#tainted and unpleasant to look back on now. really just wasted five years of my life for this

[donteattheappleshook]

Playacting

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This fic was written as a thank you to @darkcolinodonorgasm​ for tainting her screen with Neal's face to make an amazing gif for me that sadly won’t load now.

Summary:

Emma has finally left her awful boyfriend after nearly a decade. But when he makes her meet him in a bar to pick up the last of her stuff, she risks falling victim to his usual tactics of sending her crawling back to him. Thankfully, the handsome bartender is there to lend a hand. A fake-boyfriend AU. Heavily Anti-Neal so don't read if that's not your thing.

Read it on Ao3

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Emma sits down heavily on the stool, her elbow landing on the bartop as she lays her chin in her hand, exasperated. Stupid fucking Neal. It’s just like him really, making her come here to meet him after everything he’d made her put up with for the last ten years. Finally, finally she’d worked up the nerve to leave him, to say enough was enough and convince herself she deserved better and then of course as soon as she walks out for good, he finds a way to drag her back, to make him face her one more time. 

She should never have gotten involved with him in the first place. She hadn’t known any better in the beginning. She was seventeen and he was twenty five and she thought it was so cool that someone so mature wanted to be with her. She thought that had to mean she was mature as well. It wasn’t until much later, when half a decade had passed, that she realised how messed up it was… but by then they’d been together five years and he was her whole life. Nearly all her friends were his friends, they lived in his apartment… she can’t believe she stuck it out another five years after that. 

You can do this, she tells herself. You’ve already done the hard part. You left and nothing he can say will make you come back. But still, she steels herself for what will undoubtedly be an excruciatingly unpleasant interaction. Neal is just… he’s just so good at making her feel worthless, at breaking her down and chipping away at the little things he knows she’s self-conscious about until there’s nothing left and she just feels small and broken. She clenches her fists, staying her nerves and bracing herself. Not anymore though. Because you left and you just have to see his stupid face one more time and then it’s over. It’s just words. 

She jumps as a glass is set down in front of her and looks up to see a somewhat familiar pair of brilliant blue eyes looking back at her. The bartender. The handsome one. She’s seen him around before. She’s come to the bar fairly often over the last year or so and he seems to work most nights. She likes him, well, as much as you can like a stranger who pours you drinks all night. He’s always nice and friendly and extremely polite and he doesn’t hit on her the way most bartenders do. She’d never admit it, but sometimes it bothered her a little that he didn’t. She can’t quite remember his name, having never had a real conversation with him, and she stares at the drink in front of her, raising a suspicious brow at him. 

“I didn’t order this.”

“I know, but you look like you could use it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she demands, scowling. She’s already having a shit day, she doesn’t need some bartender trying to analyze her and telling her she looks as terrible as she feels. He doesn’t even bother to look embarrassed. Instead, he crosses his arms on the bartop, leaning on his elbows. 

“It means, you look sad.” He tilts his head then, scrutinizing her face. “Or angry,” he adds. “And you look like you could use a drink.” 

Emma wants to glare at him a little longer but his tone is light. There’s no judgement or pity on his face, just a friendly offer of a drink, and she can’t quite bring herself to be annoyed. And besides, he did guess her drink right. She reaches for her wallet and goes to pull out some cash but he waves her away. 

“It’s on the house,” he tells her and honestly her night is going to be so terrible that she doesn’t have it in her to turn down a free glass of rum. She takes a sip, noting that it’s damn good rum, and tilts her cup to him in thanks. He smiles, a little smugly and a little mischievously, and leaves her, going back to whatever work it is he has to do. 

A few minutes pass and Neal still hasn’t arrived. She glares at her watch. Of course he’d be late. He’d want to make her wait as long as possible so she’d have time to stew in her decision, both to leave him and to meet him. Her glass is nearly empty and she raps her fingers against the bartop rhythmically, waiting, bored, anxious, and impatient. 

The bartender looks up briefly when she does and then goes back to his task. The bar is empty apart from the two of them so he doesn't have anyone to wait on. He’s counting something, concentrating quite seriously and she takes a moment to study him. Of course she’d noticed he was attractive before. It would have been impossible not to. But she hadn’t really let herself look, not properly. She was in a relationship after all. But you’re not now, she realises suddenly. 

So she casts her eyes over him slowly, noting how soft his hair looks in contrast to the sharp angle of his jaw and the scruff that covers it, notices the muscles of his shoulders and his arms under the fitted black shirt he wears, the slightest bit of chest hair peeking out of the v of his collar. 

When she looks back at his face again he’s biting his lip against a smirk and she wonders if she’s been caught looking. But he doesn’t acknowledge it, doesn’t come over to try pick her up and so she turns back to her drink and to waiting. But she doesn’t last long. She’s never done well with waiting and her impatience grows until it spills out of her mouth in the form of small talk. 

“So which is it?” she asks finally and he turns to look at her, a little surprised. He doesn’t quite seem to get her meaning. “Sad or angry. Which is it?” 

“Ah,” he says, as understanding dawns on him and he walks back over, leaning against the bar and looking at her carefully. She tries not to react under his intense appraisal. “Both, I think.” Emma grumbles into her drink, annoyed that he’s read her so easily, and he laughs. “Although, perhaps the anger is my fault. Maybe I should have made your drink a double.”

Emma smirks around the rim of her glass and then sets it down. “Well, it’s never too late to make amends.” 

He laughs again and grabs a bottle from the shelf behind him, refilling her drink. “So tell me, love, what brings you here tonight?”

“Are you always this nosy?” 

“It comes with the territory,” he shrugs. “Although people are usually much more forthcoming with their ails and secrets. You’re a bit of a puzzle, I’ll admit.” He smirks then, wicked and bright. “But I love a challenge.” Emma rolls her eyes. 

“I’m meeting someone,” she says finally. 

“I see. A first date?” he asks and she nearly chokes on her drink, coughing. 

“God, no. Hopefully the last one.” 

He raises a brow in interest. “Are you here to break up with someone? Should I have security on standby?” 

She shakes her head. “No, that part’s already done. I left last week. But now the asshole is making me meet him here so that he can give me back the files I left behind and need for work.” 

“You couldn’t just go pick them up?”

“I wish,” she frowns. “He put them in a bag and has been holding them hostage until I agreed to meet him.” 

“Sounds like a real winner,” Killian drawls sarcastically. 

“You don’t know the half of it.” 

“Bad breakup then?” 

She nods. “Bad relationship."

“What sins is he guilty of?”

Emma laughs. “Take your pick. Lust, wrath, greed, pride. Throw a dart at any of the seven and you’ll hit something that sticks.”

“I’m sorry love,” he says and she shrugs. It’s not his fault. “So tell me something then, because I can’t quite seem to figure it out. Why are you so nervous to see him?” he asks and she looks at him in surprise.  “You look like you can handle yourself and you’ve certainly got enough rage and fire under the surface to burn this whole bloody place to the ground. What is it?” 

