”

She was shook by the force of his sincerity for a moment, but didn’t comment. It was rare for Bucky to share anything this personal with her. They had work quite a lot together, but it was always teasing and bickering. This was different. She could just guess it by the way he was looking back at her. He cared about her and valued her opinions and judging by his gaze, she had just given him a reason to trust her a little more. He suddenly cleared his throat, somehow embarrassed, and she grinned.

“All done” She declared, showing him the flash drive.

“Good. Let’s get out of here”

Just as he said it, an alarm started to ring inside the room. Both of them tensed, suddenly anxious.

“What is that ?” He groaned.

“They know we’re here”

“Shit”

She hid the flash drive in her cleavage before slowly backing against the wall next to their exit.

“So much for being invisible” She muttered under her breath.

Bucky half opened the door, picking outside to see what they would be up against. Armed men were already scattering the hallway, ready to launch the assault. He quickly closed it back, his expression now a mix between worry and annoyance.

“They’re at least six of them waiting for us” He informed her.

She secretly hoped they would avoid a situation like that but seeing as they had no other choice, she mentally prepared herself to give them hell. Bucky watched her with wide eyes when he saw her tearing her dress in half, making room to move freely.

“What the hell are you doing ?!”

“Mingling” She simply answered, repeating what he had told her earlier, before taking the knife attached to her thigh.

Bucky grabbed the handle and glanced back at Y/N one last time before the fight. They shared a knowing look, both of them reassuring the other with a silent nod. As soon as he opened the door, the gunshot started. The music and the people downstairs were a slight contrast to what was happening, the noises were loud enough to cover the sound of bullets shot across the room.

It wasn’t unfamiliar territory for Y/N or Bucky, they were used to fighting. Doing it together was different though. They had discovered they were a pretty good match on a battlefield. It almost felt like a quick pace tango, a choreography only they knew about. Bucky watched her smirk, and she saw him wink. They were about to give them a taste of their talent.

She let the Sergeant go first, knowing his brute force and especially his vibranium arm would most likely knock some of them out. One of them dodged her partner and went right to her. She blocked every of his punches and flipped the knife she had in her hand, stabbing the man in the gut. She rolled upside down, making him fall on the floor, unconscious. Another one tried to take advantage of the situation and decided to kick her. She twirled around, blocking him before hitting his chest with her heel, knocking him out of breath. From the corner of her eyes, she saw two of them going after Bucky. The agents would have had the time to attack, but all it took was a look between the Avengers and Y/N threw her blade at the Sergeant. He grabbed it mid-air and less than thirty seconds later, the men were on the ground, bleeding to death.

She started to make a movement toward her next target when she felt an arm wrapping around her waist. It all happened too fast. All she felt was the bullet touching her shoulder before her body was pushed against a wall and the men were out cold. Normally, she would have resisted but instinctively, she recognized the musky scent of Bucky’s colognes and the cold sensation of his metal hand against her hip. She realized he had shoved her out of the way when one of their opponents had fired, aiming directly at her.

“Are you alright ?” He whispered, making her shudder.

He was so close she could feel his heart beating. He was towering her, shielding her body with his own. The situation was quite ludicrous. They were surrounded by men they had just taken down but none of them seemed to care. She opened her mouth to demand that he release her, but the words never formed. His chest flushed against hers, he was slowly invading her senses. They were both exhausted by the effort, and his staggered breath was enough to send a fire coursing through her body. She risked a peek at his face and swallowed when she saw his blue eyes darkening with an emotion she couldn’t quite place.

“Don’t look at me like that” He spoke with such intensity she shivered.

She licked her dry lips before speaking.

“Like what ?” She teased.

Bending his head, he buried his nose in her neck. She struggled at the proximity, purely a reflex. He answered by pulling her even closer. He looked up at her again, his mouth hovering a few inches from hers. Every nerve ending inside her was screaming for his touch but she didn’t move, simply stared at him. She wasn’t going to kiss him, but there was still a strange satisfaction flowing around them, pleased that they were just as susceptible to the treacherous desire between them. She could see it in his dark crystal-blue eyes, in the thundering beat of his heart and his metal hand, possessively holding her, gently stroking her covered skin.

“You’re bleeding” He said after a while, his gaze falling on her wounded shoulder.

She didn’t even turn to assess the damage and kept her eyes focused on him.

“I’ve had worse” She told him, voice filled with need and desire.

“Y/N…” He warned her.

His human hand crept into her hair. He was inexplicably drawn to her, she was intoxicating. When he traced a path over her cheek with his thumb, she closed her eyes, savoring the moment.

“Fuck” He cursed under his breath.

He kissed her temple, the movement so gentle yet so significantly filled with unsaid feelings. They heard noises, more people coming their way, and just like that their frozen time was up. He took the piece of cloth she had torn apart and wrapped it around her bleeding shoulder quickly before grabbing her hand and leading her toward their escape route.

She followed him without protesting. He led her to a window and both of them jumped. The car wasn’t far and they sprinted to get to it. They could already hear the agents rushing, they had to hurry. Bucky glanced rapidly in Y/N’s direction, making sure she was alright. The blood had started to flow on her arm through her made up bandage of clothing. She simply nodded her head to reassure him. They drove in silence, checking every now and then that no one was following them. Apart from the altercation, the mission was a success. No one had recognized them and they had what they were looking for. Worn out and a bit dizzy from the loss of blood, Y/N let herself relax and yawned. Bucky felt himself breath a little better now that they were out of harm’s way and surprised himself when a smile spread across his face at the sleepy form of his partner.

Later that night, they safely got to their hotel room. Completely tired, Y/N let herself fall on the bed. She watched Bucky from the corner of her eyes heading to the bathroom. He came back with a few items and silently sat next to her. He unfastened the cloth around her arm without looking at her or asking her permission and opened a bottle of alcohol. When he poured it on her injury, she hissed. She tried to push back, a reflex to get away from the pain, but instantly stopped when she felt his cold hand keeping her in place. She glanced down at her shoulder and studied the wound.

“Doesn’t look too bad” She inspected.

“The bullet didn’t do any damage”

“Good” She sighed, falling back on the bed.

She watched him clean it then wrapped it up with gauze. He was methodic, every movements seemed rehearse, like he had done it many times before.

“Thank you, Bucky” She murmured.

She saw the corner of his mouth rising, forming a small grin he was trying to hide. Without a word, he stood up and started to walk around the room. Y/N observed him curiously, wondering what he was doing. She sat back against the headboard of the bed and followed his moves. He stopped next to the door and dimmed the light.

“What are you doing ?” She asked, half amused, half confused.

He held up a finger, silently telling her to wait. He took out his phone and suddenly music filled the room. He discarded his jacket, tossing it in a corner of the room, rolling up his sleeves. That simple action was enough to raise the temperature of her body. He was aware of her hungry gaze on his muscles, following his movement and didn’t miss the way she bit her lips. He slowly walked to the side of the bed, right next to her, raising his metal hand toward her.

“What is this ?” She interrogated him, her voice so small she wasn’t sure he heard.

“You said it yourself, I owe you a dance”

She starred back with doubtful eyes but took his hand nonetheless. He led her to the center of the room and began to slowly sway with her.

“La bohème” She recognized the song.

“You said you loved it”

“Didn’t think you’d remember”

“It might come as a shock, Agent Y/L/N, but I do pay attention” He flirtatiously sniggered.

Her breath caught in her throat when he pulled her closer and sneaked an arm around her waist. Spinning and circles and shuffling his feet to the rhythm, he made her laugh. He surprised himself thinking he wished he could carve that sound into his head and never forget it. They danced together, their body close, and she knew she must have been blushing. It only made his smile grew bigger. He stood looking down at her with a hint of danger in his eyes. There was so much more she saw in him than an experiment and a super soldier, but she would never admit that. For some reason, she wanted to find a flaw in him, something that would level the field between them. Until she realized that with him, all bets were off.

“I’m not sure I like that” She said, hating the note of anxiety in her voice.

“What ? Dancing ?”

“Us not being at each others throat” She sincerely answered. “But I’ll admit, you’re a pretty bad dancer”

She felt the rumble of his chuckle against her body.

“You can still fight me if you’re up for it” He replied, smirking down at her. She smacked his chest and he pretended to be hurt for a second. She rolled her eyes at his antics.

He made her twirl and she felt an adrenaline rush when he drew her close to his chest. She wrapped her arms around his neck and made a movement to brush her hair away but his hand stopped hers. Instead he carefully laid it on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, what were you saying about my dancing ?” He smirked as he made her spin once again.

“That you had no sense of rhythm” She joked.

He laughed and dropped his head, studying her.

“I like it” He confessed, an answer to what she had admitted earlier.

A surprising sense of comfort suddenly settled in her stomach at his admission.

“This stays between us, Barnes” She warned him.

“Is that a threat ?” He laughed.

“Exactly” She whispered, laying her head against his chest as they continued to move together, too lost in the music to halt. “One word to Steve and you’ll be on the wrong end of my knife”

She felt his smile when he lowered his head to kiss the naked skin on her uninjured shoulder.

“You have my word, Agent Y/L/N” He winked. “And just so you know, I’m a better dancer than you are”

“No you’re not”

“I guess I’ll just have to prove you wrong”

“Is that your way of asking me out ?” She smugly smiled with a hint of seductiveness in her tone.

“Maybe… is it working ?”

“I still haven’t decided if I want to fight you yet”

He grinned, he couldn’t help himself but felt at ease around the dangerous woman. After a while, they stopped moving. Bucky felt her body relaxing and her weight getting more heavy as she started to fall asleep against him. He buried his nose in her hair, closing his eyes to enjoy their moment out of time. When he was certain the woman was asleep, he carried her to the bed. He made sure she was comfortable enough under the covers, taking extra precaution not to touch her wound. Then he sat next to her, already knowing the moment they would get back, he would go to Steve for advices. She would be mad, most likely with a newfound desire to kill him. They would probably fight, but strangely that perspective only made his smile. He was ready to wrestle if it meant they would both win in the end.

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168 notes · View notes

cazimagines · 3 years

Note

Since you did a female dom could you could you do a male dom?

Warnings: Smut, Dom M!reader, Sub Laszlo

- Laszlo was a dam, fine handsome fellow. You had no shame in admitting that. From the moment he first walked into the establishment you had your eyes on him. Most of the men who walked through those doors had a sense of arrogance surrounding them. They didn't care about you, rather they just wanted to use you and they knew their money could pay for that. But Laszlo, he was hidden, his desires, if he had any, were hidden behind a wall.

- You were all too keen to show him a good time anyhow but as it turns out that wasn't what he was there for, rather he wanted to find out more information about the boys who were being murdered. You knew them all right, being the oldest person there they often relied on you for help, or reassurance, sometimes even just a kind hug. You were all too ready to help them. You didn't like seeing boys so young getting involved in this business but what other options did they have?

- You didn't tell him anything though. He said how he was an Alienist, offered his credentials but how could you believe him? Likely the man killing the boys was wealthy as well. By giving Dr Laszlo any information you could be setting up the death of another boy.

- Laszlo could seem to tell that you were keeping something quiet and so he gave you a business card with the address of the institute in case you were able to think of any more information.

- You were going to disregard it but something prevented you from doing so. Suddenly this man seemed to occupy all of your thoughts. All of your dreams. You were imagining all the things you would do to him if you had the chance.

- A reason why you were still very popular among customers was for the fact you didn't dress up like a woman, you weren't how they say, a bottom. All your customers were the ones on their backs being filled and begging you to let them come. The feeling of power it gave to you, having these rich men beg before you, to another man, it was intoxicating.

- That's how you imagined Laszlo. Thinking about how pretty he would be being thrust into a bed, the way his breath would get caught in his throat as he gasped and groaned at the feeling of you. You wanted it all and more.

- Maybe that's why you found yourself knocking on the institute door. You could try to claim it's because you wanted to help solve this case but you knew deep down that your true reasons were purely lust-driven.

- They informed you Laszlo wasn't at the institute today rather his own house and they gave you that exact address. Things couldn't have been working more perfect for you. Laszlo was quite surprised to open the door and find you outside but welcomed you in all the same. As you sat down in his upper-class living room, feeling out of place, he made you some tea. Passing it over to you, you deliberately made sure your fingers touched his and as if on the command you could start to see the slight red tinge to Laszlo's cheeks forming

- He insistently questioned you for information about the boys though. He was persistent and very arrogant in his way of thinking as well. Information you would have considered important he instead brushed off saying it was no use to the case. This in itself just made you all the more turned on as you imagined all the ways you could shut that pretty little mouth up.

- Soon you were almost out of all information and you knew if you wanted to get a reward for everything you had to act soon. Gracefully you got up from the chair and started to walk around as you continued to speak. Laszlo's eyes dutifully followed you as he listened. That was until you walked around behind him.

- At first, you simply placed a hand on his shoulder, smirking as you felt him jump at the sudden contact, Then you leaned your arm over his shoulder, bending down so that your lips were by his ears as you whispered the information to him. He shuddered at the intimacy of it all, flushing an even brighter red from it. Laszlo himself could feel the desire starting to rise up within himself and that's when he tried to pull away, putting some distance between the two of you.

- But you weren't giving up that quickly. You moved around the chair to be standing right in front of him again, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to pull him back to you. "You said earlier you need to get into the mind of the killer" you purred, "But what about the mind of the victim? Afterall if you understand them, you understand why the killer chooses who, why they would willingly go with the killer when they know about the deaths" you take one hand, brushing it against his neck where you could feel his paluse rapidly beating and you hummed to yourself "I can help you with that Laszlo. I can make you feel things you've never felt before. Stuff no woman could ever make you feel"

- It was unlike Laszlo to accept. He knew that within himself but he feared he might never have this opportunity again. To his own shock, he found himself nodding and before he knew it you both had managed to find your way into his bedroom.

- You were holding his back close to you, making him bend backwards slightly so you had better access to his neck where you sucked the most magnificent hickey. Under your hands, Laszlo was already a quivering mess. His moans were nothing short of erotic. This man truly must have been alone for a long time if just a kiss to the neck was making him melt in your hands like putty.

- You pull him back up and start to tumble with the buttons of his shirt but this time his arm grabs your wrist firmly. "The shirt stays on," he tells you and you nod, "If that's what you're into"

- Instead, you choose to push him onto the bed, and before you gave him a chance to fully register it you were pawing at his slacks, ripping them open to gain access to his member. Spitting in your hand you lubricate it and then start to pump him, watching him intently as he groans from the feeling. He was already hard from when you first held him but now you could feel him pulsing within your hand, the warmth radiating off him.

- His hand clutched the sheets of his bed under him tightly, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish as his gasps get caught in his throat. Here the alienist often known for his ability to irritate people with his persistent questions was rendered speechless by you.

- You could feel him start to twitch in your hand and so you leaned forward and delivered one strong lick to his tip which was enough for him to completely lose it as he came loudly. His come was all over your hand, running down it and as you finally removed your hand from his member, you look him directly in his eyes as you use your tongue to lick off all that was on your hand.

- You weren't done from him yet though. Not by a long shot. You climbed even further on top of him now, grasping at your own slacks to tug them down exposing yourself. Once again spitting in your hand you take it down to his ask, lubricating him, ready for you.

- You take one more moment to look into his eyes, checking to make sure he was okay with it, and when he nodded you slowly started to push your way in. You went slowly, letting him get used to your size and when you finally bottomed out you waited for a few moments to let him adjust. He held so heavenly around you that you were finding it hard to hold back moaning yourself.

- Slowly you started to move your hips, thrusting against him. He sunk his head back into the pillows moaning in pleasure as you hit that spot inside him that was all too perfect. He'd never felt pleasure like this before, the feeling of you pulsating within him, moving in and out, the sound of your hips meeting his as you picked up speed. He became a moaning mess for you.

- As he squeezed you so tightly you could feel yourself getting close and therefore you brought your hand back to his member to pump him once again. You wanted to hold off until he had another release but the more you heard his moans the harder it was.

- Finally with one large moan which bounced off the walls Laszlo came again and hardly a second later you felt yourself release inside of him, coating his walls as you slowly came to a stillness within.

TAGS (let me know if you don't want to be tagged in specific gender fics): @shrekboobies @arianalilyblack @wonderwoman292 @justreadingficsdontmindme @thehuiabird @lieutenantn @neoarchipelago @cable-kenobi @edencherries @faustlyaccused @julyvegan @prestigious-tea @hannahbal-the-fannibal @my-blood-is-maple-syrup @competitivepomegranate @welcometothemxdhouse @flutterskies @rumblelibrary @mywinterivy @xxlumos @cathana2264 @ajokeformur-ray @nev3rfound @phoenixofthevalley

#laszlo kreizler #laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo kreizler fanfic #laszlo kreizler headcanon #laszlo kreizler imagine #laszlo kreizler x you #dr laszlo kreizler #the alienist #daniel brühl #daniel bruhl

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hauntedelation · 3 years

Text

𝐃𝐮𝐥𝐜𝐞𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

(Pic found on Pinterest, I don’t own!)

𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 — Lee is in attendance at a summer block party. Only, he walks himself into a situation after searching for water in the home of a wealthy young girl’s.

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 — Black Female Reader x Sheriff Lee Bodecker

𝐀/𝐍 — I watched The Devil All The Time the other night and something overcame me. This is probably my most shameless attraction. (It just had to be that damn crooked cop.)

I made this set in the 1980s because I prefer that decade far more and...well there was this song. I wrote this in third person point of view, but it is for readers. No name is given other than a younger brother. I apologize for any errors here y’all, but please enjoy!

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 — 3.3k

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 — brief descriptions of past addiction, minor smut (18+ please!), sexual tension, mutual pining, age difference (Reader is in her early 20s, Lee is, well Lee), pet names, some minor mentions of praying or religion.

Here is a link back to my masterlist, please enjoy!

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The thing about Lee Bodecker is that man couldn't outright help himself to a lot. Temptation is a cruel, cruel notion to him. He'd imagined many times that if she was real, her aura would emanate unadulterated peril, motioning with her body light as air and with suggestion. He would not stand a chance.

He could never keep certain things in the realm of moderation. Already given into a sliver of that temptation with those glass bottles, the brown liquor was gradually replaced with sugar. Neither was all that good for the man, anyone could see that. Still, Lee was fixed on that plan there. In his mind, he knew those wrapped candies were far better than putting his liver through hell.

A man with a shimmering badge, a pressed uniform, and regulation in his worn hands. He had access to it all, any distinct thing in that small town. Hell, he could move on up if he wanted, maybe set his sights on a bigger resistance.

His eyes had seen a lot in those years under that wide-brimmed hat; he figured that there wouldn't be much shock if he changed location anyway. Up until now, with every attempt the man made to file the paperwork, there would be something coming up to stop that process in its tracks. Every time, the due date was pushed back.

In a strange manner, he was restricted. Something has him pinned to Knockemstiff. No, it wasn't the joy of family, a wife to share life with. The fed-up woman parted ways with him a few years before.

It couldn't have been him standing in that still kitchen, the back screen door and the windows allowing an easy breeze in. Children's cries flowed in with the chatter of adults, maybe even the scent of that sizzling meat on the grill. A fine neighborhood barbeque was in play but he wasn't thinking much of it.

Lee swallowed the water down thick, the delicate glass in his hand placed down behind him. He had gone in after greeting the many people outside, participating in the short conversations that casually came. It was a hot one today, the man soon realized he would require refreshment. He'd been directed inside and, upon entering the nice home he enjoyed the relief from the blazing afternoon sun.

However, Lee wasn't paying attention to where his hands were moving, not on the glass of ice water in his hand. No ma'am.

There was a sweet girl sitting real pretty on the countertop across from him. Her aura obscured the room under the shade of risk, her legs and her manicured nails gesturing consciously. She settled on back and let her hair fall free behind her shoulder, revealing the most angelic face he's ever seen.

He had a choice in this instance. He knew he could smile politely, tip his hat to the young girl and turn back on his way. But as Lee Bodecker stood there merely four feet away he felt his eyes trail after those invisible signals.

Down her neck where a heart-shaped necklace lay. Down her heaving chest, the swell of her white cotton shirt and her soft stomach peaking below. Down where her navy blue skirt wrapped around her hips, the hem—

The hem was drawn higher up those thighs. Gliding just past her belly button was where he stopped. There was ceramic, an eggshell paint with neat little brush strokes around the rim. Must've been one of her Momma's dishes that only was brought out during special times.

That bowl carried glistening treats, strawberries, cherries and he's thinking maybe even raspberries. The girl's nails matched the shade of the contents of the bowl. And, he would too follow them, tired eyes glazing over.

On the portable radio residing just over in the dining room, Lee started to hear a song. Not being caught up in today's music much, he was clueless until the announcer voiced what was playing next: ‘A song by Exposé, Let Me Be The One.’

The song playing appeared to have been a favorite of hers, as she flashed her smile and tapped her nails to the rhythm. Sheriff Bodecker said nothing yet, unclear on what was really happening in front of him. It was his character to acknowledge people of the town, he was well known for that. He didn't wish to show any scorn to the girl.

Especially not when she brought a bright red strawberry from between her legs, up to her lips, and sunk her pearly white teeth in.

The girl bit down well until that juice spilled over her lower lip. That droplet wavered staying there, somewhat spilling over and dripping down her chin. She had nearly ruined her outfit and didn't seem all that bothered by it. But Lee?

His heart was pounding real forcefully against that star on his chest. It took his fingers a second to wrap around the brim of his hat, removing the damn thing so he could let his hair breathe. Perspiration was gathering, he was hoping it didn't show too much.

She giggled and the sound barreled through the man's gut. "You look a little warm there."

That hat was placed somewhere nearby his glass of water. Bodecker pushed out a laugh from his chest yet he felt it sounded too shaky. His shoes moved against the tile of her kitchen, hand resting on his hip while he tried to lean real cool against the counter.

He cleared his throat. In a hoarse voice he addressed that fine girl sitting before him, "Miss," and her father's last name spilled out of his mouth. He had to clench his jaw because, yes, this man is right here losing himself over someone's daughter.