Emma catches her lip between her teeth, a little pleased at the compliment, at the suggestion that she looks like a badass, but the question hits hard. She’s been asking herself that for ten years. Why is Neal able to get under her skin so easily, to make her doubt herself and her worth?

“Neal,” she says finally and the bartender doesn’t push, just leans on the bartop, waiting, giving her time. “He’s the only guy I’ve ever been with. We dated for ten years and he knows everything about me… and he knows exactly how to use it to make me feel like crap about myself, like if I didn’t have him I wouldn’t have anything, nobody else would want me.” And she can’t exactly prove him wrong considering she’s been faithful to his selfish ass for a decade, regardless of the fact that he had no problem showing her how many women wanted him. 

Her hand tightens against her glass and for a moment she worries she might crush it but then the back of the bartender's fingers brush against her knuckles and she feels the anxiety and the hurt start to seep out, to dissipate at the warm touch. He’s not holding her hand, he’s barely moved his own across the space between them, nudged hers with it in a way that could almost be an accident. But when she looks up and meets his gaze she knows it’s not. And his next words confirm it. 

“Believe me, I can guarantee you that’s not true.” 

She swallows. “I just -” He waits again. “I just wish I hadn’t stuck it out so long, you know? I wasted ten years with the guy, all of my twenties. And that whole time he never wanted to get married, never wanted to make any commitments or promises, kept saying he didn't want to be tied down.” Didn’t want to be tied down to you, her memory supplies. “And I - Why am I telling you all this?” she asks herself suddenly and he smiles, letting out a little huff of a laugh. 

“It’s not your fault,” he tells her. “It’s the bartender thing, people can’t help themselves.” 

She doesn’t know if she believes him. She knows people like to treat bartenders like therapists but there’s something about him, an honesty and a sincerity that makes her believe he actually gives a shit about her and what she has to say, like he really cares about her troubles. But maybe everyone projects that onto the people plying them with alcohol. 

“Well now you know my entire sad life and I don’t even know your name,” she says and he straightens, holding out his hand between them. 

“Killian Jones.” She reaches out, shakes it, almost laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. 

“Emma Swan.”

“I know,” he says and before she can question him he speaks again. “Now that we’re not strangers anymore, can I be candid?” She hesitates but only for a moment and then nods. “Your ex sounds like a complete and utter douchebag.” Emma bursts out laughing, the sound of the insult on his tongue seeming wrong, not fitting his accent and the smooth, slightly rogeish way he carries himself. 

And then, suddenly for some unfathomable reason, she catches herself doing what she always does: defending Neal. “It’s not all his fault,” she says, the words coming out automatically. “He had a really rough upbringing. His dad was never around and then he had to run away when he was really young and -” Killian cuts her off.

“That’s a really sad backstory,” he says. “But he's still a douchebag.” Emma bursts out laughing. It’s almost manic, shocked and disbelieving to hear someone dismiss Neal’s history so flippantly, that story which had been used by her friends and his to defend and forgive every shitty thing he ever said or did to her. And now here Killian is, refusing it. Refusing the excuses and the justifications for treating her poorly. 

As if on cue, the bell over the door jingles and Emma turns to see Neal walking in. Killian must know who he is by the way her whole body stiffens at the sight of him. But Neal hasn’t noticed them yet and Killian leans in. 

“Hey,” he says, brushing his warm fingers against her arm. “You’ve got this.” And then he’s gone, disappearing into the back room without another word and Emma tries no to take it to heart, not to let it feel like a dismissal. She thought they had something going there for a moment. She didn’t really know what, an understanding maybe, a connection, the kind she always thought she had with Neal but didn’t realise until now how wrong she was. 

Before she can get too caught up in her disappointment, Neal sits down in front of her, setting the bag with her files on the bartop unceremoniously but keeping his hand on it. She goes to reach for it, hoping that maybe she can get through this whole interaction without having to exchange a single word with him, but as soon as she does, he drags it back towards himself, out of her reach. She glares at him. 

“Give me the bag, Neal,” she sighs and he looks at her with that look she’s seen so many times, that look she hates, the patronizing, belittling look that makes her feel like someone to be pitied, someone worthless. She can feel her hands start to tremble and so she clenches them into fists. “Neal,” she says again when he doesn’t answer. “The bag.” 

“Come on, Ems,” he says and it’s a long-suffering kind of thing, her name sounding exhausting, like more trouble than it’s worth, like she’s some toddler throwing a tantrum. “Can we stop this now? We both know you’re not leaving - why else would you have agreed to meet me here?”

“To get my files back,” she bites through gritted teeth. “I need them for work.” She was going to lose this skip if she didn’t get them back and he knew that. 

“Are you sure you didn’t leave them behind so that you could find a reason to drag me out here and sit through your little charade of ‘woe is me’ until I agreed to take you back?”

“You made me come here,” she reminds him.

“Because I know you, Emma,” he says. “I know that you don’t want to do this. You’re pissed, I get it, whatever. But it’s time to get over it. You’ve made your point, time to come home.”

“I’m not coming home.”

“Yes you are. You always do.” When she doesn’t agree he sighs. “How many times have we done this? You’ll sleep on Ruby’s couch for a few days, stew in whatever it is you’ve convinced yourself I’ve done wrong, and then you’ll come home because you know as well as I do that we belong together, I’m it for you. What do you think you’re gonna do without me? You think you can support yourself just by chasing skips?”

“Yes,” she says but her voice wavers. Don’t let him get to you. 

“Emma, enough, alright. I know you’re mad about that whole thing with that girl from work but it’s not really my fault.” They’ve had this fight before. She won’t do him the decency of asking him to explain what that means. But he does anyway. “Maybe if you weren’t always off trying to play superhero, coming back looking like a mess and acting like a dude I wouldn’t need to go find what I need somewhere else. I won’t do it again, okay? Not if you really try. But I’m not gonna put up with it again, you walking out.”

“I’m not coming back,” she says, refusing to take the bait and reaching for the bag again. He still holds it away. 

“Do you really think you’re gonna find someone better?” he asks then, some anger creeping in. “You’re not going to find someone who treats you better than I have, Emma, not after everything I’ve had to put up with over the years. Nobody wants all that sad, lonely orphan baggage that you drag into the room with you.”

Emma can feel the tears burning her eyes and she knows he can see them too and she hates it. She hates how every word he says digs deeper, how carefully calculated and crafted his speech is to target all the things she dislikes about herself, all the things she knows push people away, all the reasons she knows she’ll probably be alone from now on. This is usually the moment when she breaks, changes her mind and comes back because the idea of being alone is far scarier than being with him. 

She can feel herself weakening when a voice cuts through the silence of the nearly empty room. “Swan! Love, I’m so sorry I’m late.” 