And that someone was surely at this get-together today, perhaps just outside. How he began to sweat more mulling it all over.

"Sheriff Bodecker," she answered, taking another bite from that strawberry at her fingertips. She wiped her chin at this point with a cloth napkin.

The symbol on that shirt of hers was an embroidered emblem, gold, and red. The silhouette of a wildcat prowled inside, with the words of a private college name curling underneath. Just as the man thought, this girl was on summer break from her sumptuous college several miles away.

He couldn't believe that it was that time of the year already, he remembers last seeing her when the leaves were falling from the trees. Lee knew but he needed that pretty young thing to confirm it to him, "I see you're home from college now isn't that right?"

She placed the napkin down and took another bite of the strawberry, nodding her head at him. She only answered when he finished chewing and swallowing.

"Yes sir, and I must say that I missed everyone while I was away."

Her voice lingered in the air, and the sheriff didn't know what to say. To him, it felt like she wasn't done speaking. Within a few beats, a roar of laughter from her backyard broke the quiet play of the music between them. He considered the barbeque for a moment. But, Lee performed a double-take at the ensuing words.

"I think I missed you the most, Sheriff."

Lee said a prayer, eyes falling shut for a split second. The man knew full well that it had been years since he did something such as that. (Now what would that have done now?) He didn't want to believe it, no he was looking at an illusion, he didn't hear those set of words that kicked up his heart rate.

God almighty, Lee chanted to himself. The girl spread her legs a bit more, bringing that bowl closer to the space between. That same hand began to play with the cherries in the bowl, nails twirling the stems about.

Her head was tilted to the side, a simper climbing on that pretty face. She caught the flesh of her lip between her teeth and past her lashes, she looked him up and down.

Taking in every inch of his body, no aversion with his belly hanging slightly over his belt, no distaste with his thighs filling his brown trousers. That girl's eyes were kind, pulling away shyly when he caught her look.

Pride filled every cavity within him, his shoulders standing a little straighter. It was then, Lee decided to saunter a bit closer to the girl, all while she was good and timid. He placed his hand on his belt and pushed away from the countertop.

Each and every footstep fell between the two, the pressure in his chest stacking higher. Bodecker felt an inkling to carry on, shrugging away any doubt in the back of his mind. Probably against better judgment.

The girl took in a profound breath, getting herself together in advance to returning those sparkling eyes to him. He only took a few steps, now planted inches away from the counter. His middle was a hair's breadth away from grazing her smooth legs.

"Is that so?"

He counted the dark bands around her cotton knee socks, holding back on letting his fingers trace the linework.

"Now, why would a beautiful girl such as you miss an old man like me?"

Lee's voice lowered, almost graveling near the edges. His accent had become syrupy, letting that embrace of enticement play with him. He couldn't help it.

She released her lower lip. It was starting to swell from the pressure she's been applying, though the Sheriff caught her rosy tongue dart out to soothe the mark. One of her hands found his tie and like the fruit in the bowl, she began to fiddle with it.

He genuinely hoped to get an answer out of the girl, for Lee couldn't fathom why. What made her so taken with him? Ever since her family moved to that little old town in the longest Cadillac he had ever seen, there had been some sort of bearing.

She strolled right by him holding onto a basket of baked delicacies one day, but she didn't fail in stopping to address him tenderly. Lee welcomed her to the town, and the girl held out a homemade muffin. Right then he felt his cheeks were burning, red as a tomato. The Sheriff accepted that muffin from her hands, thanking her real kindly.

It was then that he and that girl started moving in separate directions. Far too soon for his liking and toward the same ones they originally were walking in. She tilted her head to the side and promised the man many more just as long as he did a good job protecting the town. Sheriff Bodecker's blue eyes captured that sight, almost breaking his neck trying to watch her walk away.

Lee remembers speaking to her mother at the coffee shop one fine morning, noting that her family wished to get away from the busier city. Additionally, this location cut down the drive time to her university.

He was thinking about the odds of that, never in a million years would he have thought people with so much wealth would come to Knockemstiff. That family had more money than several families combined.

Whatever the microscopic chances of this happening again, Lee thanked whoever has control of it all. He reflected on that while he gazed down at her flawless nails twirling his tie.

She'd gone quiet, and somewhere inside of him, he feared that he had crossed a line until she cleared her throat and spoke to him.

"Well...I enjoy talking to you. Seeing you drive around town always makes me feel protected."

Lee grinned, most likely appearing boyish under the afternoon sun. He was flattered beyond all belief. The man assumed she didn't pay that much attention to him. He could see the girl having just about everyone on that campus wrapped around her finger.

He knew that he'd become a victim to it, that puzzling charm ensnared within her. "That makes me glad to hear, babydoll."

Lee knew that the corners of his eyes wrinkled the more he beamed down at her. The girl merely took in his face with wonder, even then struggling to hold eye contact. He noticed her attention flick away the moment the name slipped from his mouth, her finding the fruit in the bowl more interesting at that moment.

"Are uh...are those there your favorite to eat?"

She hummed to Lee, wetting her lips, "Yeah," then she gestured with her head to the back to the direction of the screen door, "-’s perfect for a hot day like this."

The man got an idea, letting it sink into his brain before he chose to move his hand to rest on her bare thigh. He felt her fingers close around his tie in response. The contrast in his skin with hers delayed Bodecker's thought process for a beat. She was so very delicate, close to the texture of flower petals.

"You know you always come around me with the sweetest things in your hands."

He inhaled deeply, before he skimmed his palm over toward the bowl, carefully maneuvering around her fingers to pluck a healthy-looking raspberry from the pile. Lee dragged his eyes back up to her face and made sure she was paying him attention,

"You make it hard for a man to turn you away, darlin'. I don’t know how but you just do."

Lee removed more distance from between them, catching on that she was not pushing him away but bringing him in closer by his necktie. He let his other hand rest right next to her hip on the counter, guiding the raspberry closer to her full lips.

And, wouldn't he have lost it right there. She’d began to accept the fruit into her mouth, those lips and her teeth brushing his fingertips while she did so. The Sheriff held his breath, his mouth parting as he witnessed her pupils expand. Under the veil of the afternoon sun, that girl took the raspberry from his hand.

Bodecker cradled her cheek in that same hand feeling her jaw move while she bit into it. Up and down he brushed his thumb against her face. He attempted to wipe away any remaining juices from her lip before he was taken aback by them opening once more.

Her tongue, inviting and curling under his thumb pad send a shiver along his spine.

Again, that girl took hold of what was offered to her. It was something Lee never intended but he couldn’t pull away if he wanted to. She took his digit into her warm mouth, sliding her hand from the bowl to wrap around his wrist. Her lips closed just around the padding of his thumb as she sucked at the red liquid from the raspberry seconds before. Those eyes locking with his and causing the man to lose himself deep within.

There was a brief moment in which the music playing faded out, any voices or laugher outside falling under that same treatment. Everything but the wet pop of her removing the Sheriff’s thumb from her mouth.

Lee’s hand went partially slack, dragging saliva down her chin. She had not let go of his wrist, and in those eyes of hers, he saw a flicker of coquetry in the dark color. He had leaned forward before he thought of anything else and pressed his mouth to hers.

There, shifting to gently grasp her jaw he positioned her head to let him take it deeper, farther so his tongue would find that sweet taste of the raspberry. The girl opened up for him, holding onto his tie as best as she could while letting gasps fall through. She tasted precisely like that fruit he gave her, and if he didn’t groan into her mouth while realizing it.

Between her legs that bowl rattled as Lee’s hips pressed inward, her arms ultimately let go from their previous position and slotted behind his head. Bodecker had fought a smirk when he pulled away.

Here and there he dragged his lips, over her cheek, under her chin, and to her neck. Her captivating scent flocked his mind and he was sure if she hadn’t been squealing so much from the stubble on his face, he would have started nipping at her with his teeth.

He felt like a wild animal. Her nails flowed through his hair, tugging, and her voice sighed to him, “Sheriff,” Lee’s composure tumbled away from his grasp. He shushed her cries while he had his mouth attached to her skin.

Bodecker pulled away after a while and positioned his forehead to hers. There they breathed each other in and he watched through hooded eyes, her bitten lips puffing out small breaths of air.

“Such a filthy, filthy little thing,” he drawled. That girl said nothing in return, only allowing that same look to inch over her features, letting those fingers massage at his clipped hair some more.

She got closer and her tongue eased out, moving to drag over his lips. The man’s lids drifted shut as he was falling into another slow, languid kiss. One of his hands was comfortably wrapped around her thigh.

Before Lee was able to slide his palms any further below her skirt, a loud clatter resonated out, ripping the two away from each other.

Bodecker fell back into the other side of the kitchen counter, his hand scrambling for any balance. The girl’s breath hitched inside her throat and brought the cloth napkin to hide her face. His eyes were wide and they scanned around the space reminiscent of what he did in his line of work.

In the once serene home, both heard the footsteps of an unknown person come hurrying in like a bat out of hell.

Rounding the corner soon enough was a child in overalls, wearing a brightly colored shirt underneath and their face drenched in sweat. Their thick-rimmed eyeglasses had been wiped by the sleeve of their shirt as they skirted to a stop and took in the two adults residing in the kitchen.

The girl turned, and her shaken demeanor melted into pure disturbance and curiosity, “Jason?” Her hand fell from her face and landed in her lap.

“What made you bust in here like that? Are you okay?” The young boy took many breaths in the same way most children did, all animated and taking their time. He seemed to be thinking over her words for a little while before he rasped,

“I need more juice; me and my friends are thirsty.”

Lee’s brows raised and he scrubbed a palm over his face. The child’s abrupt approach put the fear of God into him. What if it had been anyone else? What if we never noticed?

He chuckled in disbelief shortly before moving toward the right of him. Bodecker, being closest to that blue-tinted pitcher, took hold of it and made his way over to little Jason. The child’s eyes lit up as he grabbed hold of the jug of liquid.

Crouching down to the boy, Lee spoke softly with a hand on his shoulder, “Now—you got it, son?” Jason’s head bobbed up and down avidly before he turned on his heel and lugged away the item he had been searching for.

Both Sheriff and the girl listened to what he assumed to be her little brother depart from the house, noting that telltale click of the back screen door after those staggered footsteps dissipated. Each waited before reluctantly turning back to each other.

Bodecker chewed on the inside of his cheek, lazily stepping back over to where his hat was left. He reached over and placed the article on top of his head, straightening it before turning back toward the moderately dazed girl.

There was that warmth rising within his chest as he took her in. Lee connected his eyes with hers before he took a few steps closer. His smile fell lopsided, forcing out a delightful laugh from the girl.

He reached into that bowl still between her thighs to retrieve a plump cherry. Bodecker popped it into his mouth before winking at the young girl, backing away and strolling the rest of his way out of the house.

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𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 — Ahh, I really wasn’t sure who would be interested in this. If you would like to be tagged in any future stories feel free to message me!

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#the devil all the time #lee bodecker #sheriff lee bodecker #lee bodecker x you #lee bodecker x reader #lee bodecker fanfiction #lee bodecker x black!reader #lee bodecker x black reader #black reader #female reader #sebastian stan fanfic #sebastian stan characters #dulcet inclination

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e350tb · 3 years

Text

The Owl House: A Blight on Gravesfield (Chapter Five)

Five

The sun rises over Gravesfield.

...so the first essay topic will be up online this afternoon. Now back to weird local myths!

In 1660, King Charles II was restored to the English throne, and the whole Civil War period came to a close. Sort of. There was still a lot of political and religious controversy in both the British Isles and in the colonies; but that’s mostly a topic for another course. We are going to be following the continuing adventures of the Wittebanes.

John died in 1672 of pneumonia, but before he did, he had a family house constructed on his estate; that house, the Historic Wittebane Home, is still, and access is free to all Gravesfield residents, so if you have some time it’s well worth a visit. Although it looks small and uncomfortable now, in the 1660s it was the height of colonial luxury.

John left his estate to his son, the confusingly named John Philip Wittebane. We’ll call him John Philip to avoid too much confusion. Before John Philip took over the estate, he had sailed both as a merchant and as a buccaneer in the Caribbean; we believe he sailed with Henry Morgan in the raid on Maracaibo in 1668-69. While there, he purchased investments in a number of industries, and while he divested from them when he returned to Connecticut to collect his inheritance, they had made him a very wealthy man.

He immediately put his wealth to use by buying up most of the small farmers around Gravesfield, and by 1690, it was reckoned that most people in Gravesfield were employed by him. It became effectively a Wittebane company town, with John Philip even serving as the city’s mayor several times.

This is where our next myth comes to play; that in 1687, John Philip Wittebane had a woman put to death for witchcraft, and that consequently, her ghost haunts the Historic Wittebane Home.

Now, I’m a historian, I can’t tell you ghosts are real. That’s a job for ghostbusters. But was a woman really hanged in Gravesfield for witchcraft, nearly twenty years after the end of the Connecticut Witch Trials?

The local newspaper tell us that on June 13th, 1687 - a Friday - a ‘vagrant, suspected by some of heresy and witchraft, was duly hanged by the magistrate on account of the cruel and vicious murder of Henry Finch, who had been struck down while attending the ‘pigges’ on the Wittebane estate.’ So we have a clear cause for the hanging, and a ‘suspicion of witchcraft,’ but we don’t have a connection.

Frustratingly, this newspaper doesn’t tell us how poor Henry Finch died. Was he cruelly hexed? Well, if we go digging about in the archives, we might find a different story…

----

A brisk and foggy dawn was breaking over Gravesfield.

Ben Frakes was not a man of means by any stretch of the imagination, and as he stepped out into the cold air, he wished he could afford a car. (Well, he could, but it was hard to justify the expense.) It had been an uncomfortable night. Life in his one-room apartment had its charms - chief among them proximity to the college - but on cold nights it could be miserable, especially when his radiator was still broken.

Still, he was in fairly good spirits. His course on Gravesfield’s myths, and the truths behind them, was going very well, and the students seemed engaged. And it was a very good time of year to be in the history business; the annual Gravesfield History Fair was coming up, something he always looked forward to. It was always a riot; apart from a small county fair, there would be historical talks and tours of the old battlefield and the Historical Wittebane Home, and even the yearly battle reenactment; one which Ben had taken part in every year for his whole time in Gravesfield.

He was always on the Redcoat side and therefore always lost, but having fun was the main thing. Even if it was a bit of historical revisionism on the part of the townsfolk.

He was just starting off down the sidewalk to the college grounds when he spied a rustling in the nearby bushes. For a moment, he was prepared to dismiss it as a rabbit or a bird, but then, to his astonishment, a little white head poked out.

“Is that a cat?” he asked himself.

Slowly and gently, he crept forward, leaning down behind the bush. The cat emerged, gently headbutting his outstretched hand.

“Hmm… too much grooming to be a feral,” mused Ben. “Have you gotten out of someone’s yard?”

Carefully, he picked up the cat.

“Am I gonna have to print out a wanted poster for you?” he asked, chuckling. “I’ve got some milk in my fridge, maybe… what the?”

His gaze turned to the cat’s paws. Just under one of the back paws, he could see a peculiar mark, almost like a lock. He frowned.

“That doesn’t look healthy,” he mused. “Okay, pre-class prep can wait, I think you need a vet.”

He started off in the direction of the vet. He wasn’t concerned about making it to his class; that was still hours away, and he’d been planning on spending the morning doing some marking. But that mark… cats did not have marks like that.

At least, not in his world.

----

Camila was not an oblivious woman, especially when it came to her daughter.

She had had some suspicions the night before; most people wouldn’t jump through a portal into the unknown to get their friend to help, after all. But things were messy and upsetting, and people did irrational things under stress, so she’d shelved that thought.

When she walked into her living room the next morning and found them sound asleep in each other’s arms - well, suffice it to say, her suspicions grew a bit.

When Luz eventually blinked open her eyes, she found her mother sitting on the couch with a cup of tea in her hand, smiling wryly down at her.

“Good friends, are you?” she asked.

Luz blinked, and then glanced over to Amity.

She yelped and pulled herself out of her friend’s arms, which in turn woke her up with a start. Both sat up, Luz turning bright red.

“What’s going on?” demanded Amity. “Are we being attacked?”

Camila took a sip of her tea.

“Don’t worry,” she replied. “If we are, I’m sure Luz is very well protected.”

“Mooo-oooom,” groaned Luz, burying her head in her hands as Amity turned red too.

“Uh, Ms. Noceda, it’s… I’m…” Amity scratched the back of her head. “Please don’t get mad, Luz…”

“Mad?” Camila tilted her head. “Why would I be mad?”

“I… um… I…” Amity stammered.

“I need to take a shower!” exclaimed Luz. “Far away from here! Goodbye!”

She darted off the inflatable mattress and out the door.

Amity buried her head in the blanket, moaning softly. Camila frowned, moving a little closer to her.

“Amity,” she asked. “Is everything alright?”

“Sure,” sighed Amity. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

Camila reached down and put a hand on her shoulder. She was surprised to see Amity jolt away from her; her frown deepened.

“If you ever need to talk,” she said. “Just remember that I’m here.”

“Thanks,” replied Amity, looking away, “But I don’t think I will.”

She got up and walked away.

----

Luz spat her toothpaste out into the sink (she was surprised at how much better-tasting human toothpaste was than the stuff they used on the Isles, although it probably didn’t provide the same magical plaque protection) and washed her hands, whistling to herself. She didn’t know why - it wasn’t as though she was calm or cheerful - but perhaps music calmed the soul.

“Okay,” she said to herself. “Gotta go back to the historical society. Maybe there’s a lead to getting Amity home on that creepy curator guy’s conspiracy board… also wanna see if the bookstore’s still there. I think Amity would like it.”

She turned to the door and immediately froze.

Camila was leaning against the closed door, arms crossed.

“I think it’s time we talked, mija.”

Luz pursed her lips.

“...do we have to do it in the bathroom?”

#the owl house #luz noceda #amity blight #camila noceda #vee #lumity #a blight on gravesfield #writing

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bailey-reaper · 3 years

Note

How do you think Barok would react to realizing that he's in love with a working class person? Given that he's rather blunt about his dislike of the "vulgar class", I imagine that there'd be some internal conflict on his end.

Headcanons (Classism)

Notes: Good question, anon! Before I get to the character headcanons I will make a few general points about class / status in the Victorian Era -- but I'll try to avoid it becoming too dry!

Content Warnings: Historians... please don't look; Classism; Tia butchers history... again.

A few important terms:

Noble ('the nobility'): those who hold 'titles' ('Duke', 'Baron', etc) that have been passed down through their bloodline. Not all nobles possess the wealth that one might expect them to, but they do hold prestigious titles and their families are often well-respected (which makes marrying into such families attractive to those with wealth but no social standing).

Aristocrat ('the aristocracy'): the term aristocracy literally means 'rule by the best', and that has typically come to mean the wealthy (because wealth gives access to better opportunities, such as education, and influence, often political or military). Not every member of the aristocracy is a noble, but all nobles are deemed to be aristocrats.

Middle Class (aka 'the Bourgeoisie'): is a category that grew rapidly in the Victorian era due to the expansion of cities and the economy. They were people who worked skilled jobs in order to support their families, e.g. merchants or 'white collar professionals' (doctors, lawyers, etc).

Working Class: people who were uneducated and unskilled. They were perceived to have nothing to offer society, save for their labour. Most working class people lived in abhorrent conditions and were horribly exploited.

There were three umbrella terms for the 'classes' of people in Victorian times: (1) the Upper Class; (2) the Middle Class; & (3) the Lower Class. To make things even more confusing, the Upper Class was further subdivided into: Royalty; 'Middle Upper' (important officers / lords) and 'Lower Upper' (wealthy men and business owners); while the Middle Class was divided into 'Higher Level' and 'Lower Level', with the lower Middle Class working for the higher Middle Class.

Finally, there was a class deemed lower than Working Class: the 'Under Class', this was comprised of the helpless / those who depended on others to survive (e.g. orphans).

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General points:

The Victorian era was an interesting time in terms of class, because the 'ruling' class (i.e. the nobility) was becoming increasingly impoverished while 'commoner' merchants and entrepreneurs were amassing vast amounts of wealth. These people then looked to acquire status by marrying members of the nobility.

It became increasingly ordinary for nobles to marry into wealthy 'commoner' families in an exchange of status for financial security.

Note that the term 'commoner' at this time was not synonymous with the working class, it was a person who lacked a title.

So although noblemen and women would marry 'commoners', and that practice would becoming increasingly accepted as the wealth amassed by the ancestors of noble families dwindled, the notion of a noble marrying a person of working class was completely unheard of.

In short, nobles and working class people existed in circles that were so separate from one another that the idea of them meeting was inconceivable let alone a noble 'debasing' themself by marrying a person without education, skill or means.

At first, merely marrying a commoner was enough for a nobleman or woman to be ostracised from their aristocratic family but as I've mentioned above: this became an increasingly common practice among the nobility as they sought wealth rather than holding on to lofty principles of keeping bloodlines 'pure' (sadly such thinking was a commonly accepted notion in the past, hence why people cared so much about the standing of families / potential spouses).

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Character points:

So, if I were to go 'full Victorian' then no matter how much Barok might have loved someone of working class, it's unlikely that he would have married them (it's also questionable about what kind of common ground they would find together if his partner was uneducated and unskilled).

Therefore, I'm going to depart from the strict notions of class that existed in Victorian England and think more in terms of Capcom's far softer world -- where even a working class (or even an 'Under Class' person, like Gina) could have access to opportunities to develop skills and thus practise a profession.

Personally, I've always taken Barok's reference to the 'vulgar classes' to be somewhat tongue in cheek. It feels more to me like him insulting the tastes of those he disagrees with (e.g. questioning their interest in literature rather than their actual standing).

Regardless, I believe that as he becomes a more open-minded individual he would start to see things such as class and standing as superfluous when compared to meaningful connections.

After all, what good was his title once Klint was dead? What does a title matter when so many aristocrats are more rotten than the majority of British people? By the end of GAA, I think he'd see his title as a meaningless word. So what if he comes from a noble family?

Does he conduct himself in a noble manner? Does he act with honour? That's what really matters. In the same vein, his partner's status would come to be irrelevant: it's the quality of their character and the strength of feeling that he holds for that that important to him.

Of course, he knows others might gossip and he would worry about the way in which his beloved might be treated by the members of the aristocracy (because they will almost certainly fixate upon the 'peasant' and be generally unpleasant) -- but from his perspective, he loves them and that's all that matters.

#barok van zieks #Barok x Ors #request #cw: classism #cw: butchering history

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scxrsgxrd · 3 years

Note

please write that crossover between True Blood and Hemlock Grove, queen

GLAAAAADLY. I hope you enjoy it!!

18+ mentions of death, blood and violence.

“Oooo, really? That dress with those shoes?”

Unfortunately for Pam, her extremely vivid dream about her baby brother meeting a grisly and utterly painful true death at her own hands had turned out to be just that, a dream. She openly cursed her subconscious for once again getting her hopes up, and out of the corner of her eye noticed Eric cock an eyebrow from his position on his throne, silently cautioning her to play nicely with his younger progeny. He new exactly what Pam would be capable of when it came to her brother, and didn’t have the time to spend half of his evening cleaning baby vamp remains off his bar.

The little cunt of a baby vamp whose name was even more pretentious than he was had been the by-product of Eric’s schmoozing of a wealthy American senator and his family back in the early 80s. Pam was never usually unsure of Eric’s motives when it came to humans, for there was always one common goal: gain. Whether it be social or economic, Eric always had to be top of the pile, and he had a particular dislike for self-important politicians. It was one of the things Pam admired most about Eric, his ambition, but it was impossible for her to hide her disdain at the fateful decision he had made back on a sweltering, sticky evening during the summer of ‘82 which Pam, unfortunately, remembered very clearly.

“Eric, you fucked his wife. Isn’t that enough?” Pam had spent the best part of an hour protesting his decision and insisting that they leave the drained body of Roman on a roadside to rot.

“Nope.” His reply was short, but full of mischief. It had been a while since Pam had seen Eric like this, he was almost like an excited puppy as he gripped the shovel and aimed the pointed end at the ground, pushing down with his foot on the metallic head as he began to dig a shallow pit for his night’s slumber.

Pam scoffed, eyes flitting down to Eric as her expression perfectly reflected the distaste she had for her maker’s most recent idea.

“Don’t look at me like that, Pam. By this time tomorrow you’ll have a new baby brother.” Eric’s smirk was wide as he looked over at her, starting to loosen his tie and unbutton the crisp, white shirt she had carefully picked out for him for that evening’s dinner.

“Lucky fuckin’ me.”

When Eric turned his attention back to his digging, Pam glanced over at the lifeless body of Roman Godfrey, son of Theodore Godfrey, a prominent Republican politician and personal friend of Reagan, whom Eric had insisted deserved to suffer in the worst way possible. Roman was Theodore’s only son, his pride and joy, and a carbon copy of his obnoxious and spoiled father, both of them sharing the same nauseatingly entitled traits. Pam didn’t disagree, she despised the man even more than Eric did, but thought that there were better ways to fuck with him. Specifically ways that didn’t involve spending an eternity with his bratty and insufferable offspring.

Pam had lost count of the times Roman had shamelessly tried to hit on her at his father’s dinner parties; tactfully placing a hand on her knee under the dinner table or trying to ply her with a seemingly never-ending stream of champagne. But she had bitten her tongue for Eric’s sake, allowing the little shit to boost his ego while she envisioned all of the different ways she’d like to make him to squeal like a pig. And it was for Eric’s sake that she began to pile the soil over him and Roman after he had pulled the body into the shallow grave next to him, watching as Eric gave her a wink before his face disappeared under the dirt.

“You know what I like about you, Pam?” Pam was grateful that was snapped out of that shitty memory until she realised who the whiny voice coming from behind her belonged to.

“What?” Pam turned around to set her glare on Roman and thrust a crate of true blood against his chest, catching him off guard as he had to take a step backwards to regain his balance, the sly smirk never leaving his lips.

“You’re walking evidence that you really can’t polish a turd. But hey, you know what they say, you can roll it in glitter. Lucky for you, I guess.”

Lucky for Pam indeed, as Eric had left the room to recline in his office before the nightly opening of Fangtasia, meaning Pam finally had her chance.

In an instant Roman was pinned against the bar with Pam’s hand coiled around his throat, her newly manicured nails making crescent shapes on his porcelain skin as she pictured herself removing his head entirely and making it into a decorative piece for outside her coffin. For a second she thought she heard a small squeak escape him as he realised that Eric was nowhere to be seen, and that his enraged older sister now had free reign over him.

“Now that daddy isn’t here to save you I’m gonna rip you several new assholes, starting with at least three on your pretty little face.” Pam ran a nail down his cheek, pressing down onto the flesh hard enough to make a small nick, causing a small trail of blood to run down past his plump lips and onto his chin.

“Aw, you think I’m pretty.” That smirk was back as Roman struggled against her grip, but his attempts to escape from Pam’s fury were futile. His expression turned from one of overarched confidence to one of pure horror as he watched Pam’s fangs appear, her upper body angling to the left slightly so she had perfect access to his neck.

“Pamela Swynford De Beaufort, as your maker I command you to release your brother.” Two fists suddenly slammed onto the bar next to Roman’s head as a familiar voice boomed, and Pam knew she had no other option but to obey. A low growl left her as she took a step back, allowing Roman to scramble up and cower behind their maker.

“Oh come on, Eric. He’s a fuckin’ liability, I’d be doin’ us both a service by gettin’ rid of him.” Pam’s own voice was now raised, her fangs gleaming against the bright lights of the bar as she folded her arms.

Pam’s statement brought back unwanted memories for the three of them. When Roman had become Eric’s progeny, all of his human qualities had been amplified. His cunningness, his selfishness, and worst of all: his complete lack of respect for human life.

Roman’s disregard for the consequences of his newly acquired set of capabilities had come to a head when the trio had visited London two months after Roman’s turning and were in a club to scope out the nightlife. Busy nightclubs were almost the perfect feeding ground, the hedonistic atmosphere offering a perfect distraction for the people who were crammed together in the small space, heads tilted backwards as they laughed and yelled along to the lyrics of whatever song the DJ had begun to spin.

Pam had been pressed up against a young woman, her fist in the woman’s hair as they were leant against a wall, slowly driving her tongue up the woman’s salty tasting neck. Pam felt the urge inside her begin to become overwhelming as the woman let out a long moan and rolled her pelvis forward. Pam snaked a hand up the woman’s skirt, resting it on the inside of her knee and was about to start feeding when a strangled shriek ripped her away from her meal.

In the middle of the dancefloor Roman’s hands were clamped on the waist of a woman wearing a short white dress, trickles of blood staining the formerly pristine garment as Roman sunk his teeth into her throat once more, severing her carotid artery as she let out another scream, the music dampening out her cries as her blood began to pool on the floor between her and Roman.

Once he had finished he simply let go of her body, stepping over as she fell to the ground and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, winking at Pam as he made his way over to the bar.

In all of her years with Eric, Pam had never seen him as seething as he was when they had returned to their sleeping quarters, and she was so sure (and hopeful) that would be the night where Roman met his true death. But her hopes were soon dashed when Eric simply returned to his coffin and warned that he was not to be disturbed.

“Oh please, like you’re so perfect. At least I had dignity and respect for myself when I was human.” Roman snarled, peeking out his head from behind Eric’s shoulder to deliver his insult.

“That’s enough.” Eric roared, rubbing his temples as he closed his eyes, his chest heaving as he could no longer deal with the bickering between his progenies.

“Pam, you will not try to decapitate your brother tonight and Roman you will not disrespect your sister again. Am I clear?”

There was silence as all three took it in turns to exchange irate glances with each other.

“I said, am I clear?” Eric’s tone was more assertive this time, resulting in a reluctant nod from both progenies as they made their way to opposite ends of the bar, every so often casting unimpressed, disgusted glances at each other.

As Fangtasia began to fill with regulars, Pam continued to fantasize about what would have happened earlier if Eric hadn’t caught her, a smile appearing on her face as she imagined the tranquillity of eternal life without the presence of her brother. Maybe one day she would get lucky. Maybe one day.

#true blood x hemlock grove #pam de beaufort #roman godfrey #eric northman

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codevassie · 3 years

Text

a heart he couldn’t control (destined to love and hate and damn forever) Part 7

CV: You know when you're smelling candles and you smell so many candles that you can't tell which ones smell good or bad anymore? Let's just say I don't know what this chapter is. There's a lot of words. And a lot of important things happen in it. And I've gone a bit insane trying to make it. Hope you enjoy <3

CW: Kidnapping, Guilt, Historical Discussions of Prejudice, Mentions of Death, Unreality, Weapons

@winterwynd @escalatingtoofast

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When Remus was little, nothing but a scoundrel on the streets, orphan, alone but his brother and a hyper-defiant attitude, he never used to dream.

Each morning, Roman would wake and recount a world better than their present–where a wealthy family came to town and adopted them; where they grew up and ran a bakery together, with all the bread and cookies they'd ever desire; where Remus didn't have to hide his magic; where Roman didn't get ganged up on in alleys.

Where they had… more than this.

Dreams kept Roman going, and, in a way, it kept Remus going too, hearing his brother tell all these magnificent stories–all while Roman wasn't even awake to imagine them. A lot of them didn't even make sense, but those were Remus' favorites. He loved hearing the impossible ones–ones where you walk out the door of your house and you fall into the river, or dive out the window and fly into the sky.

Remus never got any of his own, or if he did, he never remembered–until he lived in the caves, at least.

His first week waking in his new “home” was plagued by nightmares. Virgil told him it had to do with the magic running freely through the caves. Out there in the towns, among the regular people, magic was obsolete, dried out like a desert. In the caves it was everywhere. Where before Remus’ head was dry, it could weave worlds upon worlds with a bit of magic.

Dee thought something similar. He said Remus had been repressing his magic in order to hide it. However, now that he was in the caves, it was still difficult to access. The magic was blocked up like a dam, and that caused his psyche to go into turmoil.

The witch, on the other hand, thought they might be visions. That hadn't gone over well.

They never were visions–not that they could make out. Not once did Remus dream of anything that had once or would be true. So in the present day, as Remus went to sleep on the fifth night Roman had been gone, he didn't worry too much when he realized he'd walked into a nightmare.

That, really, should have been what tipped him off. Remus never had lucid dreams, and while he couldn't control a thing in this one, his mind knew well enough this wasn't his reality.

Remus walked along a corridor in the castle, one that he didn't recognize very well. In his hands he held a long sleeve of parchment, marked all over in different types of ink and at least five different hand-writings. Gripping the edges of the paper, he noticed his fingers were bedecked in rings with heavy jewels and, on the thumb, a large crest. His hands were wide and aged, and paler than usual. His shoulders were heavier, but his mind felt lighter. Remus wasn't Remus in this dream.

Strange. He still knew he was Remus, but that’s not what his voice or body understood.

The man–whoever Remus was–sighed and rolled up the parchment restlessly. He bopped the paper to the side of his leg, looking about the hallway and to a room a couple paces off. The closer he drew, the easier his shoulders relaxed. No sound came from the room, and that nurtured something content in the man’s chest.

Until, that is, he rounded the corner and through the doorway.

It was a nursery, from what Remus could tell. An ornate crib stood at the center of one wall, a carousel of horses hanging like wind chimes above. The room was dark, lit only by the blue light of the night, shining in easily from the wide open windows. The rug was soft and plush, fit for a baby to crawl safely, and there was a shelf of toys and books in the corner.

Something felt wrong. Remus didn’t know what it was, but going by his sudden gasp, the man did.

He rushed into the room, going to the cradle first. It lay empty. His heart dropped, abandoned down a well like a draw bucket without a string. There was a noise behind him, and he spun.

There, closer to the bookshelf, was a bundle of hair and fabric. When she looked up, the king bolted over, heart again in his chest, but pounding, hammering a painful dent into his ribcage.

“Yolanda? My love,” he said, kneeling by her side and taking her into his arms. “What is the matter? Where is Janus?”

Yolanda? Remus wondered, tilting his head in thought. The head in his dream remained unmoved. Janus?

The names seemed familiar, but Remus couldn’t remember- He was so tired of not remembering.

“She took-” the woman panted, barely able to get her words out before a coughing fit seized her. The man helped her to sit up, eased her into a position to aide her air passage. The man said nothing, kept an appearance of calm and reassurance, but he was scared to death. Remus could feel it.

The woman was crying. She was sobbing as she tried to get her voice to work, grasping at her throat. “Easy,” the man said softly. “Easy, Landa.” But she couldn’t stop crying. Finally, the man had to ask. “Please. Where is our boy?”

The woman, Yolanda, breathed once, body shaking fiercely. “He’s gone,” she whispered, the sound of a broken woman. Remus didn’t know what was happening, but his own heart stopped. Something unthinkable had happened here.

“Guards! Guards!” the man turned his head to yell out the door, raising minutely away in the moment.

But the woman was already shaking her head. “It won’t help. She took him hours ago. I couldn’t- I couldn’t move-”

The man placed a hand to her shoulder again. There were no sounds of rattling armor. The castle was silent.

This should have never happened. Where was everyone?

“Where? We must know which way to send the men. I will go with them – I have to go with them,” the man rambled. The woman clutched his arm, beckoned him to look at her. She wept, but her eyes were fierce, commanding.

“You must find him,” she said.

Remus felt the man’s eyebrows furrow. “I will.”

“She will pay for this,” she said, voice shaking in barely restrained anger. “She took my baby.”

“Where did she go?” the ringed man asked.

The woman’s eyes vacantly moved across the room to the blowing curtains at the balcony window. The man followed her gaze, frowning.

“She scaled the tower,” he said, voice terrified. His son… this kidnapper had put him in so much danger already.

“No,” the woman said. “She appeared. And then… disappeared.”

The man looked back, expression puzzled. Before he could ask, however, her gaze met his, eyes dark and disheveled hair barely concealing her fiery look.

“She had magic.”

Suddenly, the room went dark. Remus felt his body jolt, and he blinked, head whipping around, back and forth, back and forth. Black spots danced before his eyes as they grew accustomed to the pitch black room around him.

He was no longer in the man’s body. He had woken up. But he was no longer in his room either.

Remus was in the nursery from his dream. It was dustier. The curtains were drawn, and looked to have been that way for a long time. But it was unmistakable. Virtually nothing had changed in the room. And now that he was awake, he understood where he was.

He shivered, wrapping his arms around himself, shutting his eyes.

There was still so much he didn’t understand.

-/-

If they’d thought the library was difficult, then Logan’s house was a whole other challenge. The place was a library in itself.

Roman had been thumbing through volume after volume all night, trying to pinpoint something that might point to Virgil or this ‘Dee’ guy. They were looking for anything at this point, and that made the search even more difficult. If only they’d had something a bit more specific, something to go off of.

He was planted at the coffee table, hunched over and trying not to think about the crick that was forming along his spine. He flipped a page, squinting to understand what it was saying through the fog in his brain and the dim candlelight.

Earlier, Patton had cast a light to illuminate the room a bit better, but after hours of tireless research, it had gone out. Patton had gone home a while ago, hinting pretty strongly that he expected Roman to follow. Roman hadn’t, and that meant he had no Patton to recast it.

Roman vaguely heard someone walk into the room. In his periphery he saw a figure lower itself to the floor across the table. “My prince,” it said in an even voice. Roman blinked up at the man, clearing his vision of letters and misshapen words he could no longer understand.

“Oh, hey Logan,” he said, giving a tired smile. He’d never seen the man out of a tie. He was in a t-shirt and some pajama pants, eyes soft and still behind his glasses. It was funny seeing him so calm after the stress he’d been under earlier.

“Have you found anything?” Logan asked kindly. Odd, Roman rarely heard emotion in the man’s voice. Logan didn’t seem like the type to slow down his thought process enough to implement it.

But Roman just shrugged. “It’s a bit hard to figure out what he meant,” he said. They’d come to Logan’s house assuming he’d know the exact book Virgil had meant. Turned out Logan was just as clueless as they were.

Actually, more so. Logan hadn’t even known Virgil was gone.

Logan knocked his glasses askew in an attempt to rub his eyes, giving a small sigh. Roman noticed there was still tension in his shoulders–the same tension that had grown there after they’d explained everything.

“Hey,” Roman spoke up, too tired to put himself under any kind of filter. Earlier he’d left all of this up to Patton, afraid to screw it up. Comforting was more in Patton’s capabilities anyway. Now Roman just couldn’t keep himself back. “I know you’re worried about Virgil, but you should get some rest.”

Logan adjusted his glasses, putting them back in place as he scrutinized Roman. In a moment Roman was wriggling in place, regretting his decision to be open, but then Logan let out a breath that somewhat resembled a chuckle, shaking his head.

“Funny,” he said. “I came out here to tell you the same thing.”

Roman stared for a second then cracked a smile. “That is funny,” he said, too tired to say anything clever.

“Roman,” Logan said, voice a bit more somber. Roman looked back to him and took note of his frown. His hand hovered over the book in front of him protectively. “We all want to help him, but we can’t if we exhaust ourselves.”

“I’m not exhausting myself,” Roman said, shaking his head. “I work nights all the time. It’s not a big deal.”

“That’s not healthy,” Logan said. “Your body needs rest to function properly.”

Roman looked back down at the book. “I’ll rest when we’ve gotten Virgil back,” Roman muttered, trying not to come off too irked. Logan was just trying to help.

“I know this is likely not something you want to hear,” Logan put a hand over the page Roman was trying to make out, “But we may not get Virgil back for some time. Things like this take time.”

“Then I’ll work night and day to make it happen,” Roman said, head snapping up with a scowl. His blood was boiling for some reason–the same as it had been when he’d talked to Patton in the library.

“Neglecting yourself will not bring Virgil back any faster,” Logan said, his own voice tighter now too. Unlike Patton, he would match Roman in intensity rather than try to soothe it. “In fact,” Logan carried on, “It would rather slow it down.”

“You don’t know that,” Roman said, heart speeding up at the thought. He couldn’t rest. Not when Virgil needed help. The more he tried, the faster it would help–it had to.

“Then tell me, are you actually absorbing anything you’ve been reading for the past hour?” Logan asked.

Roman pulled the book back from him, holding it close to his chest. “Yeah, of course!” he said, voice defensive.

“What is it you’re reading then?” Logan asked. Roman stopped, thinking for a moment. “I’ve read all these books, Roman. I know what that one is about too. So tell me; what is it about?”

“Give me a moment!” Roman argued, trying to grasp something, anything that he remembered. Was this the one on the northern regions or the fiction story about wolves? Roman had lost track.

“Roman,” Logan said, drawing his attention back. Logan sighed, something too close to pity crossing his features for Roman’s comfort. He shifted, clutching the volume tighter and looked on almost in fear as Logan opened his mouth. “Did you notice the inscription at the front of that one?”

Roman furrowed his brow, pulling the book away from his chest. No, no he hadn’t noticed an inscription. Setting it back down on the table, he flipped to the front, keeping a hand on his page to not lose his place. On the title page, he found it.

Logan,

I don’t know if you remember, but this was the first book you lent me. That copy was a library book, so I thought you might like your own. I know you own the library and all, but I hope you like it.

Virgil

Roman was frozen, eyes going again and again over the words. The letters were in small, cramped script, but he could tell it was carefully written. He hovered over Virgil’s name with the pad of his index finger, holding his breath. A part of him felt it would flake apart just at his touch.

“Virgil gave you this,” he said at last, glancing up to Logan’s face. There was sorrow there if you could look between the lines. He had sobered up from his exhaustion, placing a mask of emotionlessness on, but Roman could see it like a reflection. “Do you think this is it? Is this the book?”

To Roman’s disappointment, Logan shook his head. “I doubt it. He could have simply gone to the one in the library. It would be a lot easier than borrowing this one from me.”

“What if there’s something hidden in this one specifically?” Roman asked, desperate at this point. He felt so close, yet Logan didn’t look convinced at all. Could nothing be easy? Couldn’t Roman just do this one thing right?

“If there is, then I doubt you’d find it as tired as you are. It would have been very cleverly hidden considering I’ve reread that particular volume many times throughout the years.”

Roman furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. “Is it that good?”

“Not particularly,” Logan said. Something soft flashed across his face as he gazed at the volume Roman held so possessively. “It’s mostly for sentimentality’s sake, I suppose.”

Roman looked again at the book, at the inscription. “Oh,” he said, understanding.

“Virgil is like family, you see,” Logan said. “I’ve known him for years, so when I accept that I need rest in order to help him, it is not me giving up on him. I am not standing by while he is back there. I am simply doing what is in my power to get him back. As long as I am healthy, I will be at my full power to figure out a solution to get him back. Do you understand?”

Logan said this like it was a challenge, like he was daring Roman to argue with him on this, and Roman realized that he had given Logan the wrong idea completely.

“Of course!” he said, eyes wide. “That’s not what I meant. I just meant I needed to do this. Of course you’re helping Virgil. Of course you deserve rest.”

Logan folded his hands on the table, leaned forward to look Roman dead in the eyes. “Then why not you, Roman?”

Roman’s heart rate picked up. He leaned back, eyes darting around as he suddenly wanted nothing more than to avoid eye contact. “I just need to keep going. It’s different.”

“Why is it different?” Logan asked. “Why do you need to keep going? Why do you need to push yourself and hurt yourself to try to help Virgil?”

Roman frowned, eyes going back to Logan. “I’m not hurting myself.”

“You are,” Logan said. Roman’s hands turned into fists, but not from anger. From confusion. From something a little too close to vulnerability.

His voice went lower. Roman’s eyes bored into the table. “It’s just different.”

“Different how?”

His hand drifted above the inscription, but he didn’t touch it. Roman couldn’t bring himself to. He was unworthy.