It takes her a moment to realise that it’s Killian talking, that he’s somehow managed to come through the doors from outside, a jacket thrown over his tshirt and his apron abandoned. She opens her mouth to ask him what he’s doing as he strides towards her but before she can finish saying his name he’s caught her face between his hands and captured her lips with his. 

He catches her gasp on his tongue, kissing her with a desperation and an intensity that threatens to knock her off her stool but he holds her fast. There’s a heat and a passion behind every pull of his lips and flick of his tongue against her own that shoots straight to her belly. She groans against him, she can’t remember the last time she’d been kissed like this and her hands find his hips, hanging on for dear life as he uses his hand at her cheek to tilt her head, his thumb pulling down at her chin so he can kiss her deeper. His other hand finds the leather of her jacket, bunchin in it and using it to pull her closer, as if there was any room left between them. 

When he finally pulls back she’s breathless, her eyes and her head feeling foggy and every inch of her skin humming. He smirks, his lips still brushing hers and then capturing them in another slow, soft kiss, this one shorter than the last and it sends waves of desire through her. Her own hand tightens in the leather at his hip. He breaks the second kiss and she’s ready to pull him back in for a third when someone coughs behind Killian. 

Neal. She’d forgotten he was here. 

She looks up into Killian’s eyes, glad to find them as heavy lidded and swallowed by black as she’s sure her own are. He brushes his thumb over her cheekbone, a smile crossing his face and then, he winks. He fucking winks and her, his back still to Neal. Emma sits gaping like an idiot, waiting for an explanation.

“I’m sorry,” he says again instead. “I got caught up at work. I hope that makes up for it a little.” 

It takes her another second to catch on but when she does, a wave of gratitude and relief and a little bit of disappointment washes over her. It’s an act. He’s doing her a favor because she told him about her shitty ex boyfriend and he’s a nice guy. Killian smiles at her again, encouragingly this time and Emma decides to play along. Let Neal be the one feeling small, and unwanted and replaceable for once. 

She reaches up and cards her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. It’s just as soft as she thought it would be, and then allows herself the small pleasure of sliding her hand around the back of his neck and down to his chest where she teases the hair poking out of his shirt. “It’s a start,” she tells him. “You can really make it up to me later.” His eyebrow shoots up as a barely contained laugh, impressed and conspiratorial, crosses his face before he catches it between his teeth. 

“Oh, I intend to,” he promises and while she knows they’re just playacting, the timber of his voice stirs some very real desires in her. She can feel the flush creeping up her cheeks, weighing the pros and cons of dragging him into the bathroom and seeing how far he’ll take this charade. Neal clears his throat again, interrupting her fantasy and Killian smirks, smug, though she can tell it’s not at the reaction he’s drawing from her, but rather at the annoyance he’s managed to evoke from her ex. 

“Hi, mate,” he says, reaching over and grabbing the bag from Neal’s stunned and limp fingers. “Thanks for this, we really needed it,” he tells him, gesturing between them with the bag. He hasn’t taken his hands off her. When he turned, his hand snaked around her waist, settling low on her hip, fingers playing idly with the waist of her jeans, teasing at the skin beneath her shirt and it’s all Emma can do to hold back the shivers that are forming at the base of her spine. 

“Who the fuck are you?” Neal frowns, glaring at Killian before turning it on Emma. “Who the fuck is this guy?” he demands. Emma blanks, the ferocity of Neal’s anger freezing her on the spot. She’s never seen him jealous before. Thankfully, Killian jumps in again, his hand sliding up from her hip to the back of her neck, playing with the hair at the nape in a way that’s both sweet and oddly possessive. 

“Take your pic,” Killian says breezily, looking at her with an extremely convincing imitation of a lovesick expression on his face. “Lover, paramour, beau, flame... boyfriend,” he says finally with a brush of his thumb under her ear and she practically melts. He’s very good at this pretending thing. Too good. “I’ll take whatever she’ll give me,” he says finally when she looks up at him and her certainty that he’s pretending waivers. 

He stares at her for a moment longer, something weighted in his gaze that sends her heart beating frantically in her chest before he turns back to Neal, throwing the bag over his shoulder.  “But I don’t need to tell you that,” he says dismissively. “You know what it’s like to be lucky enough to have Emma Swan give you the time of day.” There’s an edge to his voice when he speaks next. “Only a fool would have let her go.” He presses a kiss to her temple.

Neal is angry again. This time, it’s directed at her. “You expect me to believe that in the week since you stormed out you’ve gone and found yourself some boytoy to follow you around? Some guy you just met?

“I didn’t just meet him,” she says and it’s not technically a lie. She’s known him in passing for a year now, even if she did just learn his name tonight. “We… work together,” she says finally. 

Neal looks at Killian with a wary expression. “You’re a bail bondsman?” he asks and Emma doesn’t miss the surprised and flatteringly impressed look Killian gives her before flawlessly answering that yes, yes he is in fact a bail bondsman. 

“I’ve spent the last year working alongside Swan. Pining for her, waiting for her to walk into the office, to see that smile light up her face.” He traces the line of her lips. “The way those unreasonably tight jeans cling to her.” His fingers trace their way down her throat, over her shoulder. “Watch her face down one creep after another.” 

He catches her hand, her knuckles a bit bruised from the last skip who wouldn’t stop fighting. He brushes his thumb over her knuckles before he brings them to his lips and kisses them. She watches him, enthralled by the picture he paints of her and he meets her gaze, looking no less mesmerized himself. “She’s a marvel, my Swan.” Emma swallows, she likes the way that sounds coming from his lips. My Swan. “But mostly,” he adds finally and he’s still not looking at Neal, only at her and god he’s handsome and he smells so good and he’s so… kind. That’s not something she’s used to but she’s drawn to it. “Waiting for her to break up with her idiot boyfriend so that I could tell her so,” he finishes. 

Emma’s not sure what comes over her but suddenly her hands have found the back of his neck and she’s crushing his lips to hers. She can feel his surprise and nearly pulls back but his arms go around her waist as he draws her in, deepening the kiss. His hands alternate between gentle caresses and desperately fisting in her shirt and his mouth over hers is no different, languide strokes of his tongue alternated with bruising kisses and teeth nipping at her lips until she’s dizzy. Neal coughs a third time and Killian breaks away with a frustrated groan. One that feels very real. 

“Are you still here?” he demands, glaring at the other man over his shoulder. 

“I think I deserve some answers,” he says then, seething, and Emma feels a rage building in her like nothing she’s ever felt before. He deserves answers? He’s the one who’s spent years cheating and blaming her for it, who put her down at every opportunity, who reminded her that he could be with anyone if he wanted to and she couldn’t. She’s done with it. That final demand is the last straw. She owes him nothing. 