“I’m the reason,” he said. He was greeted with silence, but he couldn’t look up. Couldn’t look Logan in the eye. Roman and Patton had already told Logan the full story. He knew it was Roman’s fault this had all happened, but Logan hadn’t actually said anything to the prince about it yet. Patton had forgiven him, but Patton had always been too nice for his own good. Logan surely wouldn’t be so forgiving. “Why should I get to rest when every second he’s there, anything that witch is doing to him, it’s all my fault?”

“You… feel responsible,” Logan said, as if it was only now that it had occurred to him.

“Of course I feel responsible. I made that deal,” he said.

“The deal that she pretty much forced you to make,” Logan said. “That deal?”

“I still made the deal , Logan,” Roman said, imploring the man to understand. Logan was smart. He should get this. “I knew someone would suffer for it. I knew someone I would come to care for would suffer for it.”

Logan squinted at him, one moment confused and another looking older beyond his years. He seemed both weary and wary as he examined Roman, and the prince shifted in place at the attention.

“What?” he finally asked.

“How do you shoulder the weight of a country while so prone to guilt on things out of your control?”

“I’m sorry ?” Roman asked, aghast.

Logan shook his head, resting it on his hands where he’d propped them up on the table. “I’m sorry,” he said in return. “I just mean, you must have had to make tough decisions before. Nothing is cut and dry in politics.”

“I-” Roman’s eyes shifted around again, refusing to make contact as he came up with an answer. “I mean, yeah . Doesn’t mean I’m not responsible for those either.”

“You’re responsible for the well-being of your nation, but all decisions have unforeseeable outcomes. Surely you cannot carry guilt for each and every one.”

Roman frowned, unsure if he should be taking offense. “Why shouldn’t I? Are you saying I don’t care about my people?”

But Logan shook his head. “That is simply not in question here. You can care for your people while maintaining a healthy understanding for things that are in and out of your control.”

“But those decisions were in my control,” Roman said.

“And how are you to predict every repercussion?” Logan asked. “The best strategist in the world couldn’t predict every outcome. While decisions are in your control, repercussions often are not."

"So what? Am I just supposed to throw the hat in? Eh, didn't realize my actions would have consequences so I might as well just ignore it."

"No, Roman." Roman stopped when Logan's voice came out firm, curt. "Of course you try to fix it, but you do not punish yourself either. You let yourself eat. You let yourself sleep. You forgive yourself for a bad or wrong decision, or you recognize that a witch manipulated you into making it . That decision wasn't even your own, Roman! Yes, in the end you made it, but you had a figurative sword to your throat!"

For a moment all Roman could do was stare. He had never seen Logan talk so passionately before. He'd never seen so many emotions on the man. He was kind of in awe.

Then Logan took in a deep breath. He straightened himself, but the tension in his voice did not fade. "The only one here to blame is that witch. She took Virgil. She hurt him enough that when he ran away he wouldn't leave Patton's house for two months out of fear she'd find him and cast layers of wards for years following. She took your brother, and from what you've told me, hurt him beyond imagine. She took that other boy who has been with her this whole time, and I do not want to think of the pain she must have inflicted on him. You are not at fault for any of this. She is."

"I- I-" Roman stuttered, not quite sure what he wanted to say. What he could say.

He still felt terrible. He still felt a crushing guilt inside, ready to tear in with its claws and teeth any time he was ready to think too hard on it. But everything Logan said made sense. There was nothing Roman could say to refute it.

So all he could say was, "...okay."

Logan looked him deep in the eyes, and Roman felt seen like he'd never been seen before. Not by people who had seen him in the streets, everything he was and everything he owned laid before them. Not in front of the millions in their kingdom on his coronation day, feeling inadequate but ready–ready to take on this duty, ready to serve his people.

Logan looked at him now, and Roman knew he could see every thought. He knew Roman still hurt. He knew Roman couldn't quite shake it all off, and Logan knew that Roman believed him too.

It was the witch's fault. Roman believed that. But there was a tiny part of his mind that wouldn't stop insisting it was his fault too.

But Roman also couldn't find flaw in this logic. Logan could see that too.

Logan nodded. "Okay," he agreed. "Bed then?"

Roman blinked, startled by the sudden shift in attitude and priority. He looked back to the book, to the inscription.

"It will still be here tomorrow," Logan reminded him. "And you'll be literate enough to read it too."

Roman threw him a scowl. "I'm literate!"

"Not at this time of night," Logan scoffed, rolling his eyes. He had gone back to that emotionless facade, but now that Roman had seen more emotion from Logan than ever before, he could pick up on more now. Logan was joking, a mirth hidden in his eyes.

Roman cracked a smile. "Fine. I concede."

"Good. The guest bedroom is this way," Logan waved to the hallway that branched off from the living room. Roman blinked.

"I can go back to Patton's," he offered.

Logan just rolled his eyes. "It's late, Roman. Take the bed."

"Okay," he said and got up. They walked together, and he stopped at the door Logan gestured to. He stood at it for a moment, watching as Logan continued on down the hall. As the man reached for the handle for the next door down, Roman called, "Um, thank you."

Logan looked up, then nodded. "Goodnight, my prince."

When Logan closed the door behind him, Roman was left alone in the hall, realizing Logan, who had never called him by his name at the park construction site, had used it their entire conversation.

"Huh," he said before turning to his own room.

He was faced again with the realization that these years of isolation had cost him some potentially great friends.

Roman hoped he could amend that.

-/-

Remus looked around when he awoke in his dream. It felt a lot more familiar than the last one. In this one he felt like himself. But not himself himself. A different self.

This self wasn't from too long ago, but it was still definitely a different Remus. He felt a whole lot more awake. Funny, as he was actually asleep right now.

"Wait wait wait," a familiar voice reached him from around the corner. "You said brother?"

Remus knew him. How come he knew him? Dang, not another memory. It was so close. So so close.

"Okay so-"

He felt his feet walk as if of their own accord. He turned the corner, and there they were. The purple one–what was his name?–and his brother. Remus always knew his brother. Roman.

"It is you," he said, but the words weren't his. They were the other Remus'. He said it, and dreaming Remus didn't know what it meant.

He remembered this vaguely, but it was all so fuzzy.

"Wait, do you know each other?"

" Remus ? What- How-"

Remus knew this one. It wasn't too long ago he'd seen this- lived this- what was it? What was happening?

"It's too late," other Remus mumbled, the words so familiar in his mouth. "It was a trap."

“A trap? What do you mean? A trap for who? Who’s trapping?”

“Remus, what the fuck? How are you here? How did you get away?”

Remus heard the words, he heard the voices, but he couldn't focus on where they were coming from. Who was this? Remus knew this man.

“Get away?”

“What about Dee?”

“Dee…”

It wasn't Remus who had spoken, but he perked up at the name. He knew Dee. He remembered Dee.

“It’s too late,” he said instead, ignoring the wonderful name. “Of course it was you.”

Then, the room erupted into chaos.

Remus jolted awake. His head hit the floor and he was left staring at the ceiling.

He didn't recognize this ceiling.

Slowly, he sat up. He looked around, taking in shelves, books, a cart pushed into a corner.

What was he doing in a library?

-/-

When Roman blinked awake, the light leaking through the curtains was strong. He sat bolt upright, blinking away his disorientation and pulling the curtains back. Sure enough, the sun was high in the sky, almost midday already. With a strong intake of breath, Roman leapt out of bed and stumbled his way to the guest room door.

He limped out towards the living room, fighting to keep the emerging guilt at bay. He and Logan had just talked about that last night–could he not keep it together for two minutes? Roman shook his head, stopping in the hallway to recuperate before revealing his rumpled form.

There were low voices coming from the living room, a small laugh and the shuffle of papers. When he finally turned the corner, he caught sight of both Patton and Logan, already scouring over books pulled from Logan’s shelves.

Patton was the first to catch sight of him, and he smiled. “Roman! Good morning!”

“More like afternoon,” Roman said, approaching. “Why didn’t anyone wake me up?”

“We thought you could use the sleep,” Patton shrugged, picking up another volume and flipping through it. “Besides, I went to bed a whole lot earlier than you two. I figured I’d get a headstart.”

Roman turned to Logan, trying to keep the frown off his face. “How long have you been up then?”

Logan straightened, adjusting his glasses. “I work on a very strict circadian rhythm. I wouldn’t have been able to sleep more in any case.”

At this Roman did frown. He wasn’t an idiot; he could tell when someone was keeping things from him. But he could let it go. Whatever time Logan got up–it wasn’t a big deal. Just more time he’d been spending looking for Virgil. A responsibility that should have rested with Roman.

Roman pushed that thought back. That wasn’t right; he had to remember that. He wasn’t responsible for this. Roman wasn’t the guilty party. He wasn’t.

He repeated it like a mantra in his head.

He wasn’t the guilty party. He wasn’t. He wasn’t he wasn’t he wasn’t.

But he was going to make this right.

“Okay,” he nodded, sitting down at the coffee table again, fingers digging into the carpet. “Well, I’m fully rested now. Let’s do this.”

“Want some breakfast, kiddo?” Patton asked, already standing up. “Logan and I already had coffee, but nothing else really. I think I might make eggs for everyone.”

Suddenly, Roman was torn. He looked at the books, could see the one from last night at the corner of the table, the one with the inscription, then he looked back. He bit his lip. “Can I help with breakfast, Pat?”

Patton laughed, and it wasn’t his normal polite chuckle. It was something amused. He found something Roman did funny.

“I can see how you’re eyeing up those books. No sweat; I’ve got this. You might want to change into something that’s not a day-old though,” Patton said. Roman looked down at himself. He’d been borrowing clothes from Patton for the past few days, but he wasn't at Patton’s anymore.

“Follow me, Roman,” Logan stood, placing the volume he’d been perusing to the side. “We can find something that will work from my things.”

The morning continued in this domestic sort of haze. At Patton’s house it had been cozy–warm and welcoming–yet there was something so different in Logan’s. Before Roman had always been busy, on his feet, trying to do what needed to be done always.

And that was how it had been at the palace too, hadn’t it? And before–in his old village, on the move to find Remus. Roman had never slowed down. He was always on the go, always looking for ways to do better.

Roman had… never had something like this.

Slow. Comfortable.

The house was warm. The living room was well-lived in–the shelves riddled in books, candles, pictures; the coffee table had a coffee ring seared into its wooden surface; there was a blanket thrown over the back of the couch.

When Patton–lovely, lovely Patton–brought him coffee, it was in a mug labeled “#1 Architect.” The drink tasted slightly bitter–nothing like the palace’s coffee–but somehow, it was the best he’d ever had. So much so that Roman took a moment to simply revel in it, sit back on the couch and forget about the books, about everything else, and close his eyes to the taste.

He could hear singing in the kitchen. Patton had a lovely voice, and it was lower than he would have thought. There was another that joined it, however. He could barely hear it–wouldn’t have if he hadn’t taken this moment, just listened–but it was Logan’s. Through Patton’s slightly louder notes and the clings of utensils and bowls, Logan sang as well.

And throughout the day, that warmth never left. They flipped through books, but the tension from yesterday and all the days past had left. Patton said it was like a study group, but Roman didn’t really know anything about those. He’d started school when he’d arrived at the palace, and his tutoring was always one-on-one.

What he learned though, was that ‘study group’ was sitting around together, talking through different books, asking questions, joking to keep the air light and motivation up. It was passing around food, telling each other to take a break, leaning over to laugh at a funny picture or read over each others’ shoulders.

It wasn’t like that every day. Some days were somber, confronted with the low likelihood of finding what they needed, of finding anything. Some days Patton and Logan had to go to work, leaving Roman alone to his thoughts and pages. Some days Roman couldn’t move past his guilt, couldn’t think of anything but reading the night away because surely he had to be close. It had to be the next page, the next book.

They had to be close to the truth.

But who knew if the truth would help Virgil at all?

This was barely a lead, barely anything. It was a stray note Virgil had left on his desk that had loads of other incomprehensible items and a vague title, alluding something to his brother. They could find the book and not even know it was it. They could have past it already, dismissing it as nothing relevant. Or Virgil could have found a book he thought Dee might like, and it truly wasn’t anything at all to their search.

They could be going in circles. And they’d been searching for weeks.

Roman had scoured the pages of the book Virgil had given Logan to no avail. At night when they had all decided to retire until morning, he would bring the book to bed with him and read the story. He would try to see Virgil in it, try to pick out why Virgil had taken a liking to it in particular. Maybe it was sentimentality for him too, just like Logan.

He couldn’t tell. But Roman had to know.

One particular day, Roman picked up a book he had been dreading. It was a simple history text, dating back to the kingdom’s creation two centuries ago. It looked much like the ones the castle kept on hand–like the ones Roman had been forced to absorb in a week in his rapid tutoring. Reading two centuries worth of history in dense text had possibly been the worst part of his preparations to become prince–especially as he had still been learning to read at the time.

The thought made him dizzy. He frowned, looking up from the volume and realized his head was rushing, his vision spotting in places. He held to the couch and blinked. For a moment, he felt really sick–head light and stomach heavy and halfway between the floor and the toilet as his next destination.

Then it was gone.

Roman blinked again. No spots.

He frowned down at the book. “Maybe I have been overworking…” he mumbled.

He shook himself and sighed. No use resting now.

With a sigh Roman pulled it open, looking first to the table of contents. Perhaps he could start somewhere entertaining.

Two and a half hours later and Roman was ready to stab himself in each eye with a rusty fork. Logan and Patton walked in from work, looking weary, and he took the wonderful opportunity to take a break.

“You’re home!” he cheered. “Welcome back! And how was work?”

“Shelby is still trying to schedule a meeting with you through the castle,” Logan said, hanging up his bag.

Roman slowed as they approached him, sagging a bit where he sat. “Oh.”

“You really should check in with the palace soon, Ro,” Patton said casually. They’d had this conversation enough times where it wasn’t a big deal. Still, every time it made Roman feel like he was swallowing rocks.

“I will,” he promised, not for the first time. After we get Virgil back , his mind insisted, but he thought again of his brother, his people.

You’re letting down everyone.

“What are you reading?” Logan asked, walking closer to take a peek. Roman looked back at the book, feeling a tiny bit relieved to change the subject.

“This boring history book,” Roman lamented, sagging back into the sofa. “Do we even know Virgil borrowed this one? I can’t imagine anyone actually choosing to read it.”

Logan looked over the volume then nodded his head. “He definitely read that one. Actually, that was a more recent read. He was fascinated by its candor on the history of magic within the kingdom.”

“Magic?” Roman asked, brow furrowing. He hadn’t come across anything about magic.

“Yes. Where are you? Oh, you seem to have a couple more decades until it gets into that. You may want to skip ahead–this war is rather trifling,” Logan said, pointing to the page. Roman agreed. The war was really kind of stupid.

Roman leaned forward again, grabbing the book. He flipped forward, past the war–a three month endeavor–into reconstruction of the eastern lands and amendment of trade policies. He almost sighed again. Out of the fire and into another fire.

“Here.” Logan took the book and flipped forward himself, skipping a rather large chunk in the middle. Roman looked on, baffled and altogether so so grateful for this man. When Logan got where he wanted, he handed it back.

“This is where you will want to start. Magic wasn’t thought of as out of the ordinary until about fifty years ago. It became ostracized as a result of a dispute with Ilmita, whose population has a significantly higher proportion of sorcerers. Sorcerer eventually became synonymous with Ilmitian. Our people became more and more prejudiced against Ilmitians during the dispute, and being a sorcerer became rather taboo in our kingdom.”

“Taboo?” Roman asked, now intrigued. This was a part of their history he’d never learned about. He remembered the dispute with Ilmita, but none of that lesson had covered it relating to magic. “Magic is outlawed. I wouldn’t say that’s just taboo.”

Logan sat down next to him, flipping again through the pages of the book. “At first it was just taboo. Sorcerers were treated horribly in the kingdom. They couldn’t get jobs or housing. They were physically driven out of certain towns. Many chose to hide who they were even when it was legal.” When he came to rest on one page, he jabbed a finger at it as if to illustrate a point. Roman couldn’t make out what was so important about the page though. It was just another wall of text.

“Tensions heightened throughout the years, but it was here,” Logan pointed at the book again, a year, “Nineteen years ago when they banned all magic from the kingdom. After what happened to the prince, the unease in the kingdom finally came to a breaking point. The king and queen instated the new law: magic was illegal by penalty of death. Many fled to Ilmita. Many hid their powers. Many were sent to prison and executed.”

Roman sat still, eyes wide on the book before them. How had he never known any of this before? How could they have kept this from him? That was so awful. Those were their citizens–uprooted from their homes, forced to live as someone they weren’t, without a vital part of themselves. So many of his citizens, put to death for this.

“What happened to the prince?” Roman finally asked.

Everyone knew about the prince. He had only been a baby when he’d died. It was a tragedy that no one spoke of in the palace.

But Roman didn’t know anything about it. That baby was technically his adopted brother, and Roman knew nothing of him.

Logan flipped another page, and on this one they were faced with a portrait. It was the same one from the office Remus had taken him to that one time. Roman had barely gotten a good look at it.

“It is said that a sorcerer broke into the castle one night, went straight to the prince’s room,” Logan said. Something lodged in Roman’s throat suddenly. As curious as he was, he suddenly wasn’t so sure he wanted to hear. But then Logan said something Roman hadn’t been expecting at all. “The sorcerer fled with the prince, stole him. All the queen knew about the kidnapper is that they had magic.”

“Wait,” Roman stopped, looking away from the portrait to Logan. “What? You’re saying the baby was still alive?”

Logan furrowed his brow. “Yes, of course. The young prince was kidnapped.”

“I thought he’d died,” Roman blurted out. “You’re telling me he could be alive out there somewhere?”

“Of course,” Logan said. “Did they not tell you this? I assumed as the new prince…”

“No,” Roman said, shaking his head. He looked down at the picture. “They didn’t tell me any of this.”

As Logan’s finger moved away from the book, Roman caught sight of a caption below the portrait. He pulled the book closer to him, moving to read it.

“King Xavier, Queen Yolanda, and Prince Janus,” he read off. Roman knew those names. He said them practically daily–he had never called the king or queen “mother and father” or “mom and dad” or anything close to casual. They were the king and queen, and perhaps they were his parents, perhaps they had taken him in, treated him well, smiled warmly on him and spent holidays with him, but Roman had never taken to calling them anything else.

What stood out was the prince’s name, so rarely seen, even rarer spoken within the palace walls. The little baby, stolen in the night. His birthmark would make him obvious to anyone who saw him, even grown up.

Roman shook the thought from his head. His long lost… “brother” could wait.

“He was interested in the history of magic in this book,” Roman said. “Could this have to do with what Virgil was looking for?”

“I don’t know, Roman,” Logan said, sighing, His shoulders slumped minutely, but Roman could spot a change in his demeanor far better throughout the weeks they’d been working on this. “It could be. The facts of the matter are we don’t have enough information to go off of.”

Roman looked back to the portrait, dejected. He supposed Logan was right.

He couldn’t help but feel like they were close to something here though. Like they were barely missing it.

Prince Janus’ eyes were green, barely peeking up above the blanket he was swaddled in. He must have been old enough for his eye color to come in. How old was he when he’d been taken? What had the sorcerer done to him? What did they want with him?

Barely missing something…

Just then, however, Roman was stirred from his thoughts by the sound of a knock. Both he and Logan looked up. Patton emerged from the kitchen to stare as well, them all frozen in place.

Roman was careful to keep his voice low as he asked, “Are you expecting anyone?”

In his periphery he saw Logan shake his head. He heard him swallow thickly before he responded, voice unsettled.

“No.”

-/-

When Remus awoke in yet another dream, he wasn’t in a foriegn body, nor was he in a different self. This time Remus felt unbound, invisible to the mortal eye, broken from his reality.

Remus was used to feeling apart from reality. He never quite got what was going on around him, and there was always something he was trying to remember, always something just out of reach. He never felt like he belonged. Not in the streets he’d grown up in. Not in the caves where they’d said he’d had a home. Not in this new place where the window was his only friend and his brother covered his beautiful green colors when they said hello.

In this dream Remus was no one else, but he also wasn’t himself. He was above it all. An all-seeing eye. He stretched out an arm and it passed through the table to his right. He swung his leg and it didn’t stir the air.

He couldn’t do anything – even now that he had control of his body in one of these dreams. It seemed a bit unfair.

But he’d always just been an observer here.

“You can put it over there,” a voice resounded throughout the room. At first, there was no one there. Remus scanned the small space once, twice, but on his third go something suddenly shifted. It was like another reality had flipped into this one – like the pages of a book. A figure now stood in the middle of the room, bent over one of the tables and straightening a stack of papers.

Remus knew him. He squinted, hard, trying to piece him into the right memory. The man turned to place the stack on one of the many shelves that surrounded the room, all piled high in papers and vouchers and binders. Along the opposite wall were tables with pens and paper and random assortments of books. There was an empty cart in the corner. It was cramped, but organized – like some sort of office space.

“Here?” another voice asked, hidden away towards the back of the room. The original man looked back, a small smile gracing his features as he did so.

The man nodded. “Yeah, that’s good, Ro.” He went back to his organization, and after a moment, the man who was hidden emerged. Remus perked up when he saw him, realizing he’d known that voice – realizing where he knew this other man too. He was there last time with him and Roman, in that library.

He still couldn’t put a name to him, but Remus knew him.

Roman walked to stand at the other side of the table, taking the other man in with a lopsided smile. He pulled a chair over and sat down, placing his head in his hands and continued looking, stars in his eyes. “Hey,” he said, voice dripping with fondness.

The other man looked, a blush immediately coloring his face when he saw Roman. His eyes jolted back down to the papers, and he coughed behind a hand. “Hey,” he replied, and Remus could hear it in his voice that he was trying to sound casual.

Roman blinked, probably picking up on the man’s tone too. He looked down, a deep red covering his face as well, and pulled over a pen to fidget with. Slowly, suddenly replicating the other’s voice, he tried for casual too. “How are you?”