“What’s going on,” she bites out and sees Neal almost recoil from the venom in her voice. He’s not used to her standing up for herself. Killian steps back, giving her room to finally tell off her awful ex, keeping his hand on her lower back and she appreciates the small gesture of support. “Is that I found someone who doesn’t treat me like garbage. Someone who doesn’t blame me for all their shortcomings and who actually gives a shit about what I think and feel and want.” She can see that her words are affecting him, for the first time ever, and so she digs in. She wants to hurt him. 

“Someone who actually knows how to make me feel good, how to drive me insane and leave me desperate and wanting.” Killian raises a very interested brow at her then, listening attentively and she feels the blush creeping up her neck but continues. Neal had always been angry about how much difficulty she had finishing when they were together, accusing her of being cold and frigid.  “Someone who doesn’t last thirty, underwhelming seconds and then rolls over like some useless lump. Someone I don’t have to beg to go down on me like it’s a chore so that I can have the hopes of a sub-par orgasm.” 

She can feel Killian’s fingers twitch against the skin of her back but she can’t bring herself to look at him. His hand begins tracing up and down the base of her spine in a way she’s not even sure is intentional. His eyes are burning into her. 

“Okay. Enough, I get it,” Neal says finally. 

“Yeah. It is enough. I should have done this years ago.” She feels a pride swelling in her chest, mixing with the arousal that Killian is stirring in her and it’s a heady combination. “I think you should leave,” she tells him and she watches with vindication as his shoulders sag and he slinks out of the bar without another word. 

Emma is so lost in the thrill and the satisfaction of watching her horrid ex leave so demolished, knowing that she likely won’t ever have to speak to him again, that it’s a moment before she remembers that she’s still standing here with a near stranger. A stranger she’s made out with three times now and who is currently removing his hand from where it had been playing against her skin. She misses it immediately. But the charade is over, she realises. It hadn’t been real, he’d been doing her a kindness and she was grateful to him, even if she was a little crushed that they couldn’t go on playing happy couple. He’d been very good at it. 

Killian clears his throat, scratching at the back of his neck as he gives her a small, slightly embarrassed smile. “Well, I guess he won’t be bothering you again,” he says and Emma shakes her head. 

“No. I’m sure he won’t. Thank you. For… well, all of that. You didn’t have to.”

He smiles at her again. It’s a nice smile, and she notices that he has a smudge of her lipstick on his bottom lip. She’s torn between reaching to wipe it off and leaving more marks on him. She does neither. 

“Yes I did,” he says, drawing her attention away from his mouth. “He had it coming. I heard what he said to you and if what you said was true… well. You’re better to be rid of him.” 

Emma clears her throat, a small smile playing at her lips. “Did you see his face when he thought we’d had some elicit office affair of the heart going on?” Killian nods, smirking proudly. “How did you even come up with all of that on the fly?” she asks. He’d been… very convincing. 

“I didn’t,” he says and her eyes snap to his. But he doesn’t explain or elaborate, just lets it hang there in the air between them. She reaches out and takes his hand, tries to ignore the way the calluses feel rough against her soft skin, how warm he is. 

“Thank you,” she says again. “I don’t know how I’ll pay you back for that.” 

His smile is soft this time as he takes her hand in both of his and kisses her knuckles again. “You don’t. It was the right thing to do.” 

He goes to leave her, to walk away but the feel of his lips against her skin is still burning through her fingers, burning everywhere that he’s touched her, like he’d branded her and left the marks behind. Her cheek, her neck, her spine, her hip, her lips, all of them are simmering after the raging inferno he set off in her and she’s not ready to let it die out just yet. He said he hadn’t made it all up. 

She has no idea what she’s doing. She’s never been with anyone but her shitty ex and a few guys when she was a teenager. She doesn’t know how to seduce a stranger into taking her home - or on the bartop, she’s not picky - but she shoots her shot. She catches his hand more firmly in her own before he can walk away. 

“Unless…” she starts and he stops, takes a step back towards her. 

“Unless?” There’s something a little hopeful in his eyes when they meet hers. And something a little less innocent and a little darker as they trail down to her lips.

“I mean, you were late,” she says coyly and watches as the playfulness crinkles the corners of his eyes and the smirk pulls at his lips. 

He raises an eyebrow at her as he closes the last of the distance between them, standing close enough that she needs to spread her legs on her stool to allow him to stand between them. His thumb finds her chin, tilting her face up to his.

“I was,” he says, ducking his head and pressing his lips to her neck, just below her jaw. She takes in a shaky breath. “How very rude of me,” he adds before kissing the other side of her neck, this time at the hollow where it meets her collarbone. Emma squirms in her seat. He’s facing her again then, his lips barely an inch away from her own, so close that she can feel his breath on them when he speaks. “How will I ever make it up to you?”

She doesn’t think, she just acts, grabbing his shirt and yanking him forward until he’s trapped between her thighs and she can feel the hardness growing where he’s pressed against her. He lets out a surprised but pleased sound and it emboldens her.

“Why don’t you think about that while I thank you properly,” she says and he doesn’t need anymore encouragement. He catches her face in his hands again, slanting his mouth over hers, his tongue teasing hers as he presses himself closer to her as one of his hands travels down to her thigh, sliding along it before hooking her knee and pulling it up around his hip. She nearly loses her balance on her seat but he holds her steady, his kisses growing deeper and headier and she’s letting out whimpers and soft moans, sounds she didn’t know she had in her and he swallows each of them up greedily, repeating whatever he’d done to draw them out so he can hear them again. 

Her hands find their way to his hair, fisting and tugging and he lets out a groan so she does it again. And again. Her hips roll up against his of their own accord and he practically rips his mouth away from hers, the sound he makes somewhere between a gasp and a growl before he finds her neck again, lips and teeth and tongue laving at the skin there, biting and licking and sucking until she’s sure he’s left a mark but she holds him fast, tilting her head back to give him more access. 

He takes it appreciatively, his tongue sliding down her throat until he reaches the top of her breast. The hand at her knee starts a slow journey up her side, under the skin of her shirt, burning and leaving goosebumps behind in their wake as he trails his fingers along her ribcage to her bra, his thumb tracing over her nipple and she gasps, dragging his mouth back to hers. She can feel his smirk against her lips but she doesn’t care, nipping at his bottom lip and slipping her own hand under his shirt and scratching at the trail of hair on his stomach, a trail she desperately wants to see and he shudders under her touch. 

The bell rings above the door as a group of friends walk in, chattering happily and Killian pulls away, drawing his hand out from under her shirt. His forehead falls against hers, panting. His tongue comes out to run over his lip like he’s tasting her there. He’s looking at her like he’s waiting for her to decide what happens next and so she grabs the front of his shirt, tilting her head to brush her lips against his own, tongue flicking against the one he’d just licked and drawing another groan from him. 

“Bathroom?” she asks and he shakes his head, stepping back and before she can even start to think she’s been rejected, he holds his hand out to her, nodding towards the back of the bar. She takes it and he begins practically dragging her towards the 'employees only' door before she remembers why she’d come here in the first place. 

“My bag!” she says and he looks confused before he remembers, turning to grab the duffle and tossing it behind the bar and then pulling her along behind him again. Emma giggles at his enthusiasm, excitement and arousal and want making her giddy. He hears her laugh and turns, a bright smile on his face, crinkling his eyes and lighting up his features as he pulls her to him. He captures her lips again, his fingers tangling in her hair as they both try and kiss with grinning mouths. 

They pass someone in the staff area as Killian continues to walk them backwards to wherever his destination is, refusing to give up the kiss, and Emma feels herself flush as the young man sees them and smirks smugly and knowingly. 

“About bloody time,” he says and Killian glowers at him. 

“Get to work, Will. We have customers,” he barks and the man holds his hands up innocently, the smirk not leaving his face. Killian pulls her along a few more feet then until they reach a door that he fumbles to open. They’ve barely made it inside before he’s pushing her against the wood, pinning her there with his hips and his mouth and her head is spinning but his lips have started down her neck again and he rolls his hips against hers in a dirty grind that has her crying out. 

When her eyes open she notices they’re in an office and she worries about what rules he might be breaking, worried about his job and asks if he’ll get in trouble for bringing her in here. He shakes his head. 

“I own the place,” he says, his voice muffled against the underside of her jaw. 

“You own the bar?” she demands, surprised and he sighs, pulling his head up to lean his forehead against hers. 

“Could we perhaps talk about this later?” he asks, his talented fingers following her ribs up to her breast again, cupping it in his palm and dragging against its peak. Emma nods furiously before kissing him again. His hand is still moving over her, massaging and flicking and teasing before he grows frustrated by the fabric between them, grabbing the hem of her shirt and pulling it over her head. 

As soon as it’s off, he’s pulling at the cup of her bra, exposing her breast to him and taking her nipple in his mouth. Emma gasps at the feel of his tongue dragging against the sensitive tip, swirling and licking, teasing it with his teeth. She has a death grip in his hair, refusing to let him move, not that he seems particularly inclined to.  

“Fuck, Killian,” she gasps when he finds her other breast with his hand, working her up more and more until she thinks she might come from this alone. She can feel his smirk, his scruff scratching against her skin and it sends a shiver through her whole body. 

“That’s the intention, love,” he tells her and she tightens her hold in his hair for his smugness, yanking until he’s forced to pull away from her chest and look at her. 

“Then get on with it,” she tells him and thrills at the way his expression darkens. He slides his hands between her and the door, palming her ass and rolling her hips against the hard ridge of his erection before he lifts her, wrapping her legs around his waist effortlessly. Emma’s arms wind around his neck as he turns, carrying her across the room and setting her down on the desk. 

“As you wish,” he tells her, slipping the straps of her bra down her arms. She reaches behind herself and unclasps it, tossing it aside and watches as he takes her in, eyes roving hungrily over her. Nobody’s ever looked at her like that, like he wants to devour her. Maybe he does. 

He’s still wearing his jacket and Emma is suddenly overcome with the unfairness that he’s spending so much time just looking at her while she doesn’t get to see any of him. She reaches for his shoulders and pushes the jacket down his arms until it falls to the floor, reaching for the hem of his shirt and beginning to slide it up but she gets distracted when his fingers resume their tortuous exploration of her breasts. 

She gasps, her head falling back as his touch sends wetness pooling between her thighs and her nails dig into the skin at his sides. He’s watching her, taking note of her reactions, figuring out what makes her tick and then doing it again and again until she’s writhing under him and he hasn’t even undressed her yet. It’s never been like this, all consuming and desperate and wanton. She needs more and she whimpers his name. 

The sound of his name falling from her lips so needily does something to him and suddenly he’s dragging her mouth back to his, swallowing her moan as his tongue does sinful things to hers. He pushes her back until she’s laying against the desk and his lips leave hers, trailing down her neck to her chest, taking a moment to pay attention to each of her breasts before continuing down her belly, playing at her navel a moment before he reaches the button of her jeans. 

“I must say I’m quite a fan of these,” he tells her as he flicks open the button and starts to pull down the zipper. “But I think it’s time for them to go.” Then, he’s hooking his fingers into her waistband and pulling them down with enough force that she slides to the end of the desk with them. Emma sits up on her elbows as she watches him pull them off, one leg at a time until she’s left in only her underwear. He's watching her as well with something predatory in his gaze. 

“I want to see you too,” she says, grabbing at his shirt but he seems too distracted to catch on. “Hey,” she says finally, sitting up and grabbing the collar to get his attention. “Fair’s fair.” 

He lets out a low huff of laughter. “You’re right,” he agrees. “Bad form,” he chastises himself before reaching to pull the shirt over his head. Emma’s eyes widen as she takes him in, the strong curve of his shoulders and his arms that his shirt hadn’t done justice, the long lines of his torso, pale skin covered in dark hair that blankets his chest and tapers down over his stomach, disappearing beneath his jeans. She doesn’t fight the urge to burry her fingers in it, hands tracing over the planes of his chest, scraping her nails over his nipples and down his sides and he lets out a soft hiss. 

She reaches his belt then and as she begins to pull at the leather to loosen it, he stops her. She frowns at him but he only presses his lips to her jawline, tongue flicking out to tease. “Ah, ah,” he says, taking hold of the last scrap of material keeping her from being bare to him. “Ladies first,” he insists with a soft nip before he pulls them down her legs. He’s parting her thighs then, and while Emma expects him to undo his pants, instead he slides down to his knees, placing a leg over either shoulder. 

“What are you doing?” 

He raises a brow at her from between her legs, a slow smirk creeping across his face and it’s so goddamn sexy that her toes curl against his back, a shudder rippling through her. 

“As much as I’d like to hear you beg,” he starts. “I’d also like to make sure you have at least some chance at a sub-par orgasm,” he says echoing her words from earlier and she grins, biting her lip at how ridiculous he is and he takes that as permission. He turns his head, trailing slow, languid kisses along her thigh, scruff scratching at the sensitive skin until he reaches her hip. He bypasses where she’s hot and desperate for him to do the same on the other and she whines, trying to pull him in with her leg on his shoulder. 

He chuckles against her, his breath ghosting over her folds and she sucks in a shaky breath. “Please, Killian,” she says and suddenly his mouth is there, placing a deep, hot kiss against her center and her whole body clenches with the intensity of it. 

“I told you, Swan,” he says. “There’s no need to beg.” He smirks at her. “This time.” 

And before she can say anything his tongue is dragging a slow line from base to top and every thought in her mind is gone except for him and fuck. He eats into her like a starving man, tongue lapping at her folds, sliding inside of her and thrusting in a way that has her back arching off the desk and her hands fisting in his hair. He lays an arm across her hips to keep her still as he replaces his tongue with his fingers, dragging slowly and steadily against her walls in a rhythm that has her writhing, desperately trying to rock her hips against him. 