The man bit his lip and quicked a glance back to Roman. As his eyes fell again on the papers, he pushed them aside and picked up a pile of vouchers, thumbing through and every now and again, flipping one in the stack. “Alright,” he said, lifting one shoulder. “You?”

“Doing good, doing good,” Roman said conversationally, nodding.

The man lifted his head, for a second looking as though he wanted to say something. His eyes raked over Roman, brow furrowing minutely, but in the next second it was gone. He shook his head and went back to work. “That’s good.”

Roman looked up, and, feeling his gaze, the other man did too. For a moment they just looked at one another, eyes saying more than Remus could follow. They both smiled, barely the tilt of lips, but warm, something more.

Remus felt like he was barging in on something that wasn’t for him.

And with that thought, the scene turned to black. As it faded away, Remus felt the familiar jolt that signaled he had woken up somewhere new.

With a sigh he sat up to face the strange office room. He clenched his fist and thought of his room.

When he felt the plush feel of a comforter beneath him, Remus fell back against the bed, not even giving the teleportation a second thought before he drifted back to sleep.

-/-

Roman’s thoughts were on the sword in the guest bedroom. Could he get there in time? Should he leave these two in the main room by themselves?

“I can’t tell who it is,” Patton whispered, barely moving aside the curtain at the window. Roman stood suddenly.

“Pat, get back,” he hissed. Patton dropped the curtain and backed away.

“Everyone, calm down,” Logan said, voice level, but still low. “It’s probably nothing. I will answer the door, but Roman,” Logan turned to him, “You have to stay out of sight. No one knows you’re here.”

“It could be dangerous,” Roman said, grabbing Logan’s arm when he moved away. “Who the heck would be visiting at this time of night?”

“It’s not that late,” Logan said. “It’s only ten. I’m sure whoever it is has a good reason for showing up a bit later.” He pulled his arm from Roman’s grip and moved again around the couch. Roman moved to try to stop him, but Logan was light on his feet, at the door in no time.

“Lo-” Roman hissed, trying in vain to stop him, but Logan was already reaching for the knob. “Fuck,” he said under his breath, finally doing as Logan asked and ducking behind the couch.

Please be a civilian. Please be a civilian. Please-

A noise escaped Patton. Roman’s feet felt filled with springs, ready to jump at a hair’s breadth. He could see Patton around the corner of the couch, but he didn’t look alarmed.

Just… confused.

“Roman, you can come out,” Logan said. Now Roman was confused too.

Slowly, he stood up, his eyes immediately on the door. Logan stepped back.

And there was no one there.

#sanders sides #virgil sanders #ts anxiety #roman sanders #ts creativity #ts #writing updates #ahhcc #tw guilt #tw kidnapping #tw unreality #tw weapons #here's the tumblr post for y'all who prefer reading here!#it's a long one so strap in

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rethesun · 3 years

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Is there a name for middle lane larries?

Topic: An opinion on larry

I think there is substantial compelling evidence, but I'm not 100% convinced that there is still something but it’s possible there is we just don’t see.

If someone calls me a larrie, it's not insulting at all, but if someone were to call me an anti i’d be sad, honestly. Below I say many things that make it seem like I negatively judge hardcore larries, but I don't. I find it extraordinary that people can be so brave and sure of themselves, and I wish I could be too. I tend to get along with larries, while I mostly avoid antis unless they manage to be respectful, which is unfortunately quite rare.

I think it's practically effortless to get toxic when trying to prove or disprove things. I think it's dehumanizing and feels stressful to me as a fan. Therefore I can only imagine the difficulty and what it takes for people in a position of fame to get to a place of inner strength and resilience where the millions of opinions of the world don't affect them as much. It's sometimes hard to judge/differentiate what is and isn't disrespectful, and it hurts terribly to know I'm crossing boundaries. So I'm putting my opinion together in hopes it isn't as counterproductive or pointless as it feels.

I'm not at all trying to convince anyone of a narrative to sway people to believe or not believe. What and how much you know and where you "stand" is down to you.

Do I believe in larry?

First and foremost, being a fan of someone means supporting that person without expecting anything from them. It means any fan theory isn't crucial. What’s important is just supporting them as is, as an individual. It means caring about how the person may feel about things more than caring about how I feel about things that aren't my business in the first place.

That said, here is my not long-awaited opinion.

I think there is substantial compelling evidence, but I'm not 100% convinced that there is still something but it’s possible there is we just don’t see. I will not disregard what Harry and Louis said back in the day and pretend they had nothing when at the very least, Harry said it on video directly twice. Yes, he was a kid, but people will decide Harry is with a skinny blonde woman older than him for much less, so I don't take what he said as a platonic joke. However, I try to be as realistic as possible. As an outsider, it's not easy for my brain to conclude on most things. However, this doesn't mean I disregard how bad the industry can be. One big reason is that I don't know any of these people personally, and I want to believe in the best in others. Even though I understand controlling narratives in the industry happens and happened to 1D. I don't know to what extent. It's hard for me to judge that any or all of Harry's "relationships" are fake, and thus, he's had a few "stunt" songs for those relationships, etc. It’s plausible that he wrote female pronouns on a song or a few and the song refers to a man/men but that's far from saying this is a stunt song which would imply an entire fake relationship which is too far for me to say wasn't real as I am just an outsider.

Whether people say it's the fans who say it or the boys behavior, the statement, 'larries ruined their friendship,' is sometimes interpreted as centered around homophobia. I do not see it this way.

However, whether there was or is a relationship, it's entirely reasonable to consider, the circumstances as a whole hurt them and likely the rest of the band in multiple ways that made things really hard. I do not think fans ruined the band or their connections with each other. I think being overworked with little freedom or breaks to discover/express independence were just a few reasons why.

Why I think larry appeared to become distanced to the public eye: 1. Understandably, putting blame on the heteronormative gender restrictive times we were in and still are in. 2. How some fans react to Larry's interactions due to reason number one. Otherwise, all the 1D members, their families, and friends have been honest. That would mean there isn't an elaborate conspiracy; they are just tired of people messing with who they care about and want to live without the harassment. Regardless of whether some fan theories are accurate or not, people in the spotlight and their families deserve peace of mind. They don't deserve to be dehumanized. I wish some fans would understand how wrong it is to swarm people or ask strangers to confirm any personal things. Not only because it's rude and invasive but because of mental health. If that's confusing, imagine if it were you in their position.

I used Zayn's interview because he shared it eloquently while the other mentions that ‘Larry isn't real’ were mostly screen captures of constituents replying impatiently to larry comments on social media saying the Larry thing is delusion and not what real fans do. Zayn in this 2015 fader interview. "There's no secret relationships going on with any of the band members," he explains. "It's not funny, and it still continues to be quite hard for them. They won't naturally go put their arm around each other because they're conscious of this thing that's going on, which is not even true. They won't do the natural behavior." He goes on to add to the statement, "But it's just the way the fans are. They're so passionate, and once they get their head around an idea, that's the way it is regardless of anything. If it wasn't for the passionate, like almost obsession, then we wouldn't have the success that we have." Before the subject changes, Zayn said that fans would find a way to water down what he said and make any excuses, e.g., that he couldn't speak the truth.

I can't speak for anyone but myself. (I’m a queer cis female) I don't think I would want to 'get dragged through a round of 'coming out' press. Why should sexuality be treated as an oddity by the median, and why should queer people have to subject themselves to that treatment?' The amount of coming out stories and things that could follow a person, or the people around, in the aftermath, would be atrocious. People, personally and professionally, may treat you differently after. The queer stereotypes would be exhausting. Also, it's not always as safe sometimes to be out. Whether there was/is a relationship at all between 1D members. “Being open to everyone isn't easy. Now imagine yourself no less human than right now, but add millions of eyes on you. It's insensitive to assume about someone when they could be doing their best/what is comfortable—please let's stop invalidating what we don't understand.”

Zayn's career connects to Hollywood, and he’s in the spotlight so it's not easy to suddenly believe everything I hear and see is the truth just because someone like him said it. However, at the same time, it's rather discomforting for me to disregard and look into everything people like Zayn or his constituents say. I want to believe the best in people and sympathize and “back him up” in a sense. It's also way to hard to believe all things other fans say because we are passionate and obsessed, so there is confirmation bias.

Do I concretely believe anything?

Yes, but those things don't directly confirm or deny anything especially Larry.

I believe the boys were responsible for RBB & SBB.

I have some reason to believe the song Carolina could be about experimentation with drugs since Johnny Cash's Cocaine-Carolina song is plausibly similar. Also, it's not uncommon if you're wealthy or famous to experiment with drugs, including harmful drugs; the environment can make it more accessible and normalized. I don't condone drug abuse; I hope Harry is wise enough not to make it a reoccurring thing. I want him naturally happy and healthy, but it's not my life, and I don't know him to have any right in making that call. I trust from Harry's character and what he said in his Zane Lowe interview that he knows better. However, the song Carolina might be about Townes or maybe it's both, I have no clue.

I believe SOTT is about "fundamentals" like Harry said it is, not just from the perspective of 'a mother telling the child to go forth and conquer.' I notice some people readily look over the childbirth story, saying 'it makes no sense,' but it can easily coincide with fundamentals, "Equal rights for everyone, all races sexes, everything." Check out this in depth lyric analysis?

I think most of us know and support that Harry is a proud member of the community. If he wasn’t he’d just say that.

I think maybe COAC and SOTT may have been collaborative. There are multiple writers on both songs and if it’s possible to have a ghost writer then I say it's plausible they chose to write them similarly.

I think Louis possibly queer codes. Straight people don’t queer code so you might think it’s queer baiting but I don’t think someone sick of gay rumors would go that route. Either that, or he's a passionate and sympathetic ally.

However, Louis is still "with" E. From a perspective of committed fans, it doesn't look like a sincere relationship. As an outsider, again, it feels far too presumptuous for me to have a B&W opinion.

It seems that adults with somewhat official platforms let rumors run rampant, and not many grown adults of the time seemed to correct or silence it. I should have said this early and cannot stress this enough, ANYONE who is not the Louis Tomlinson or in his family tree is in no way an official source. If they're acting like they know things (not just reporting on what's happening), they were/are either trolling or want people to freak out for clout. Being led astray by people looking to capitalize on fans is always a danger. It's insensitive, inappropriate, and unprofessional, but it happened. I am surprised by that and that 1D's management didn't try to protect Louis and his image more. I’m not an insider able to judge him negatively or to overanalyze the situation. So I won't assume he's not a dad, and I hope he's doing well.

(About the above paragraph about Louis this is an update after the original post I made to say I don't have a further developed opinion because I never looked into it and don't know if I will so don't hold that against me please I just personally don't feel like it’s a thing I need to do and I know larries don’t appreciate when non-larries make comments on things without thoroughly looking into things so you won’t see a further opinion from me or judgment unless I do actual research)

In conclusion, and to reiterate, I feel like there is some truth to some things. Again, it feels disrespectful or too presumptuous for me to have many opinions, especially of the negative kind, as an outsider. I don't know any of these people personally, and I want to believe in the best in others. I am not harshly judging things because I don't have a complete story or the right to. However, this doesn't mean I disregard how bad the industry can be to people in multiple ways.

As fans, we can do much better. It's not unreasonable to wish people didn't constantly objectify/sexualize people with fame and didn't harass them/their families about fan theories. Also, always wanting something from these people and expecting them to fulfill god-like expectations as if they don't go through the same human experience and aren't completely flawed like the rest of us, or stalking them—something sick and a behavior that's saddening and disgusting. Real fans just leave them be to live their lives. Please call out stalking and discourage it if you notice it. Overall, I think we can all be a bit more respectful and understanding or try to make an effort. I'm not a superfan, but I'd like to be genuine and not a reason why these people dislike being in the spotlight. I feel like that means being as grounded, realistic, and sensitive about how these people may feel about things more than caring about how I feel about things that aren't my business in the first place. It ultimately means any fan theory isn't crucial. What’s important is just supporting them as is, as individual.

[#’s are for exposure and may not correlate]

#larry #music industry #1d #fans #one direction #harry styles #liam payne #nial horan #zayn mailk #louis tomilson #an opinion on larry #rethesun #source: me

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writingmyselfout · 3 years

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Because I Could Not Stop for Death - Chapter Three

Language: English

Rating: Teen+

Pairing: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter

Tags: AU - Canon Divergence, Reptilia28′s Don’t Fear the Reaper Challenge, Manipulative Dumbledore, Black Hermione Granger, Slight Ron Weasley Bashing

Prologue 1 2

Chapter 3: Here We Are, No One Else

Summary: School shopping.

SNAPE and McGonagall wait until they are outside, standing a short ways from the steps of Gringotts but still clearly visible for anyone coming out of the doors to discuss their recent discovery.

“Severus, if memory serves, the Potters were wealthy, were they not?” McGonagall questions, looking around for a moment as she clasps her hands behind her back.

“Yes.” Snapes tone is bitter as he agrees. “Quite.”

McGonagall nods her head. “As I thought. So James Potter was likely the sole heir, and would have in turn left everything to Harry. I cannot imagine he, and especially not Lily Evans -- bright girl that she was--would have been so careless as to not leave a will in case of their demise. Not with how things were back then.”

“Highly unlikely.” Snape’s arms are crossed, eyes on the bank’s doors. “Perhaps Albus Dumbledore was who they chose, because of You-Know-Who.” Despite his words, it does not sound like the Potions Master himself believes that to be the case.

“Could be,” McGonagall concedes. “But considering how close knit James’ group of friends were, however, I find it hard to believe though. Only one of them might have been viable in the end, but considering he was the most responsible of the lot, I can’t say I’m not confused that Remus Lupin was not named as a guardian for Harry in case the worst came to pass.”

She pauses, seeming to consider her next words before continuing, voice a little lower. “I am concerned with Albus’s decision to not only leave Harry with Lily’s sister and her family in light of what we saw, but to not once check up on the boy in nearly ten years. At the very least, the boy has been neglected, and at worse-” She looks over at Snape, expression grim. “I shudder to think.

“Not to speak ill of the headmaster, but I must question his motive for leaving the child alone in that situation for as long as he has.”

“He, perhaps, was simply more optimistic about what awaited Harry in Petunia’s care,” Snape offers diplomatically. “Regardless, while he is the boy’s guardian in the wizarding world, he will have the ultimate say in various things, including access to the Potters’ will and whoever else may have been named guardian.”

“At least not until guardianship passes to Harry’s Head of House.” McGonagall considers. “I could speak with Albus about the will, but with the term due to begin soon, it may be better to simply wait for that guardianship to transfer over.”

Snape is quiet for a moment, before he points out, “If he is in Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw, Flitwick and Sprout will leave Harry’s guardianship in the headmaster’s hands.” It’s hard to tell whether he thinks that’s for the best or not, his tone even.

“I think if concerns were raised regarding the boy’s upbringing, both Filius or Pomona would take a more active role than that,” McGonagall argues. “Considering both James and Lily were Gryffindor, however, I suspect I’ll have another lion.”

“It would be in his own best interest,” Snape states flatly. “I don’t imagine he would be all that welcomed among the Slytherin fold.”

He does not need to elaborate for her, and McGonagall says nothing, knowing that among her students, many are the offspring of parents who had remained neutral or openly sided with the dark wizard Harry is famed for bringing down. Many of those students, unfortunately, belong mostly to Slytherin. Although she tries to treat her students fairly, and most of all to separate them from whatever deeds their families may be responsible for, she can’t deny that it may be in Harry’s best interest and safety to be in any other House.

Before their conversation can continue, they see the hulking figured of Hagrid coming out of Gringotts, with the more diminutive Harry only visible when the groundskeeper stands aside to hold the door open for the boy. The deputy headmistress lifts a hand to draw their attention.

“That was amazing!” Harry gushes, eyes bright. “It was like riding a rollercoaster!”

“A Muggle ride,” Snape explains at McGonagall’s raised eyebrow and glance.

“Infernal carts,” Hagrid grumbles under his breath. “Harry’s got more ‘an enough teh get his school supplies. I’m off fer a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron.”

He starts to walk away from them, but stops at McGonagall’s stern, “Hagrid.”

“Yes, professor?”

“While I can’t say for certain, I do have my suspicions as to what it was that Albus had you come pick up,” she lectures. “It would be best for you to take it back to Hogwarts promptly, don’t you agree?”

“Well, yes, but.” Hagrid shifts from one foot to the other like a schoolboy who’s been scolded, and Harry tries to stifle a grin at the sight. The big man looks back the way they came in, towards the pub at the end of the road. “It’s just one drink.”

McGonagall sighs. “Fine, but I shall accompany you until you leave. For my own peace of mind,” she declares. She looks over at Snape and Harry. “Harry, for your uniform requirements you’ll need to go over there to Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions. Just let her know you’re starting at Hogwarts; she knows what you’ll need and get you measured.”

“I assume you can handle that without supervision,” Snape adds. “I will get your books at Flourish and Blotts in the meantime to save time. I will get you after.”

With that plan in place, Harry goes off to the shop he’d been directed to, a coin pouch full of more money than he’s ever had access to bouncing in a pocket. Hagrid had given him a brief rundown of the coins, and he thinks he’s got it squared away, but he’s not too worried about being overcharged. The professors had felt confident he could manage on his own for a bit, and they surely wouldn’t have if they thought he might be overcharged or cheated.

Still, he’s nervous as he enters the shop, whose front room has some seats, but is mostly floor to ceiling bolts of fabric, with a few ready-made robes apparently for, as the shop sign declares, all occasions. Some mannequins are spread throughout, floating in the air and rotating softly to best display the styles. He stops a few steps in, hoping that the ringing of the shop bell will bring someone over as he’s not sure where to go.

Some curtains hanging between two tall shelves of fabric are suddenly pulled aside and a smiling, squat woman dressed entirely in mauve--from the witch’s hat on her head to the bit of shoe visible just under her matching robes--comes out.

“Another for Hogwarts?” she asks. At Harry’s quiet nod, she waves him over. “Come on, then. I’m Madam Malkin. I’ve another student back here as well.”

Harry walks over and she leads him into the backroom of the shop. Sure enough, there’s a boy being directed to stand up on a footstool. His blonde hair is almost white and the eyes that look over at Harry as he comes over to stand on the stool next to him are light grey. Harry feels like he has seen him somewhere before, although he can’t possibly say where, and thinks it may be down to the same feeling that had come over him when he first saw his Hogwarts letter. That déjà vu feeling is becoming so familiar now, and has worked out so well for him thus far, that he doesn’t think to question it.

“Hi,” Harry says, not waiting for the boy to greet him first. “Are you starting at Hogwarts too?” Harry belatedly realizes it might seem like a stupid question. He’s not sure if there even are other magic schools in the country. Surely in other countries, right?

“Hello. I am.” The boy confirms in a drawl. “Mother is next door getting books while my father is over on Knockturn. She wants us to look at wands after, but I think I’ll drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don’t see why first years can’t have their own.”

“Is it just first years who can’t?” Harry asks, interrupting. He’s stunned at the idea of actually riding a broom, like in cartoon depictions of witches, and almost launches into more questions about it but refrains, thinking he doesn’t want to yet reveal just how completely clueless he is about all things magical. This kid clearly has magical parents and has grown up with it like it’s just a normal thing.

“Yes, just first years.” The boy confirms.

Around them, the witch in mauve and another has each rolled out a measuring tape that, with a wave of their wands, begins to measure each boy. Harry tries not to stare, fascinated, partly because he’s instructed to hold still. While the tapes measure them, the bell at the front rings and one woman goes to the front while the other moves to the other side of the room to start rifling through a line of black robes.

When they’ve moved away, the blonde boy leans over to Harry and adds conspiratorially, “If I can get Father to buy me a new broom, I may try to smuggle it in.”

“Do you think they have spells for that?” Harry asks. If there’s a rule, surely they have a way to enforce it?

“Hm, I hadn’t thought of that,” the boy admits. “Maybe.” He seems to take a better look at Harry, then holds a hand out to him. “My name’s Draco Malfoy, by the way. I’m sure you’ve heard of my family.”

The name he’s given brings the same feeling seeing the boy had, accompanied by a certainty that he should try to be friends with this boy. Taking the hand, he admits, “Not really, sorry. I’m Harry Potter.”

Draco’s eyes widen, but they’re both distracted by a squeak of surprise behind them. They turn to look, and the second woman is bent over, picking up the robes she dropped. She stares at Harry, eyes comically wide, before she scurries towards the front room.

“Are you really?” Draco asks, head tilted as he takes Harry in from head to toe. The bored quality of his voice is gone, curiosity taking its place.

“Uh, yeah,” Harry admits. “I, uh, forget that people know me.”

Draco raises an eyebrow at that, but whatever he might have to say is kept quiet as the two women come bustling back into the room.

“Harry Potter! I thought I might be seeing you this year,” the mauve witch exclaims delightedly. “Are the rumors true? Do you have a scar from You-Know-Who?”

Harry blinks at the question before simply lifting his bangs, his scar clearly visible on his forehead. The three others in the room all lean in at least slightly to get a better look, but Draco is the first to straighten, feigning disinterest.

“Wow,” Madam Malkin breathes. Uncomfortable at how long he’s being stared at, Harry lets his bangs fall back to cover the scar, and the older woman’s eyes drop to his. She smiles at him. “Well, we have to make sure you are very well dressed for your school debut, don’t we? We’ll finish up these measurements and be sure to get these to you in an hour or so, okay?”

Harry nods and looks over at Draco, trying to think of something to talk about with the other boy. He’s momentarily at a complete loss as to what he could possibly talk about, then remembers the questions he’d asked Snape while they walked. “Uh, so what House are you hoping to get into?”

“Slytherin,” Draco announces immediately, explaining, “All our family have been.”

“Oh, that’s Professor Snape’s House.” Harry’s pleased to be able to display some knowledge about the school.

“You know him?” Draco asks.

Harry nods. “Oh, yes, he’s actually next door getting my books right now too,” he admits. “I’m here with him and Professor McGonagall. He said both my parents were in Gryffindor, so I guess that might be where I end up.”