“Bloody hell, love,” he says as he watches her ride his fingers. “You’re a vision. So wet, so wanting. Tell me what you need,” he asks then, begs, and she’s too caught up in the feelings he’s sending through her body to find words so instead she presses her heel against his back until he gets the message and closes his mouth over he clit, tongue flattening against it as he circles in time with his fingers. 

“Fuck!" She’s already so close. It’s never been this easy, this quick, this intense, but her whole body feels like it’s burning, the coil in her belly tightening and he picks up his pace. His fingers curl inside of her pumping hard and fast as he wraps his lips around her clit and sucks and her whole world shatters. 

Killian works her through it, fingers still thrusting slowly, his thumb replacing his mouth as he slides up her body, working her back up before she’s even sure she’s come down. He takes a moment to pause at her hips, her stomach, her breasts and by the time he’s claiming her lips she’s desperate for him again. 

She sits up, taking hold of his hips and pulling him against her until their flush, the hair of his chest scraping against the sensitive skin of her nipples and only making her want more. This time, when she reaches for his belt he doesn’t stop her and she makes quick work of his jeans, sliding inside and taking him in hand. 

He groans into her mouth and she smiles against his lips. He’s hard and hot and heavy under her touch and she drags her palm along his length a few times until he growls out a warning ‘Swan’. 

She takes pity on him, pushing his jeans down his hips and wrapping her hand around him, pumping him slowly and his head falls back, eyes squeezed shut and lips parted in pained bliss and god she wants him. She can’t remember the last time she wanted someone like this. So she tells him. 

“Now,” she adds and he nods a little frantically, patting his pockets before he spots his wallet on the desk next to her and retrieves a condom from it. He brings the packet to his teeth, fumbling for a moment as she squeezes him and he gives her another warning glare. 

She smirks, leaning in to press her lips to his neck, catching the hard, tense lines of it between her teeth, biting and then soothing the spot with her tongue. He groans and she gives the other side of his neck the same treatment, thrilling when he curses under his breath, desperately trying to roll the condom on. 

She’d help but she’s having too much fun, particularly when she sucks a bruise into the spot just behind his ear and he lets out a stuttering cry, his hand grabbing hold of her hip, fingers digging into her skin. She’ll probably have a mark there and she likes that idea, likes the idea that she can get him as out of control as he can her. 

“Minx,” he accuses, using her hair to draw her mouth back up to his and sliding his tongue deep without preamble. His kiss is sloppy, desperate, wanting. He’s on the edge and she brought him there. She wonders if she can push him over. 

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted this?” he asks then, releasing her mouth to say it low in her ear. “Ever since that first night you came into the bar with your friends. Gods you were stunning.” His fingers slip around her hip to between her thighs, finding her center again and she whimpers at his touch, slow and teasing, circling without ever hitting where she needs him. 

“I wanted to curl my fingers into you bloody ridiculously long hair,” he tells her, doing just that as his fingers slip inside her once more and she gasps. “Aye, and in there.” She’s clutching at his shoulders as he fucks her with his fingers, continuing to rasp filth into her ear. “I thought about how you’d look, splayed out on the bartop with my head between your legs, or bent over this desk. It was bloody torture.” 

His thumb finally brushes over her clit and her whole body wracks with the force of the pleasure that courses through her. “Why,” she gasps again when he circles tighter. “Why didn’t you?” she asks. She doesn’t usually like dirty talk. She'd always found it derogatory. But it’s not with him. It makes her feel wanted and desirable.

“Because you had a bloody boyfriend,” he growls, exasperated. Who? She wonders before remembering and then wishing she hadn’t. “But that didn’t stop me from imagining how you’d look with your back arched just like this,” he says, eyes raking over the length of her. “Or the sounds you’d make when I touched you,” he adds, then pulls his fingers from her heat and sucks them into his mouth, making her squirm. “I imagined you writhing just like this, begging me to take you.”

She doesn’t need to beg though at this point she would, dignity be damned. No one has ever made her feel this way and she never wants it to end. She’d give him anything he asked for if he just didn’t stop. She wraps her legs around his hips, pulls him against her so that his cock pushes through her folds and they both moan. Killian ruts his hips against hers a few times, the tip of him brushing against her sensitive bundle of nerves and when she thinks she can’t take it anymore he finally takes himself in hand and lines himself up with her entrance. 

“Gods, I imagined how tight and hot and perfect you’d be around me,” he confesses before pushing in and grabbing hold of her, staying still for a moment as she adjusts to the sensation of being filled by him. He’s big. Thick and long and so much better than what she’s made do with for the last decade. She doesn’t think she’s ever felt so full, so properly full until now. “You’re even more perfect than I imagined,” he manages, his voice strained. 

“Move,” she begs then. “Please.” He obliges, pulling out slowly and thrusting back in hard and fast and Emma cries out from the force of it. He’s barely started but she can already tell she’s never been properly fucked either. 

He starts moving then, thrusting in and out of her at a punishing pace and she takes all that he can give her. Her hands are in his hair again and his finds her leg, hitching it higher over his hip so he can thrust deeper, hitting new places inside of her. His hand slides down to the cheek of her ass, pulling forward to meet his every thrust, rolling his pelvic bone over her clit each time he pushes back into her and Emma’s already nearly ready to fall again. 

“That’s it, love,” he tells her as a litany of embarrassing sounds fall from her lips and she claws at the skin of his arms, hips rolling in a desperate grind. “Take what you need.” His free hand comes to her breast, teasing the hardened peak the way he’d spent time figuring out she liked. Everything he does is just how she likes it, how she never even knew she liked it. But he’s figured her out in the time it took to get her out of her pants and now he’s using all of it to bring her higher, higher than she’s ever been. 

And she falls. He slants his mouth over hers, like he wants to swallow her ecstasy, feel it humming through his body and then with a final few thrusts, she feels his own release echo through her. They stay there for a moment, frozen in a half kiss, mouths open and panting, breathing each other in as they both try to come down from such a fierce, earth-shattering climax. 

Emma finds his hair then, brushing he damp strands from his face as he holds her to him. “I wish you’d told me,” she says finally, thinking of all the time she wasted with him when she could have been having this with Killian. 

He huffs out a laugh against her cheek, pulling back and stroking it gently. “Aye, I was a bloody idiot,” he tells her. “Everyone who works here knew I was pining for you and they all told me so.” Emma smiles, her heart beating rapidly and her cheeks reddening at his confession. He’d already told her he’d thought about her but to hear that he’d been pining… 

“Well, you may be an idiot,” she grants him and he pinches her side playfully. “But you’re the best fake boyfriend I’ve ever had.” 

He beams at her then, and then a wicked look falls over his face. The hand at her side begins tracing her thigh, from knee to hip and then up to her ribs. 

“What are you doing?” she asks, though it’s fairly obvious when his skilled fingers find her still overly-sensitive center and she gasps at the sharp pleasure. He raises a brow at her. 

“I’m wondering,” he starts, lips finding her ear as his fingers start a slow stroke that has goosebumps blossoming over her skin. “How many sub-par orgasms it would take to earn the title of real boyfriend.”  Her heart is racing, from his touch, or his words, or both. She doesn’t care. She wants both. She likes him. It’s been so long since she liked someone and for it to be someone like him, and for him to like her back, to have pined for her as he put it… 

She smiles. “Let’s find out, shall we?”

~*~

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#captain swan #cs #captain swan smut #cs smut #anti-neal #cs au

[neutralish]

Sakamaki Subaru x Reader (part 1)

(H/L): Hair color (H/L): Hair length (F/C): Favourite color

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Silence... It was all you could hear besides the forest noises. Here you were at night wearing your nightgown, which was a simple dress, walking quietly in the forest without any destination in mind. You just got bitten again by one of the Sakamaki brothers, and as usual, they haven't been gentle with you. Your neck and wrists were sore and painful and you were feeling beyond tired but you just didn't wanted to stay at the mansion, so you decided to take a walk in the forest without any care because you just... didn't give a damn about anything. It was comprehensible: chased every day for your poor blood, being humiliated because of their sadistic sides, never had a chance to spill your feelings or being acknowledged as a human being and not as a bag of blood... You were just tired of everything and feeling emotionless which scared you! You still wanted to be optimistic. You steal wanted to feel emotions besides pain and sadness. But here you are walking like a zombie through the dark forest, in search of peace and calm.

Spotting a small river, you marched there to see it more closely. "What a stunning view," you thought, "it could make a beautiful painting... but I don't know how to paint " you deadpanned. The moon was directly shining into the river making it reflect the beauty of the water happily lapping onto it and the small fishes swimming around with some fall leaves. It indeed, made a beautiful contrast with the dark forest as the moon only seems to shone on the river.

You took a deep breath of the wet wood smell which was quite unpleasant but anyway... It's more pleasant to breathe this than the smell of an old mansion. Suddenly, a gust of wind swirled the few dead leaves that were there and your (L/H) went flying around your head. Arms crossed, you shivered "What an idiot, I should have brought a coat" you muttered while trying to reheat your arms by making up and down motions on them. In the rush of getting out of the vampires' home, you neglected the fact that it was the beginning of Fall so you only went out with your nightgown and a thin jacket.

Crack...Crack...

Upon hearing the noise, your head immediately jerked upwards," please let it not be one of them or I don't know what monster !" You silently prayed with a pleading face. Not stopping, the noise came only closer and closer to where you sat...

Crack...Crack...

Slowly rising from the rock you prepared yourself to hide down into the forest as the noises only got louder and closer. Sweat started to bead on your forehead and you felt as if you weren't breathing, your breath seems to have been stuck inside of your lunges." Seriously! I only got peace for like five minutes! Can't they go away and eat they fridge instead of me for once! "

A minute passed... then two...

"Strange..." you thought. Knowing them, they wouldn't have wasted a second in piercing down your already bruised neck and gulping down your, oh, so precious blood. "Maybe it's a cold joke... or maybe they want me to faint from fear..."Just by this thought, you were getting annoyed, heck, you were even ready to shout  "Take my damn blood already and leave me alone!" But nothing came out of your dry mouth. Taking a deep breath, you cautiously rose more from the rock and mentally prepared yourself to face the vampire...

"1...2...3..."  You turned around in a swift motion, ready to be eaten again, but nothing prepared you about the thing in front of you...

A deer... A pure and simple fucking deer watching you with big black innocents eyes. Breaking down, you erupted in laughter as you try to seat down on the rock, which was quite difficult because of your shaky legs. You had been scared of a poor fucking brown deer. "I cannot believe I have been this silly!" You laughed again "It's really brought me nothing good to live with six vampires." You said quietly, your voice still quivering with giggles.

The deer was still watching you as if you where the stranger here and not him but his eyes quickly moved to the river. "I think he came to drink" with this thought you moved alongside to let him make his way to the river. Still, the deer didn't move but his eyes where still fixed on the water as if...as if he was afraid to approach it. "Maybe he's really scared of the water". Wanting to help the poor creature, you untied your shoes, removed your long (F/C) socks and barefoot, you went into the water. Taking some in your hands, you put them in the front of the now much closer deer. Watching you first then the water he waited as if he was asking you your permission to drink. Nodding to him, you put your hands more closely. Slowly bending his head down, the deer took a few sips before suddenly jerking his head up scrutinizing his surroundings.

Tension started to rose again inside of you as you started the search the thing that scared the deer.  "Please be another deer, please be another deer !" Your heart was beating more and more loudly and at a strange pace as your eyes tried to size the dark shape of the forest. The wind only blew more loudly, swirling the dead leaves around and the small noises of the forest were getting worse as if it was announcing the arrival of something dangerous.

Sensing the danger the deer ran away in the forest leaving you all alone... "Dear God, have mercy on me and let it be another animal " you muttered, nervously watching your surroundings. If only you knew that going in near a river means tension plus danger then you would have stayed in this damn mansion!

Abruptly, everything stopped... You tensed at once, your senses where high on every sight, noise or even smell. That when you felt... no... you knew that someone was behind you. Without a second thought, you violently turned around the see the one who disturbed your tranquil moment.

Sakamaki Subaru

You didn't know if you should feel happy or afraid...

Of course, you were more than happy to see him and not Ayato or Laito or even Kanato (you didn't imagine Shu or Reiji going out in the forest) but you knew that the white-haired boy was quiet violent and could break everything with a single flick. Fully turning your body toward him, you stood still in the water, your gaze fixated on him, not daring to even lift a finger.

Frankly, Subaru was a beautiful boy despite his attitude and the eternal scowl present on his face. His light snow pink hair who seemed fluffy and his stunning red ruby eyes made him and his features unique. It only goes well with his really light skin and his body shape. Your trail of thought only stopped when you saw his mouth moving. "I'm sorry,  did you said something? " you asked in a barely audible voice. "The heck are you doing here ?!" His voice was harsh as he spoke to you dryly. " I was trying to find a quiet place because... you all piss me off." You bluntly spoke. What was the point of lying to him, you didn't wanted to get (more) on his bad side so might as well be honest. His scowl only got deeper but he said nothing. With a "tch " Subaru stopped looking at you as his gaze started to take notice of his surroundings.

Right now you were dreading to ask him if he came here for your blood as you silently watched him... but maybe he didn't wanted it right now... you were just afraid to ask because if you did so maybe he would do it and you were already in the verge of fainting! So you just keep quiet in this awkward situation. The silence was back again but it wasn't as peaceful as a moment ago, it was this kind of silence that wanted to make you want to do anything to fill it. The problem was that you haven't any subject to talk about, you didn't even know if you have something in common with him. Plus he was difficult to talk with as he either ignore you or either threw his fist of rage on you. You never saw anything else on his face than a frown. You were sure that once, Laito told you that Subaru was a tsundere ... keyword: a tsundere. Sure you saw him getting embarrassed but he expressed it by breaking a wall or by insulting everything and anything but never in your life you saw him blushing.