“Slytherin and Gryffindor are rival Houses,” Draco says in response.

Before Harry can reply, Madam Malkin declares she’s finished. When Harry asks how much for his robes, she waves him off, declaring it’s on the house. “Least I can do for the Boy Who Lived,” she tells him proudly.

Harry feels his face get hot with embarrassment, and he’s not sure how if he should insist he pays or if it would be rude to refuse. He’s saved from responding by them finishing with Draco, and attention being diverted to him instead as they tell him to tell his mother that his items should also be finished within the next hour or so. It makes him relax some knowing that the other boy isn’t going to have to wait longer, although he’s still uncomfortable with the obviously special treatment.

The two head outside, and Harry picks up the conversation where they left it. “Even if we end up in different Houses, we can still be friends, right?”

It’s the most forward he’s ever been with someone his own age. He’s never really had a friend, his classmates always opting to steer clear when it becomes obvious that he’s Dudley’s favorite target for bullying. He can’t say he blames them, understanding not wanting to be bullied, but he wishes at least one of them had been brave enough to be his friend anyway. He hopes now things will change, and he’s willing to make the effort to make new friends.

Draco himself seems taken aback by the question, and he looks at Harry for a moment, before shrugging. “I guess so.” He doesn’t sound very convincing, but he’s not refusing outright, so Harry takes it as a win. “Mother is probably still in the bookstore,” he says, pointing at the store next door.

“Professor Snape too,” Harry agrees. “Should we go find them?”

Draco agrees, and the two boys make their way into the store. They’re forced to navigate between stacks of books and a number of other customers to search the store. When they find themselves next to some stairs leading up to the second story, Harry goes up three steps then stops suddenly, causing Draco to run into him. He laughs before pointing Snape out, who he just spotted, and they backtrack to make their way towards the front of the store.

“Professor Snape!” Harry calls when he’s close enough to think the man will hear him over the din of the crowd.

Snape looks over, spotting the boy’s waving arms in the crowd. “Mr. Potter, just in time to pay for your books.”

“Sure thing!” Harry readily agrees, excited to be able to pay for his own things for once. “Oh, Draco, this is Professor Snape. Professor, this is Draco-”

“Ah, yes, Lucius and Narcissa’s son.” Snape recognizes the boy immediately, his resemblance to his father striking. He’s surprised the two are together, though, and notes that his parents aren’t around. “Where are your parents?”

“Father had an errand on Knockturn,” Draco immediately supplies, his tone respectful. “Mother is in here.” He looks out over the crowded store, and adds, “Somewhere.”

Snape nods, assuming the boys met in Madam Malkin’s. He directs the store employee to wrap Harry’s purchases before turning to the boys. “The two of you wait outside. I will locate her and let her know you’re outside.”

He waits for Harry’s books to be wrapped before he shrinks them down and hands them over to Harry to hold onto. Snape shoos them outside and then turns to go search for Narcissa Malfoy. He locates her fairly quickly, her slim figure and long blonde hair--only a shade or so darker than her son’s--familiar enough to him that he can recognize her quickly.

“Narcissa.” He waits until he’s only a step or so away from her and the woman she is speaking with to say her name.

Blue eyes look over and, raising an eyebrow, she says, “Why, Severus Snape. I can’t say I expected to see you today.”

“I am assisting with a student,” he explains simply, not elaborating further. “Your son was looking for you; I advised him to wait out front.”

“So you’ve met my Draco.” She smiles fondly. She bids her companion goodbye before motioning for a house elf behind her carrying a stack of books to follow her. “Thank you for letting me know. He’s certain to be in your House this year, so I do hope you’ll do me the favor of keeping a close eye on him. You know boys that age are prone to getting into trouble.”

“It goes without saying,” Snape agrees readily. “You know I could do no less for you and Lucius.”

Outside, Harry and Draco move away from the bookstore’s door to avoid getting in the way of customers entering or exiting. Harry decides to admit to Draco he doesn’t know much about brooms and ask him about it, which gets the other boy going into detail on what makes a good racing broom versus what makes a good Quidditch broom. When Harry asks what Quidditch is, Draco is stunned speechless for half a second, before he launches into an explanation of what the game is and the rules. He’s just starting to get into why his favorite team (the Wimbourne Wasps) are the best when McGonagall comes over.

“Harry, where is Professor Snape?” she asks as she comes by, looking the two boys over. “And who might this be?”

“This is Draco Malfoy, we met in the robes store,” Harry replies. “Draco, this is Professor McGonagall, she’s the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts.” Draco greets her, and Harry answers the other question she asked. “Snape was looking for Draco’s mum in the bookstore ‘cause it’s busy.”

“Unsurprising, considering the time of year.” She looks over at the store briefly before looking back at Harry. “Hagrid is getting you a birthday present.”

“It’s your birthday?” Draco asks. Harry nods, blushing at the idea of someone very deliberately buying him a gift. First the clothes, and now something from the groundskeeper.

“He doesn’t have to,” Harry mutters, embarrassed.

McGonagall smiles at his reaction. “No, but he would like to, so it’s only polite to accept.” Snape and Mrs. Malfoy emerge from the bookstore and McGonagall lets the boys know.

“If it’s your birthday, we should get cake,” Draco announces matter of factly.

Without waiting for a response from Harry, he goes over to meet his mother and Snape, pointing briefly back at Harry where he stands with McGonagall. There’s a brief discussion in which Snape nods, and then he and Draco come back over to where Harry is watching them.

“Mr. Malfoy will be joining us for lunch,” Snape informs them, “while Mrs. Malfoy finishes his school shopping.”

The two professors and their charges make their way to one of the many cafes located in Diagon Alley. They were seated immediately despite their being decently busy, and it soon became clear Draco was the reason when the manager on duty came to greet him and ask after his parents. He seemed to sit up a little taller speaking to the man, telling him importantly that his friend Harry Potter was celebrating his birthday today and they were hoping to have a small celebratory lunch.

As it had earlier in the day, it causes a flurry of activity, and they very clearly become the center of attention. Word spreads through the other patrons, who crane their necks to try and get a clear view, seemingly being kept from coming over by the staff. Harry is both embarrassed and amused, as his self-proclaimed new friend Draco is clearly enjoying the havoc his words have wrought. Snape grumbles under his breath, but Harry doesn’t catch it, though he does see Professor McGonagall, stifling a smile, leaning over to speak to him in a low voice the boys across from them can’t quite catch. Not that Draco seems to be paying them any real mind.

Soon, neither is Harry. He’s too fascinated by the servers taking orders while simultaneously serving water or setting drinks from a tray down, a floating notepad and quill by their heads writing down everything being said. Trays heavily laden with food are also brought out with magic, followed closely by a server with a wand out, whose occasional flick of the wrist directs the tray to gently move to avoid other servers, patrons, and even other floating trays. Their own server makes a show of having their food fly off the tray, making elaborate turns in the air before landing softly in front of each of them, with nary a crumb falling off the plate.

He doesn’t think he could be more impressed, until they come out with a cake for him. He doesn’t recall even seeing cake as an option on the dessert menu, so clearly they’ve either had it made or brought over specially for him. Instead of candles, little magic flames dance around the edge of the cake until it’s set down on the table. Soon after, the servers break out into a birthday song that the other patrons soon join in on and Harry’s red face doesn’t distract from the smile he’s unable to keep off his face. When they’re done singing, the little dancing flames rearrange in the air to say ‘Happy Birthday!’ and he’s directed to blow them out like he normally would.

It’s hands down the best birthday he’s ever had.

After lunch, Hagrid finds them and gifts Harry with a snowy white owl of his own which, he’s told, he can use to communicate with others in the wizarding world. He and Draco agree to write before the blonde goes off with Snape to meet back up with his mother. Harry in turn goes with McGonagall to continue getting the rest of his school supplies, with Hagrid tagging along.

They go for his wand, and he’s glad to have the stern professor with him, unnerved when the old wandmaker Ollivander informs him that his wand is the brother to the one that gave him his scar. McGonagall dismisses the information, thanks Ollivander for his assistance, and outside promptly tells Harry that regardless of whether that information is true or not, he’s not to put any weight into the information. A wand, after all, is an extension of its wizard. Whether the things done with it are good or bad lies solely with the wielder. Then she marches him off to get the rest of his things and pick up his robes. Snape joins them when they reach the Apothecary, doing his own shopping. When Harry picks up a “Student’s First Potion Kit” marketed for new students, Snape scoffs loudly, takes it out of his hand, and promptly marches him over to where the fresh ingredients are, explaining that so long as he can afford fresher ingredients, they would always serve him better than any cheap kits or bundles.

Soon, it’s time for him to go home again. He’s sure both professors are more than ready to call it a day, but Harry still finds himself wishing he could somehow prevent it from ending. His things are all put away inside his newly bought trunk, with the exception of his owl, who sits serenely in her cage. They leave through the Leaky Cauldron, Hagrid bidding Harry a good summer before heading for the bar before they make it out the door.

It’s like emerging from a dream, Harry thinks, looking around at normal, non-magical people going about their day. No one is in robes, holding wands, or making things float or change colors or anything.

McGonagall holds her wand out, and the Knight Bus returns once more. “I’m afraid we shall have to send you back on your own, Mr. Potter.” She directs her next comment to the conductor, an older gentleman than the one from earlier in the day. “Please see that my student gets to 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, if you please. Could you assist with his trunk? Thank you.

“Now.” She turns back to Harry, reaching into her pocket for something. “One last thing. This is your ticket for the Hogwarts Express. It will leave promptly at eleven o’clock on September first, so please be sure you are on time with that ticket. The platform is hidden from Muggles. Go to the barrier betweens platforms nine and ten, and there you’ll walk through the barrier to reach platform nine and three-quarters.”

Harry nods his head in understanding, slipping the envelope into his back pocket. They remind him his new owl can reach them if necessary, so he’s to write immediately if there is any trouble with the Dursleys when he gets home, though McGonagall states she’s confident that they will behave themselves from here on out. Reluctantly, he climbs into the Knight Bus, sitting at a window seat where he can see the professors one last time. He manages to wave before they are suddenly gone, and the bus lurches forward with a BANG!

Story Notes:

Chapter title is from the song "We Are Going To Be Friends" by The White Stripes. Heh.

#Because I Could Not Stop for Death fic #BICNSFD #Harmony fanfic #HP fanfic #Harry Potter

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septiembrre · 4 years

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GG Headcannons

Tagged by @sothischickshe. Thanks, boo ;-)

Ship: Beth x Rio -- in honor of our lovebirds day for GGWEEK2020

38. What is/are their love language(s)?

Haha, this has already made its way into one of my ficlets. I am also writing love languages into my next chapter of Better Be Mine. I can’t let it go!! I don’t actually care about them as tool for my irl relationship but it’s so easily identifiable for Brio. So my headcanons here...

Rio’s love languages:

Rio prefers to receive love through Quality Time.

Rio shows love through Physical Touch.

Beth’s love languages:

Beth prefers to receive love through Words of Affirmation.

Beth shows love through Acts of Service

49. Do they have differing political opinions?

Lol, @sothischickshe I can’t believe you tagged me in this!!!! Stop reading into the underlying vibes of Beth/Rio conversations in my fics!

So the short version of my response is: yes.

Now the absurdly long response:

I think about Rio & Beth a lot. I think about them talking about politicized issues quite a bit and imagine them in conversation with each other, teasing their beliefs apart. I like picturing these conversations instigated by hard parenting moments, things in the news, and things that come up as they finally start saying more words to each other. I think Rio could also just directly ask Beth about her political beliefs (I can’t necessarily picture the reverse yet).

I think Beth is definitely more conservative than Rio -- and that’s an assumption I make because Rio’s a Latinx guy who probably came up with lack of access to wealth, and Beth as a white woman in the suburbs who formerly perceived herself/her family as wealthy.

Beth’s characterization is complicated -- sometimes it really leans into Karen stereotypes/white woman privilege (lol, I cannot believe they literally had her show up at Gil’s workplace. I CRINGE!) and other times her beliefs and actions positively surprise me. Personally, in my fic writing, I love leaning into an idea that Beth grew up more working class/experienced neglect from her parents. I don’t want to romanticize these experiences but trauma around financial insecurity & complicated family relationships personally resonates with me. Ugh, I love writing about it, and it’s something that I read in her childhood that I like to lean into. That flashback in Season 2 really humanized Beth for me and it really made me love her.

Okay, that was a major digression about class, but her life experience must lend itself to her political beliefs. She married into a wealthier family -- a family that owned it’s own business, was financially stable and just... a family perpetuating all the harmful effects of white heterosexuality and problematic gendered labor. And she conformed to it! Beth diminished herself to make herself fit there, to find safety and stability, to feel worth. So, I think her politics as an adult are also “safe” and probably echo the popular moderate trends in normative, toxic parent groups. Honestly, irl as a queer WOC who is anti-capitalist and been forced to be political for my own self-preservation and preservation of folks I love, I would not seek out PTA Beth’s friendship for multiple reasons, but I still have such a soft spot for Beth as a character?

That being said, Beth in the context of Annie & Ruby is obviously a different Beth. She loosens up in these spaces, she speaks her mind much more freely and in these scenes she comes as a normal, relatable human and she’s funny and prim and awkward. I think she comes across as somewhat liberal but not particularly educated on the issues/progressive (as is the way most characters are characterized on network TV). In this vein, she throws around a lot of white privilege and because some of it has gone un-interrogated in the context of the show... I’m not sure how intentional these vibes are or if it’s just par the course of it being white-owned network TV. Obviously characters are allowed to make mistakes and do shitty things, but I wish there was more on-screen acknowledgement of race in the show, and more intentional naming of things. In regards to Ruby + Beth in particular, I feel like an American white woman can’t have a life-long/multi-decade friendship with a Black woman and not be intentional about acknowledging racism/the specific misogynoir that Black women face. But the show hasn’t really acknowledged this aspect of Ruby + Beth’s friendship...

*stares at the camera like I’m on The Office*

It would be such a rich opportunity to discuss the challenges of interracial friendship if done well. Also, what an opportunity to delve into what it’s like to maintain friendships across the years (um, it’s hard!!! Even with people you love so much! Tell us more about Beth & Ruby’s ups and downs!). Beth and Ruby care about each other so much. When they and Annie get friendship beats -- I cry! Just make it make more sense! If the show filled in these blanks, it would be so great. Beth is obviously awakening~ definitely so in regards to her gender and her power and it could shift her political opinions? The show definitely poked a little fun at her crime “wokeness” by having her push back on cultural appropriation with those other PTA parents. Just by the exposure of her own relationships, Beth has experience with the lack of American safety net, our terrible, impoverishing health-care system, and inaccessibility of higher education.

So, on one hand the show tries to do a thing where they equalize and don’t name race in the context of the three leads, “they’re three women”, but then they play on racial tropes with Beth and Rio’s relationship... I would like for their interracial relationship to be more overtly discussed/acknowledged outside of Rio’s somewhat performative call outs of Beth’s white lady fragility.

So anyway -- Rio’s politics. We don’t know a ton about Rio so we don’t have too much textual evidence to go off of. But, we do know that Rio picks at Beth’s facade of white women fragility all the time -- sometimes with more hostility and other times simply teasing. When I write him, I give him my own experiences of having to become well-versed discussing politicized issues by the default of growing up experiencing racism and xenophobia. Rio, like any Mexican-reading man, has probably been told to “go back to his country” throughout his life -- and I can’t imagine it not politicizing him... Though, conservative Latinx exist and constantly shock me with their assimilationist audacity. *stares at the camera like I’m on the office again* But, idk, it’s something about their characterization of him of being so worldly~~ I imagine him being informed and up-to-date on the American news. I want him throwing around his power and $$$ by donating to local, progressive candidates of color. But, this is all projection~ :-)

Ha, I feel like this was too critical of my forever otp (and on ship day to boot)!! And of Beth. The show has a habit of putting Beth through the physical and psychological wringer, and what I want instead is for our baby to be out of harm’s way, financially stable, divorced and independent, and also forced to interrogate the more harmful ways she deploys her whiteness. Lol, no one would watch my show. I know.

I love Beth & Rio. They thrill me. And like many others in the fandom, I often want to remove them from the GG canon and make them have harder/real/necessary conversations -- and generally converse about anything/everything because they barely do that on screen. I love the drama of their scenes, but my happy place is skipping a year ahead and building headcanons about what they could look like in actual relationship with each other... and one of these daydreams is Rio pushing Beth on her politics. I’m in an interracial relationship with a white woman myself -- and one of the things I love is endlessly discussing political issues and processing and growing together, and I like transplanting that to Brio in my fic perhaps too much, and it makes them OOC in my writing at times.

Okay!!! This got long again. Thanks for tangling with this if you’ve gotten this far. There were a lot of assertions up there and I’m happy to unpack something further (but, thats at your own risk y’know. Clearly I don’t know when to stop when it comes to writing these ridiculously long posts).

#beth x rio #my bbs #rants #ask memes

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shadowontheearth · 4 years

Text

My Heart’s Desire

A/N: This ends really abruptly and isn’t very good but I have been working on it at an aching pace for forever so I figured I just needed it finished. Thanks for reading!

The Lannister siblings all sat in the red keep drinking their goblets of wine and complaining about the new plans of their father. “He can’t seriously think that we are going to marry these flowery reach imbeciles does he” Cersei remarked with annoyance. Tyrion chuckled at his sister’s naivety. “You can’t seriously think our father wouldn’t force us to do anything he felt would add to his already deep pockets” he replied. “He cares about power, so do I, but for him to throw Jaime at some Southern Harlot to acquire gold we already have access to seems like a slap in the face after all that he has done for the family name.” Cersei challenged. Jaime sighed preparing to defend his father’s logic when the door creaked open causing all three heads to snap towards it. (Y/N) Tyrell was a cousin of Margaery and was as fair and beautiful as anyone Cersei had ever seen. She couldn’t help but eye the young woman up and down, telling herself it was to get a good look at her soon to be sister in law and not because the beautiful face was igniting a fire inside her that she hadn’t felt in a long time. “I apologize if I am interrupting anything but Lord Tywin has asked that you join him in his chambers Sir Jaime” said (Y/N). Despite the fact that she was delivering a message to the blonde man her eyes seemed stuck to his sister. “You have interrupted nothing” Jaime said with a bright smile, “we were simply having a conversation amongst siblings, nothing of importance. I will be with him shortly, thank you for letting me know”. The Tyrell nodded her head and turned around unknowingly causing Cersei to stare at her backside as she retreated.

As soon as (Y/N) left for her chambers Jaime crossed the room to embrace his sister. “My love I promise you that there is nothing to be jealous of” he said placing a kiss to her head.

Tyrion, with a twinkle in his eye, let out a snort and a rushed “ah but perhaps there is”. He had witnessed the subtle looks Cersei had given the fair maiden all week and he was nothing if not clever. “Don’t be daft brother, there is none for me but our lioness. Our marriage will be as loveless as yours was to the king. A deal with a wealthy family to give father his precious legitimate heir and nothing more.” With that he left the chambers to go to his father but before the door had even closed Cersei had whirled around wild eyed towards her younger brother. “Breathe a word of this to anyone and I will torture you in ways even I have yet to dream up for you starting with a visit to the little bird’s handmaiden” sneered the lioness. At the mention of Shae Tyrion’s gleeful smile fell. “I was only teasing dear sister. If the looks the young Tyrell was giving you were any indication I would say you aren’t alone in your attraction but if you want to spend your time going to war with me so be it. I imagine someone else will bed her eventually and she will be saved of a lifetime of your company’s misery”. With that the dwarf left the keep in search of the object of his own affections. Cersei began to panic, not because her brother knew of her feelings for the girl which she knew he would never share, but rather because he had gotten under her skin with the idea that someone would bed what she had already laid mental claim on. The dowager queen was having none of that so she came up with a plan to get (Y/N) alone with her.

Late that evening Cersei sent a letter to (Y/N)’s room and set her plan in motion. Wearing a robe of red silk she carefully draped herself across the love seat with a goblet in hand. Time slowed as she sat waiting for the younger girl to knock at the door and Cersei began to grow paranoid that someone had intercepted the letter. She stood from the bed and marched her way across the room swinging the door open resolute that she would go find the girl herself but as soon as she did she came face to face with (Y/N). “Your grace,” the Tyrell began, “I am so sorry to have kept you waiting but it was your father’s wish that I sup with my betrothed so that we could get to know one another better. I did not see your note until quite late I am afraid”. Cersei held in a smile as she listened to the girl speak and watched her eyes where they were glued to the red robe that was slowly slipping open a crack. “Oh darling not a worry, please come in” she said taking a step back and opening the door wider. “The matter wasn’t urgent I simply wanted to spend some time with you and I thought what better way to get to know you than by having a night cap and some girl time.” The Tyrell seemed rather surprised by the thought that Cersei wanted anything to do with her but she schooled her features quickly. The two sat down and began talking which went on for several hours, though both women had lost track of the time seemingly paused in their own moment together. The more they spoke and drank the closer their heads got until they were nearly a breathe apart.

When (Y/N) lifted her eyes to meet Cersei’s she knew she couldn’t trust herself not to close what little space was left between them so she rose under the guise of getting the two more wine. She could tell that the air was charged and that the other woman knew it as well so she tried to distance herself in every way possible, lifting the goblets to pour she began speaking about Jamie. “What a kind family my hearts desire belongs to never letting me grow lonely here. First my love dines with me and then my soon to be sister spends the night chatting with me the way my cousins used to, I could not be more grateful”. Cersei let out a laugh as she watched the Tyrell ramble her way away from the intimacy they had nearly shared. “I don’t believe that he is the Lannister your heart desires” stated the lioness as she stalked the young rose like her prey. “W-whatever do you mean” the younger girl began, trying to put space between herself and the other woman, “Your brother is a good man and the man that I am going to marry and there’s no other man in my heart.” As she stepped back the Lannister woman continued her her hunt following the Tyrell’s every move with a move of her own. With a smirk Cersei leaned in close to the girls ear and whispered “Another man, no but another Lannister…If your eyes glued to my body and the way you are holding your breathe right now are any indication I would say that you my dear girl are quite the liar”. (Y/N) couldn’t stop the shiver that went down her spine at the feeling of Cersei’s breathe on her ear. The Queen Mother had an effect on the Southern girl that couldn’t be contained in close proximity. The blonde lioness drew back to tease the girl some more but before she had a chance (Y/N) was crashing her lips against her own. Cersei melted into the kiss like she never had before, not even with Jamie, but despite (Y/N)’s accidental whine of protest she pulled away far quicker than she would have liked. “Stay the night with me” she whispered placing her forehead against the Southern girls, “You’ve had all that wine and I wouldn’t want you to get lost on your way back”. (Y/N) laughed softly before capturing the Queen’s lips yet again and the two spent the night beginning a love story both knew would only ever end in suffering.

#cersei lannister imagine #cersei lannister x reader

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let-it-raines · 5 years

Note

Prompt: two boarding school teachers finally, FINALLY get together. Everyone around them is way too invested and knows way too much. I'd send you the link but tumblr won't like that.

Okay @shireness-says this completely and totally spiraled, and I 100% blame you for that. I’m sure you won’t mind though, and I hope that you enjoy!

Rating is on the more mature side for the ending, as per request 😘

-/-

Wind whips through the courtyard as Killian walks along the sidewalk wishing he had a scarf to go along with his jacket and his knit hat, but he can’t seem to find his school-approved scarf. He’s thirty-two years old, and he still has to wear a school-approved scarf when it’s school hours and he’s technically on the clock. Though, working at a boarding school means he’s nearly always on the clock when he’s in charge of the eleventh-grade boys’ dorm three nights a week. At least they don’t check his scarf-wearing there.

He simply has to check to make sure thirty hormonal seventeen-year-olds aren’t sneaking out or sneaking girls in. Most nights it’s easy, others he swears he gains several wrinkles on his face, and sometimes he has to call in Rob on his night off to help to get them to all settle down.

Killian never thought that being a Calculus teacher would be this damn hard, and he voluntarily became a Calculus teacher.

The dorm beds really kill his back, and he longs for the days where he can stay in his apartment in the faculty building that’s located between the boys’ and girls’ dorms.

Tomorrow.

He’ll be back in his apartment tomorrow, and he cannot wait to spend the entire time in bed.

Pulling his coat a little tighter around him, Killian keeps trudging through the slight dusting of snow with his backpack bouncing against his lower back. A group of students are throwing a football back and forth to each other while another bunch sit at a cluster of picnic tables, their voices echoing between the small group of buildings, and Killian can’t help but smile at them voluntarily sitting out in the cold simply so they can get in a little fun on their lunch hour.

The thing about Storybrooke Academy is that it’s remote. Wealthy parents up and down the east coast ship their teenagers off to live and be educated in the ivy-covered halls of this prestigious academy for two reasons:

(1) The teachers are top notch.

(2) Their children have very little access to distractions.

The actual town of Storybrooke is a fifteen-minute walk downhill – which inevitably means the walk back is a torturous fifteen minutes uphill – and since students cannot have cars here, the only way to leave the campus is by walking. They’re also only allowed to leave on the weekends, and even then, anyone under sixteen has to be accompanied by a faculty member. As much as Killian loves his students, he doesn’t love spending the little free time he has on the weekends with them as they spend their entire day at the diner that backs up to the beach.

He doesn’t blame them for going there, though. Not at all. As wonderful as their meal hall food is, it can get repetitive. And as much as they all try to provide the kids with enough study material to spend their afternoons and enough entertainment to spend their evenings, it can get a little boring up here. The headmaster is a bit old school in that he doesn’t believe in school-wide Wi-Fi – “the internet is a distraction full of horrors, and we will not have it here outside of the library and the classrooms” – so it’s not as if they can spend their days scrolling through Instagram or streaming YouTube videos.

Is he old or does he simply sound old thinking that?

No matter, the students and faculty at Storybrooke Academy spend their free time in search of entertainment through reading, board and card games, the occasional movie night, and, of course, gossip.

Gossip, as they say, makes the world go around, and that is surely true here.

It’s what makes the clock in the tower tick and the ink in the pens run. It’s what causes teenagers to have flush rise in their cheeks and for adults’ whispers gets caught in the wind and carried to the three hundred people who live on this campus.

Killian doesn’t truly want to take part in it, but it’s nearly inevitable with how things work. For instance, he knows that their head cook Ms. Lucas was once married to their handyman Mr. Geppetto but that they can’t stand to be in the same room together now. It’s to the point that if something in the kitchen is broken, she will fix it herself and get electrocuted before calling for help. The gossip is always what allows him to know that last week a group of the tenth-grade girls snuck away from their dorm in the middle of the night to break into the science building so that they could use the internet to stream this week’s episode of the Bachelor. It is always what enables him to be aware of the fact that there was a copy of one of his tests floating around so now he’s been able to make a new test with new questions.

Mostly, however, being aware of the academy’s penchant for gossip is what has Killian knowing that he must keep his private life at a degree higher than private so no one knows the details of what is going on when he is off campus.

As Killian continues to move along the courtyard, he passes by Emma Swan and Mary Margaret Blanchard huddled together with a group of their history students. He tries not to look at her for too long, so he only sees a flash of blonde hair wrapped up under a warm white knit hat with a puffball on the top and the slightest hint of a smile. Blush warms his cheeks more than a scarf ever could, but Killian pushes it down. He is not a school boy, and he certainly will not blush like one over a pretty lass smiling at him.

Even if that pretty lass is the woman he’s been pining over for the past three years.

She may very well be the most gorgeous woman he’s ever seen. The first day he ever saw her she walked into the faculty lounge wearing a skin-tight black dress that showed every curve of her toned body hidden under a vibrant red blazer. Her blonde hair cascaded off her shoulders in thick waves that he simply knew would be soft, and the sunlight gleaming through the windows made the green of her eyes almost look blue. She was breathtaking, and he nearly did have his breath taken away from him when he went to speak to her and words did not come out.

Not his best first impression, but certainly not his worst.

However, Emma isn’t simply someone who he’s physically attracted to. She’s smart and kind and so goddamn witty that his heart aches when she’s smiling while talking to him and that it aches even more when she’s smiling while talking to someone else.

Killian has never once had an issue telling a woman that he wants to be with her, and yet he can’t even think about telling Emma how much she means to him. They’ve grown too close.

Besides, Emma doesn’t feel anything besides friendship for him. How could she feel anything else? She deserves far better than him.

The thing about the rumors that bounce along the walls of this school is that they are not simply current rumors. They are rumors of the past like Killian’s forced retirement from the Navy at the age of twenty-two and the married woman who he was having an affair with. He didn’t know at the time, but that’s never seemed to matter.

Rumors make the world go around and yet bring a singular person to a screeching halt all at once.

“Killian,” Emma calls out, and he stops in his tracks to turn back around to look at her as she walks toward him. She’s even more beautiful close up, white specks of snow sprinkled in her hair and on the tip of her eyelashes, and the only thing keeping him from reaching up to touch the snow is Emma’s hand landing on his forehand as little sparks of electricity move over him. “Why weren’t you at breakfast this morning?”

Killian quirks his brow and sways a little further into Emma’s space, all of his usual bravado returning as his lips curl into a salacious smirk. “Did you miss me then, love? I know I’m irresistible, but I figured you could at least make it through breakfast without me.”

She good-naturedly rolls her eyes as her hand stays wrapped around his forearm. He can see the gold specks in her eyes from here. “I’m not stroking your ego, Jones.”

“You’re not stroking anything of mine if we’re being particular.”

“Please,” she huffs, a white puff of air coming out with her breath. “You couldn’t handle it.”

Killian dips his head down to lower himself to her eye-level and get as close to her as possible so that he knows she can feel the heat of his breath on her skin. Emma’s hand over his coat sleeve is burning him alive.

“Perhaps you’re the one who couldn’t handle it.”

She blinks, and he swears that she gets the smallest bit closer, her mouth nearing his, and his stomach painfully swoops at the prospect of Emma’s lips against his. He’s imagined it far too many times. They’ll be soft, he’s sure, and he knows that if Emma kisses anything like she argues, she’ll give as good as she gets.

If not better.

And if they weren’t standing in a courtyard filled with all of their students and if Killian wasn’t sure that Emma had no interest in him, he’d surge forward and pull her lips and her body into his so that he can feel the heat of her body all over him, the cold air around them completely disappearing as he is absolutely consumed by Emma.

Emma’s breath hitches, the sound the loudest thing he’s ever heard, and Killian’s thoughts come back to him so that he’s stepping back and righting his features while he wishes that his trousers weren’t quite so tight. Reaching up to scratch behind his ear, Killian smiles down at her, this time in a perfectly friendly way.

“I missed breakfast because I was grading papers. I’ll be at supper tonight if you’d truly like to dine with the best company on campus. I know that I can be charming.”

Her smile changes then, from soft to a bit smug, and she steps back into his space so that his breath hitches this time. Her hand has never left his arm. “I simply wanted to know where you were because I wanted my headphones that you borrowed back. I don’t find you that charming that I simply needed to see you.”

Killian bites his tongue to keep from laughing at the squeak in her voice, and he leans into her as a strong gust of wind ruffles their coats and causes Emma’s hair to fly into his own face, tickling his upper lip.

“All that sounds like, darling, is that you need me in order to listen to your music, and I suggest that you start to find me charming so that I’m able to give them back to you.”

There’s a pinch at his skin. “You’re an ass.”

He winks. “You love it.” Emma opens her mouth to say something else, but then a bell is ringing over the courtyard, and they both spring away from each other and look around to see that most everyone had already started to head inside in preparation for the fifth period bell to ring, and yet the two of them have simply been standing outside. “Well, Swan, I guess I’ll see you later, yeah?”

“Yeah, and bring my headphones.”

“I’ll think about it.”

Killian turns on his heels and starts walking toward the building where his classroom is. Emma follows right behind him except that she takes a turn one door earlier than him, and as soon as she disappears behind the stone walls, he lets out a sigh of relief and can feel his heart start to beat normally again. Not every interaction with her is that charged, but damn does he love it when they do get to talk like that.

There is nothing quite like him being able to tease her.

By the time Killian gets to his classroom, all of his students are already sitting in their desks, each of them on their phones to use the internet while they can, and they barely even notice his presence as he sits down in his rolling chair and places the stack of tests he was grading this morning on his desk before he turns on his computer to pull up today’s lesson plans.

“So,” he starts as he types his username in, “do you guys have anything interesting to tell me today? What have I missed while I was holed away grading your papers, which were excellent by the way. I’ll give them back after I have a chance to go over some of the answers to the trickier questions with you all.”

His usual very chatty peanut gallery is silent, and he stops looking at his computer screen to look up and over at all of them. No one talks more than his advanced class of seniors, but every single one of them is staring down at their notebooks, all of their phones put away like the annoyingly good students that they are.

Killian rolls his chair to the center of his desk and leans forward to rest his cheek in his right palm while the fingers of his left hand drum against the wooden frame. “It’s Monday. That means we just had a weekend, and since we’ve had a weekend, I know that means you all have gossip. And because I don’t want you annoying your other teachers with it, I need you guys to tell me what’s going on around the school.” Still, no one says anything, and Killian sighs. “I’m not going over the exam until someone spits it out. You lot can’t focus until after we’ve had our Monday afternoon chats.”

His eyes scan over the room and finally land on Caroline Abbot. She never can keep a secret.

Sure enough, she starts speaking once he’s spent two seconds staring at her. “Ms. Swan went on a date this weekend, and we didn’t want to tell you since we know that you like her.”

An anvil drops in his stomach, the pain overwhelming him, and Killian bites down on his tongue so harshly that iron immediately fills his mouth while flames flicker across his cheeks.

Bloody hell.

No.

Emma can’t have gone on a date. She simply can’t. Well, no, of course she could. She’s a gorgeous, intelligent woman, and she can do whatever she damn well pleases.

It’s just that…no, that’s hopeful thinking. They are not going to end up together, no matter how much his students are convinced that they are.

“First of all, Caroline,” he breathes out on a heavy sigh, “I do not have feelings for Ms. Swan.”

For fuck’s sake, why is he justifying himself to teenagers? Then again, he is the one to ask them about this weekend’s gossip, so he’s brought it on himself.

Who did Emma go out on a date with? Why didn’t she mention it? Why did no one mention it? Rob or Mary Margaret or, hell, Ms. Lucas should have mentioned it to him.

Emma should have mentioned it to him. They’re friends. They tell each other things. At least, he thought that they did. Yet, now that he truly thinks about it, he cannot remember the last time Emma told him one of her stories from her adventures in dating. They used to make a fire burn deep in his belly, still do apparently, and as nice as it was to listen to her share about her days, he’s a bit relieved that he hasn’t had to listen to any stories lately because he’s a miserable sod.

“But you do have feelings for her,” Abigail speaks up from the back of the classroom. “You two are perfect for each other, and everyone knows it but you.”

This gets the class in an uproar, as it always does, and Killian can do nothing to stop it. He’s tried before, but his students are absolutely convinced that he and Emma are some kind of fairytale True Love with capital letters and an overly cheesy happily ever after that doesn’t happen in real life because trials and tribulations still happen after the guy and the girl get together and drive off into the sunset.

And maybe he’d like to drive off into the sunset with Emma so that he can always hear the sound of her laughter and look at the crinkle of her nose as she smiles, but that’s simply not happening. The car is very much in park, if not shifting into reverse.

“Enough,” he shouts over the noise, banging his hand down on his desk just so that everyone can hear him. “Seriously, guys, I appreciate how much you care about your teachers, but Emma and I are simply friends and coworkers. You all go a little stir crazy holed up in here, so you’ve dreamed up this romance that simply isn’t there.”

“But it is,” George speaks up, and Killian is soothed by the familiar British accent of his student even if his words aren’t particularly pleasant. “You simply don’t know it yet. We all agree that the spark is there.”

Killian chuckles under his breath as his head shakes from side to side. He’s really got to get on with today’s lesson. “You know, as much as I love our Monday morning gossip sessions, I hate to tell you that no matter how hard you try, my personal life is never going to be something that runs along the rumor mill of this school. At least, my legitimate and current personal life. This hypothetical relationship between Emma and me doesn’t count.” Every single one of them opens their mouth to stay something, but he holds his finger up to stop them. “Nope. We’re moving onto Calculus, and that’s final.”

To say that the knowledge of Emma going on a date eats at Killian for the rest of the day is an understatement. The knowledge consumes him. Every second that he is not busy giving a lesson or grading papers his mind is focusing on it, and he knows that it’s unhealthy. It’s simply that he doesn’t think he’s able to turn his mind off and let himself focus on other, normal things that he should be focusing on.

Emma is a grown woman free to do what she wants, and she deserves all of the happiness in the world.

Killian was simply idiotic and selfish enough to think that some of that happiness could involve him.

It certainly doesn’t help that over the next few days Emma seems to be everywhere that he is. She slides in next to him in the booth at breakfast, excitedly telling him about this new book she just got in the mail or about how her foster brother is coming to visit next weekend, and he can barely keep his omelet down for the way that his stomach churns at the thought of her eating breakfast with whoever the mystery man is. If she doesn’t invade his space at breakfast, she’s finding him in the hallways between classes and utilizing the internet to show him something funny she found online. She’s always doing things like that. He’ll have not checked his phone overnight, and when he walks across campus to the classrooms where there’s internet, he usually has at least ten messages from Emma. The texts load in the dorm, at least for him, but the pictures and videos never do.

They’re living in a semi-dark age, obviously.

And Killian isn’t exactly going out of his way to avoid running into Emma. He’s obviously a glutton for punishment, and he will seek her out at dinner so that they can sit together and talk about their days and so he can see and hear that beautiful laugh of hers. It’s all normal, he tells himself, until one day he’s walking down the halls to the office to use the printer when he passes by her classroom and sees her showing some sort of video on the Waltz. Emma likes to add in little elements of fun into her history lessons, often incorporating pop culture moments, but she certainly doesn’t look to be having fun demonstrating the dance with Andrew Barron who seems to have two left feet.

Killian smiles as he stands in the doorway, his heart fluttering at the way that Emma even with her spitfire personality, stays so calm so as not to embarrass the lad.

Emma catches his eye over Andrew’s shoulder, and the little half-grin she shows him gives him the courage to step in and ask Andrew if he may have the dance with Ms. Swan.

“What are you doing?” Emma asks, the incredulousness obvious in her voice, but he ignores it in favor of folding his fingers over her hand and placing his left hand just below her shoulder while she places hers on top of his.

“I’m helping you demonstrate a Waltz, love.”

“I think we were doing just fine.”

Killian leans in a little closer so that their bodies are nearer to each other than they have any right to be. “Well, perhaps I just wanted to dance with a beautiful woman.”

Emma blushes, and her lips part to say something, but he doesn’t give her the chance, quickly moving his feet so that their bodies begin moving along to the music still playing on the projector. Her chest is visibly heaving and a little flushed, and it takes the sound of the metal leg of a desk scraping against the tile floor to remember that he’s in Emma’s classroom and that this is technically a lesson.

He should not be staring at her breasts.

“It’s really a rather simple dance,” he explains to the class, flashing them his broadest grin as his skin still sparks from the heat of Emma’s touch. “At least this version is. And if all else fails, you simply have to pick a partner who knows what he’s doing.”

They all nod in agreement, smiles on their faces, and Killian doesn’t fail to notice one of the students pulling out his phone to record them. He’s sure that it’ll make the rounds of the school and quite possibly the internet sometime soon, but he doesn’t really care, not when this is the most fun he’s had in days.

“Where’d you learn to do this?” Emma questions, her eyes lighting up as she looks up at him.

“You’d be surprised what they teach you in the Royal Navy.”

Her lips stretch out from one side to the next in a slow smirk, and Killian swears that his entire body is on fire. “I’m impressed, Mr. Jones.”

“As you should be, darling. And if you ever need someone to save you from a horrific dance lesson, you know where I am.”

“The only person who saves me is me.”

Killian winks as the music winds down to the end. “Aye, well, it never hurts to have a little help, especially when one of us is much better with our movement than the other.”

She scoffs and reaches out to slap his arm, but Killian stops her, grabbing onto her hand and bending down to press his lips to her knuckles, his eyes never straying from hers so that he can see her sharp intake of breath and the way that her eyes widen so that all he can see is green.

“It was a pleasure, milady. I’ll see you in our faculty meeting this afternoon, aye?”

And then he’s walking out of the classroom with a thundering heart, barely able to remember that he needs to pick up the papers he had with him when he walked into the room.

It’s wrong to want to be with her when she is likely with someone else, and yet here he is still doing things like that.

Killian vows to himself to back off and to stay away from her outside of actual work duties and friendly conversation, and that seems to last less than eighteen hours as Emma simply keeps finding him or he keeps finding reasons to talk to her. It doesn’t help that the video that was indeed taken of the two of them dancing has begun circulating throughout the school, and all of Killian’s students bring it up to him, each of them wondering why he and Emma aren’t together.

Life isn’t boxed into pretty pictures and graceful dances, and just because two people move well together does not mean that they are meant to always move in the same direction.

They don’t get it, but he doesn’t expect them to. They’re all teenagers who have experienced little when it comes to love and relationships, and even if they all feel that deep pang of the heart one feels when they are attracted to someone, they don’t understand that this is some kind of pipe dream.

He may sound a little juvenile even thinking that, but it’s the truth.

And their hope and faith in he and Emma being together does nothing to tamper down the feelings still festering in his chest.

The hopelessness he feels makes him wonder if he should take the step forward and tell Emma how he feels. At least then he’ll have the words off of his chest and no longer have the little inkling in his brain that makes him think that there’s hope there. Then again, that’s rather selfish, isn’t it? All that does is let Emma have to walk around with the weight of his feelings on her shoulders, and he can’t do that to her.

For all he knows, she is still dating that guy, and he’s been too much of a coward to ask his students if they know of her going on another date. It’s an invasion of privacy, one he can’t take, so he doesn’t.

January fades into February in the blink of an eye, the chill of a Maine winter somehow getting colder and filled with much more snow, and most outdoor activities get cancelled in favor of spending time indoors, and that’s exactly how he ends up supervising a movie night with none other than Emma Swan.

Life is funny that way.

The common room is full of all of the residents of his dorm, each of them huddled around the projector that Killian’s brought in to watch the new Spiderman movie. The cafeteria provided popcorn and snacks as well as a few cans of soda for everyone to drink, and the excitement of the students is palpable. They don’t get to do things like this too often, especially with the eleventh-grade girls from Emma’s dorm being mixed in with his guys, and he’s happy to let them simply be teenagers.

Just…under a hell of a lot of supervision from their teachers, so not a hell of a lot of freedom.

It’s probably been about fifteen minutes since he seriously had a look around the room, though. He trusts these students, and it’s not as if he can’t see absolutely everything that’s happening. Plus, he’s far too distracted by the way that Emma’s thigh is brushing against his under the blanket that she brought in to combat the chill from the cold stone building they’re in.

She’s relaxed this evening, her hair pulled back into a high ponytail and black-framed glasses perched on her nose, and she has on an oversized white sweater and a pair of leggings, thick socks pulled halfway up her calves. They’re both out of the dress code tonight, as they’re allowed to be, and it’s nice simply to feel normal.

The students aren’t the only ones who are restricted here.

“This movie is so cute,” Emma sighs. “I mean, I remember feeling exactly like that when I was a teenager and had a crush on someone. The overthinking and always trying to find a way to spend time with them or to brush your hand over their forearm.”

“I don’t think that stops when you get older.”

“No, I don’t think it does.” She twists to the side and smiles at him, and the insane creatures that live in his stomach start fluttering. “I think we simply get a little smoother in our actions, but I do think we overthink things a little more.”

“Why’s that, love?”

She shrugs. “We know more. Love is…scarier, I guess. Our hearts have been broken and bruised, and even if we feel the thrill of attraction, it’s dampened by the fear of what happens if the person we want to be with doesn’t want to be with us.”

It’s like she doesn’t even know.

The again, she doesn’t.

“Yeah, true,” he breathes out as his eyes move away from Emma and back up to the screen where the kids are on the plane traveling to Europe. “Then again, you don’t have to worry about that anymore, do you?”

“What are you talking about?”

Killian grits his teeth, his fists clenching beneath the blanket, and he’s almost reckless enough to say something else.

Almost.

Thankfully, though, one of his students asks him if he can turn the volume up on the movie, so he has to rise from his seat and move to the projector to adjust the settings. When he returns to his seat, the conversation is long since forgotten, and he can move on.

He has to move on and put some distance between the two of them.

Emma doesn’t seem to have any inclination to let him because even though he makes a conscious effort to not spend time with her over the next few days, she is still always around. If she’s in the dining hall, he skips a meal. If she’s in the library, he finds somewhere else to make his lesson plans. If she’s in the lobby of the faculty apartments, he turns right back around into the cold even if all he wanted was to go up to his apartment and go to bed.

The only time that he’s safe is when it’s his nights to sleep in the dorms and supervise. She may have been in there for movie nights, but that was simply a one-time thing.

Nothing else will come of it.

At least, that’s what he tells himself until he’s sitting in his classroom entering grades during his planning period, and his door opens before slamming shut behind Emma.

“Swan,” he says in greeting, furrowing his brow together as he takes her in. “What are you doing in here? Do you need something because I – ”

“Why the hell have you been avoiding me?”

“I have not been avoiding you.”

Emma rolls her eyes and steps in closer to him with her arms crossed over her chest, and he’s reminded that he quite fancies her when she’s yelling at him. And when she’s not. It’s an all the time kind of thing. “You have been avoiding me. Every time I see you around campus, you bolt in the other direction. That’s called avoiding, Jones.”

“That’s called coincidence.”

“Well, that’s a lie.”

He minimizes his screen as if that will somehow help the pounding of his heart sounding between his ears. “I can assure you, darling, that it’s not.”

Her jaw ticks, and he can hear the click of the heel on her boot tap against the floor while she looks up at the ceiling. “You know what, fine,” she huffs, uncrossing her arms and slapping her hands against her thighs. “If you’re going to be a dick and avoid me and lie to me instead of telling me what I have done to make you mad, fine. That’s just how it is.”

“I am not angry with you. What could possibly give you that idea?”

“The avoiding me thing.”

“Again, I’m not avoiding you,” he lies as more guilt festers in his stomach.

“You are,” she shouts, only to look behind her and bring her bottom lip between her teeth and quiet her voice to a low hiss. “You are avoiding me, Killian, and I thought we were close enough to be adults about this and actually say what’s going on in our lives.”

“Yeah, like you told me that you were dating someone.”

Oh fuck.

He did not mean to say that.

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing. It’s nothing. Just, leave it alone.”

“I am not going to leave it alone, Killian. I have worked here for three years, and in those three years, I have never gone more than two days without talking to you. It’s been a week and a half, and I want to know what’s going on.”

“Well for fucks sake,” he groans as he stands from his chair and walks toward her, anger and confusion coursing through his body so that his brain doesn’t bloody work anymore. “I was backing off from spending time with you because I couldn’t deal with the fact that I was flirting with you while you had a boyfriend.”

She nearly recoils, but she stands firm. Stubborn lass. “You were flirting with me?”

“That’s what you got out of that?”

“What else am I supposed to get out of it?”

“The bloody boyfriend part, Swan. You have one of those, and it’s not right for me to be blatantly flirting with you and spending time with you when you belong to someone else.”

“First of all,” she starts, holding up a finger, “I do not belong to anyone else. I belong to myself. Second of all, I do not have a boyfriend. I don’t know where you got that idea. And lastly, I wanted you to flirt with me, you dumbass. For someone who is literally the king of innuendos, you surely don’t know how to notice when a woman is interested in you. My God, I was ready to slap the shit of you so many times. I still am right now.”

His brain is broken. Just…it is broken. Because the words Killian is hearing cannot possibly be coming out of Emma’s mouth. They wouldn’t even come out of her mouth in his wildest dreams.

And because he’s an idiot, he doesn’t focus on what he’s supposed to focus on. “I think you have a boyfriend because the students told me you went out on a date.”

“A date? When the hell did I go out on a date?”

“I don’t know. A bloody month ago. I’m sure the two of you are happily in love by now.”

“You are positively daft, aren’t you?” She scoffs and shakes her head from side to side before hiding her face behind her hands. “Like, I cannot believe we’re even having this conversation.”

“You should be able to. You came into my classroom. I didn’t seek you out.”

“And we’re running back in a circle again.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing. It means nothing.”

The two of them stand in silence as they stare at each other with the air around them thickening with words unsaid. Killian isn’t sure what’s happening, can’t remember the words that have been said and the words that haven’t, and for what may very well be the first time in his life, he doesn’t know what to say.

Somehow, he has been rendered speechless.

All he knows is that in this entire mess he missed out on one very important sentence.

Emma is going to kill him, probably, and he doesn’t even care. Killian narrows his eyes and sways closer to Emma, very much invading her space as a smile curls on his lips while his heart absolutely hammers within his chest.

“Swan, did you say that you were interested in me?” he teases, and God, her perfume smells fantastic.

“No,” she blatantly lies, “no, I didn’t.”

“You did, though. In all of that mess of a conversation, you said you were interested in me. You wanted me to flirt with you. Love, you have a crush on me.”

“What are you? Sixteen?”

“Thirty-two,” he answers as his hands cup her cheeks and feel the smooth skin under his touch. Her cheeks are warm, nerves and embarrassment and anger obviously causing the flames to ignite beneath her pale skin. “But you already knew that.”

Her eyes flicker up to his, and Killian will never quite be over just how gorgeous they are. Her eyes fill his dreams at night and light up his days.

“Emma?” he whispers.

“Yeah?”

“Do you want me to kiss you?”

There’s a short intake of breath from Emma, and his stomach flips. Despite the circumstances, he expects some kind of rejection from her. He doesn’t expect her to surge up on her toes and press her mouth over his while her hands thread into his hair, but she does.

Emma kisses much like everything else she does. She’s rough, passion being the first thing to burst through, but then once a little work is done, she’s a little more gentle and delicate as the blooming heat between them wells up and bursts so that little sparks of electricity trickle down his entire body and encourage him to pull Emma closer to him while his lips decide to take charge and devour her the way that he has always wanted to.

It’s a funny thing, kissing Emma Swan. A part of Killian is sure that this isn’t real and is all part of some kind of fever dream caused by the below freezing temperatures outside, and yet he knows from the warmth of her body – every inch of it – and the little gasps that she’s letting out that this is very much real.

This is real.

He bites down on her lip to tease her, to make her sigh more, and he’s very much satisfied with the result as a little whimper escapes past her lips and his hips press into hers so that they can get a little friction while his hands fall from her hair to travel down her arms and land on her waist, fingers dipping back into the pockets of her pants so that he can feel the firmness of her ass.

Thinking about taking her back to his apartment and fucking her into the mattress, though, is the exact thing that has him remember that they are standing in his classroom where students could walk in at any second.

It’s why he pulls back, if only just a little. His forehead stays pressed against hers, nose brushing against the skin of her cheek while his eyes finally flutter open to see the smile on Emma’s face.

“So, you were avoiding me because you thought I had a boyfriend?”

“I was an idiot who let the school gossip get to my head.”

Her fingers thump against the back of his head. “It was two dates. He’s a nice guy, but I couldn’t get into it when I have far too much fun flirting with you.”

“Yeah?”

“Absolutely. Do you want to, um…do you want to come by my apartment tonight?”

“I do,” he answers gleefully, “but I can’t. It’s my night to supervise my dorm.”

“Shit,” she hisses, and he absolutely has to kiss her again for that.

“I’ll call Rob and beg him to take my place, aye?”

“Okay, but don’t let him know why. I don’t know about you, but I don’t exactly want any more of my life to be gossip amongst teenagers.”

“I know exactly what you mean.”

The bell rings then, a blaring alarm in his ears, and the two of them spring back from each other like they’ve been burned. Emma nearly runs out of his classroom, only leaving him with a sly smile on her kiss swollen lips, and instead of greeting his students at the door, Killian hurries to sit down at his desk and calm himself down so that he can teach this class like he isn’t currently consumed by the fact that the woman he has been pining for actually has feelings for him as well.

And that she wants him to come over tonight.

Robin better pull through for him and pay him back for all of the times that he’s changed shifts with him.

Killian can barely think for the rest of the afternoon. It’s nice that math comes automatically to him and that he can teach without too much thought, but he’d kind of like to think that he’s mature enough to not be completely and totally consumed with thoughts of a woman.

This is obviously not any woman, though. This is a woman who is bloody magnificent in every way imaginable, and all he wants to do is feel the softness of her lips once more.

And as slowly as the day passes, it does pass. He’s got after hours tutoring today as well as a basketball game to attend for at least a little while, but before he knows it, he’s in the boys’ dorms showering the day away and brushing his teeth once more before getting dressed in a pair of jeans and a button down that will not at all keep the cold away from him, especially with the way that he leaves the top few buttons undone.

He doesn’t plan on staying outside for too long anyhow.

Grabbing Emma’s headphones that he has yet to give back to her in the past month, Killian walks out the door of the dorm room faculty stays in when not in their apartments, and begins walking down the hallway to the exit.

“Where are you going, Mr. Jones?”

“I have some errands to run in town, Tyler,” he explains before flashing him a smile. “Mr. Locksley is taking my shift for the night. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask him, okay?”

“Yeah, whatever.”

And then Killian is walking out of there faster than he’s ever walked and stepping out into the cool winter air before quickly dipping back inside the faculty building. He walks through the lobby, saying hello to everyone sitting there, before taking the stairs up to Emma’s apartment. She lives on the floor above him, and when he pokes his head through the hallway door and there’s no one there and no one wandering outside who can see up to the apartments, Killian quickly and quietly makes his way down the hallway before knocking on Emma’s door.

When she opens it, she quickly ushers him inside before he can see that she’s wearing naught but a black robe with her hair cascading down her shoulder in loose waves. She smells like heaven wrapped up in a stick of cinnamon, and had he not been in Emma’s apartment several times before, he’d probably want to take a moment to look around. Instead he holds out her headphones while his eyes flicker down to her chest and the swell of her breast that he can see under the material of her robe.

“You know, Swan,” he teases, purposefully lowering the timber of his voice, “it seems that I have come over to your apartment simply to return your headphones to you, and you are dressed for something else.”

With a roll of her eyes, Emma leans forward and takes the headphones and places them on the table in her entryway before she’s wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him back into the apartment. “You see,” she sighs, “I was getting dressed, and I thought to myself how much I really didn’t want to have to put on pants with buttons again. And since we have, like, three years of unresolved feelings that we need to get out tonight, I figured that I’d just save us a step or two by not getting dressed.”

His hands find purchase on her hips, fingers tumbling toward the tie of the robe to undo it, and the little lingering fear in the back of his mind that he��s ruining something really good in his life goes away know that he knows Emma is still able to tease him.

“A man likes to be courted first, you know?” He slips her robe open so that his palm spreads out over the warm skin of her stomach, and it takes everything in him not to let his eyes flicker down to peruse her body. This is very much about what’s physical between them, but it’s also about so much more. “I don’t want you to think that I’m simply going to fall into bed with you.”

“I also have a couch.”

Killian’s laugh rumbles up from his stomach before he’s capturing her lips in a fierce kiss so that the laugh fades away into a growl that rumbles in his groin instead. Yet again, her warmth is bringing him back to life as her kiss lights him aflame. This is everything like their kiss in the classroom, but there’s an undeniable heat to it now that wasn’t there earlier.

The first kiss will always be special, but this means so much more to him because Emma didn’t run away. She’s seeking more of him.

His hand moves up her stomach to run across the lace of her bra, and he smirks into her kiss because he knows that she put this on specifically for him. Emma gasps when his fingers flick the material down so that his hands come into contact with a quickly hardening nipple while his tongue sweeps into her mouth in a warm slide that has every hair on his body standing at attention.

Emma’s tongue is sinful, her body even more so, and Killian is so damn distracted by the way that she feels against him and in his hand that he doesn’t even notice that she’s started to unbutton his shirt until sharp nails are scratching against his skin.

“Eager, are we?” he growls as his lips make a swift detour down her neck to kiss skin he hasn’t gotten a chance to taste yet.

“Are you complaining?”

“You’ll not find me complaining about one moment of tonight.”

Emma chuckles as she cranes her neck to the side so that he can continue to devour her skin. “I don’t believe that for a second. You’re always complaining about something.”

He flicks her peaked bud and scratches his beard along her flesh. “That’s because I didn’t have you in my arms.”

“Cheesy.”

“I’ve heard you like cheese.”

Killian is sure that she rolls her eyes, but he doesn’t see that because he’s kissing her again and trying to back her up to the bedroom. The apartment is the exact same layout as his, so he knows the way down the hallway. It doesn’t mean that he doesn’t nearly trip over Emma’s shoes or hit his hip against a hallway table, and they definitely stop against several different walls to continue devouring each other as well as undress the clothes from their bodies.

Though, he does rather wish he could see Emma in black lace for a little longer, but seeing her bare of everything but gooseflesh is much, much better.

She’s stunning with her toned muscles and creamy skin that seems to stretch on for miles, and he tells her so as his lips map her skin, leaving his mark against her while arousal continues to stir within him, his cock hardening at every little gasp and breathy moan that Emma elicits.

This woman has been one of his dearest friends for years now. How did he ever got so lucky to be able to drag the whiskers of his beard across the sensitive skin of her thighs while her fingers grab onto his hair in an attempt to move him to the slick flesh where he knows that she wants him.

She wants him.

Emma Swan is currently writhing on her bed unable to string more than a few words together because she wants him and is incredibly turned on by the things that he’s doing to her body.

Smirking, Killian bites down on Emma’s inner thigh before dragging his nose along her skin and breathing out over her folds before slowly flicking his tongue against her clit. Her grip tightens in his hair while her other hand bunches into the sheets, and Killian is pleasantly surprised by the way that she cants her hips up into him. The attraction between them is undeniable, the passion hard to tamper down, but they are also new to each other. He doesn’t know what makes Emma tick, but he’s extremely eager to learn. Slowly, tenderly, carefully Killian kisses her and shows her just how much that he cares about bringing her the pleasure that she’s finding at his touch.

At her instruction, Killian flattens his tongue and drags it against her once, twice, three times before dipping it into her entrance so that she moans in response. Killian looks up at her then through his eyelashes and sees the crane of Emma’s neck against the expanse of her body, and he smirks into her folds before continuing his efforts to continue to make her writhe. When he slides a finger into her, then another, the moan that Emma lets out is downright dirty, and he can barely breathe when she hooks her ankles around his shoulders and tugs him closer to her while she starts to pant and his own breath gets a little short.

“Like that,” she gasps out, and the sound of her voice goes straight to his straining length that’s pressing into the mattress. “Oh, fuck, just like that.”

It’s the most she’s said in minutes, and he takes the instruction in stride, sucking on her clit and curling his fingers inside of her just like he was until she’s crying out every curse he’s ever known and thrusting her hips into the air while her heels dig into his shoulders. It’s one of the most glorious sights he’s ever seen, and Killian fully intends to spend his entire weekend seeing her make faces similar to that over and over again.

“Glorious,” he promises her as he begins to move up her body, peppering kisses across every inch of skin that he can reach, focusing on her breasts for a few moments before bracing his hands on either side of her head and slowly gliding his mouth over hers, lazily kissing her as she still basks in the glory of her orgasm. “You’re simply glorious.”

Emma sighs as her hand wrap around his neck, and he can still feel her smile in the kiss. “You are not so bad yourself. I think I’m going to have to have you do that again.”

“It would be my pleasure.”

“And mine, obviously.”

A chuckle passes through her lips as he kisses her again, swirling his tongue around hers in a dance that resembles their waltz. He’s leading, but Emma is perfectly capable of doing that on her own. He almost wants her to.

And she does when her hand reaches down between him and grabs onto his cock, her touch absolutely electrifying, and he loses any and all sense that he has as he hisses into her shoulder.

“Bloody fuck.”

“You are so British.”

“I never, ah – I never…shit, Swan.”

“You never what?” she teases as her hand continues to move up and down his shaft.

“I never claimed to be otherwise. Do you have condoms?”

“Did you not bring any?”

“I did, but they’re wherever my pants are and I don’t really feel like going to find them.”

Emma laughs, and the sound is as pleasant as it always is, before she’s releasing him and leaning over to her bedside drawer to bring out the foil package. Every bit of him is on edge right now, the ache of not having a release building in the base of his spine, and he nearly loses himself when she rolls the protection down him. It’s all he can do from there to position himself on his knees and take hold of her legs, pushing them back against her chest while he slowly guides himself into her in a thick slide. She’s warm and mesmerizing and every other wonderful adjective that his brain is able to conjure up.

Funny thing, he can’t seem to think of many adjectives right now.

She’s rendered him absolutely speechless once more. The way she feels around him is magnificent, and he could stay slowly rocking with her like this for hours. It’s why, no matter how desperate he is, his pace is deliberately unhurried as the pressure slowly mounts between them. He wants Emma to feel good in this, to find her own bliss once more, and her weak, pleasured cries make him think that she is.

Killian’s hand finds where they’re joined as his eyes do the same, watching himself move in and out of Emma in what has to be one of the most erotic sights he’s ever seen, and her whimpers get louder which each flick of his finger while her moans become more frequent when he shifts over her so that his thrusts can be deeper and the hair on his chest brushes over her nipples while sweat glistens off of Emma’s forehead.

It’s overwhelming, being with her, and this is only the first time. Killian cannot even begin to imagine the road that they have in front of them, but a grin spreads across his lips at simply the thought of it.

This isn’t going to be a one-time thing, and he fully intends on falling in love with Emma.

If he’s not already there.

Emma trembles beneath him as her nails scratch down his back, and the contracting of her walls around him has Killian following soon after Emma and spilling himself inside of her with mangled grunts and groans and a declaration that is so close to love that it causes him to bite down on his own tongue and bury his face in the crook of Emma’s neck while he falls down on top of her, trying not to let his entire weight press onto her body even if the exertion has taken all of the energy out of him.

“So,” Emma mumbles as her nails softly drag across his back instead of scratching into his skin, “as well as you avoiding me seems to have worked out for us to get here, please don’t ever do it again.”

“No, Swan,” Killian laughs, kissing her collarbone before propping himself up and looking at her and the completely disheveled look of her hair, “I don’t think I will. I rather like you too much for that.”

“Good.”

Emma’s stomach rumbles then, this loud, unattractive noise, and Killian rolls off of her with a laugh as he reaches down and removes his condom to tie it up, quickly getting up from the bed to throw it away in the bin. “You hungry, love?”

She sprawls out on the mattress, something he guesses that she’s used to doing, and the goofy, sated smile on her face is one of the most glorious things he’s ever seen.

Killian seems to be thinking that a lot tonight.

“I’m absolutely starving. We worked up quite the appetite. That’s why you have sex before dinner. And then afterward you can talk about ways to improve while stuffing your face with lasagna.”

Killian barks out a laugh as he reaches down to pull up his boxers and toss Emma’s robe at her. “I like the way you think. C’mon, love, let’s go eat. You promised to court me.”

“That I did.”

Nothing really changes between the two of them. Sure, there are kisses exchanged and Killian can take her against the kitchen counter if he wants to (he does want to, and they do fulfill that want), but mostly it’s the same. They still talk and laugh and tease each other until the other gets angry. It’s exactly what he wants, what Emma wants too, and every fear that he has had about them doing this seems to be unfounded.

At least if the first night is any indication.

And the next two nights.

They spend the entire weekend holed away in Emma’s apartment, only leaving so Killian can go down one floor to get his clothes from his own place, and making love to Emma while the snow falls outside and laughter passes between them is a memory that will forever be etched into his mind.

He owes Rob quite possibly the biggest gift basket in the world for taking over his dorm duties.

Eventually Monday does roll around, their weekend between the sheets ending, but there are promises for it to happen again and again and quite possibly as much as possible. Being stuck at a boarding school and living so close together gives them a great chance for dating and figuring this whole thing out.

Secretly, of course. It’s still new and fresh, and Killian doesn’t want anything to come between them until they are settled in this thing.

“Happy Monday,” Killian sighs as he walks into his fifth period Calculus class after lunch Monday morning. All of his classes have been weirdly distracted today, and he’s hoping that this period actually pays attention. “Did everyone have a good weekend?”

There’s a quiet murmur with several answers of yes and a few of no, but then things get oddly quiet when he settles down at his desk and logs into the computer to take attendance. Curious, Killian looks up and sees that every single student is staring at him with absolutely giddy looks on their faces.

“What?” he questions as his brows furrow. They’re still silent with their creepy grins, so he asks again. “What? Someone tell me what’s going on.”

They all seem to look at each other as if they’re debating whether or not to actually tell him what’s on their minds, and a shiver runs down his spine.

Then Caroline Abbott speaks up. “We know that you spent the weekend in Ms. Swan’s apartment. Congratulations! You guys are finally together!”

Killian doesn’t even get a chance to protest, to lie and tell his students that they’re wrong. He doesn’t know how they know, but they do. The rumor mills around here never seem to stop, and this time they certainly didn’t get their facts wrong.

Warmth rushes to his cheeks, blush painting them, and Killian never does get control of his class that day. They’re simply too excited that he and Emma are finally together.

They’ve got to get cable and internet in the dorms. His students should not be this invested in his personal life.

Then again, it’s nice when the entire school hosts a party for he and Emma when they get engaged the next year.

Of course, neither of them has to announce the engagement because somehow everyone already knows.

They’ve really got to get their own place.

#cs prompts #cs fic #cs ff #cs smut #captain swan #captain swan fic

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