"The heck you're looking at!" Subaru suddenly screamed, breaking the awkward silence, startled by his sudden outburst you jolted in the water. "Nothing Sir !" You said in panic... Wait did you just said sir to a boy of sixteen years!? Wanting to pass this embarrassing moment you went on with your dreadful question "Hum... you're not going to drink my blood ?" you asked with your broken voice as your mouth was dry. "Tch, these bastards tainted your blood with their filthy fangs. How can enjoy it !" "Oh... That's great... I suppose " "Don't get cocky, I'll drink your blood as soon as you recover." A small smirk danced on his face for some seconds before disappearing, "How weak are you, letting these idiots drink your blood " Spatted the snow haired.

Isn't this brat getting a little bit too much arrogant...

Your face was twitching in annoyance as you tried to remain calm" Excuse me my dear vampire but as you can see... I'm a mere human so... I cannot fucking fight a vampire!" It was a matter of fact, unfortunately, how could you beat a vampire when his strength was ten thousand times stronger than yours! Your only strength was seen through your words as you spoke little but think big.

Not wanting to talk to him anymore, you turned again to watch your feet in the water, enjoying the pleasant filling. You heard Subaru moving, getting closer to where you were. From the corner of your eye, you saw him sitting down on the wet grass looking up at the moon, mimicking him, you looked up. The moon was still beautiful and his light only shone more brightly showing your and Subaru's beauty as the wind only blew more calmly than before.

Twenty minutes passed at least before Subaru broke the silence " Back then when I gave you the knife... why didn't you killed me or my brothers? You were still watching the moon as you pondered over the question with a frown on your face."Hum... How to put this... I was shocked about these sudden situations, I mean it's not every day that you see a bunch of vampires at the same time or is being pursued every hour or asked to do strange things. But the thing is that...I didn't have the strength to kill, vampire or not..."

This response was partially true of course there had been a time when you planned to kill them but how could you? They knew every movement of yours and you were getting weaker each time they take your life vessel. But the thing was that you were quiet observant despite being physically weak. You knew that, somehow, Subaru was in depression... You weren't totally sure but the way he gave you the knife and asked you to kill him first then his brother put you on this trail. It was almost a plea for uncertain freedom. That why you first wanted to know him better in order to somehow help him 'cause you knew how hard is it to handle depression or anxiety alone. The feeling of not wanting to live or to feel a burden for the world where the worst. So how could you try to kill him? He didn't even saw the good side of life so how could you even try? True, he was a sadist and much more than mean toward you but with the little kindness left in you, you wanted to help Subaru (and maybe his brothers ).

Upon hearing your answer, Subaru watched you in a mean way "Are you an idiot ?! You could be fucking free doing whatever stupid humans usually do and YOU here, stay with a bunch of bastards! Are you this much of a masochistic?!" "Wow..." you thought "is he calling himself a bastard ? " you kept quiet, not knowing what to say. You stared back at your feet who were getting colder but you just didn't wanted to move from the water. As strange as it was you were more feeling safe in the water than on the grass. Subaru was still angrily mumbling about "stupid brainless humans ". True or not, you really did thought that vampires and humans were not so different... Each of them has a complex personality and they are all too hard to understand. The only difference, for you, is that vampires have too much pride and arrogance to compare themselves to humans.

"Say, Subaru?" You began, he spatted a harsh "What?" before you continued, "Are you feeling okay right now? " you asked in a calm and innocent voice. Silence followed your question. You turned your gaze towards him and looked at his face. You tried to read his emotions but all you could see was a face voided of emotion... even his eyes were more dull and blank than a moment ago! "Maybe I shouldn't have asked..."

"Who the fuck do you think you are to meddle in my life!" He told you in a heavy angry voice. He got up from his place with an angry scowl on his face  "Don't you dare to ask me any questions again or I won't hesitate to break you! Approach me again and I won't hesitate to destroy you! "Watching you with mad eyes, he turned his back before disappearing right before your eyes. You weren't going to lie, you were taken a bit aback by his sudden outburst. Sure you knew that he wasn't going to easily open up to you but you didn't expect this...

Vampire or not, he was still a child in his heart, afraid of everything, of the world and not knowing how to seek help and love. Him running- more like disappearing- from your question was comprehensible.

That's why you still wanted to try to help a little bit at least. It's not that you liked him in a romantic way, it's just brought in you a kind of maternal instinct (even though you were only seventeen years old). "Ah, ~ guess next time will be better... if he even comes back here..." You sure planned to return here as it was better than "your home ".

The moon was slowly going higher."Oh my, almost time to go back to school". You gave a last look to the moon before stretching your arms and shoulders while yawning from the lack of sleep. Getting out of the cold water, you putted your shoes back without your socks, because your legs were still wet. A cold wind passed through your legs causing you to shiver again" Next time, I'll be sure to bring a towel." Heading towards the forest you just hopped for one thing" I hope they won't get mad at me for disappearing like this" just by this thought, you wanted to go back in the river but you knew you couldn't... Hopefully, the Sakamaki will be more lenient towards you.

First one-shot, hope that you'll all like it ( sorry in advance for grammar mistakes😣). I'll probably do it in two or three shots.

Neutralish

#diabolik lovers #subaru x reader #x reader #two or three shots

[ilovehighhats]

Scutum, ch. 2, The Walk

The bed was made after she forced herself to get up and do some chores, shower and dress. Hopping on top of the cover she sat comfortably, preparing to surf the net. To distract herself from tempest raging in her mind since yesterday.

Thoughts coiled in her head all night, simultaneously tightening and releasing pressure over Helena's heart. Bane was alive. He was a short walk away, a distance she could scale anytime she wanted. He came for her, to be with her. It was everything she wanted. More even, since he was silently watching over her through all the years. Vigilant but careful, he never let her feel pressure other than concern of a friend.

All that while he planned to destroy a whole city, after keeping its occupants hostage for few bitter winter months, exposed to elements and cruelty, and oppression. Men, women, children alike.

Death was indiscriminate, but his pragmatism and casual way he talked about it rung discord in Helena's brain. How could one be both loving and murdering?  Focused on subtleties of academia and brutally murdering scientists?

She spent unnecessary hours trying to find in her mind arguments against him. Every single one felt hollow. Bane was a child of circumstance he was born into, molded by violence, later excelling in a cutthroat mercenary environment he was an autonomous part of. Tied by honour or sentiment he worked for League of Shadows, destroying and tainting the world… but what was the difference between him and some shady businessman who funded those kinds of operations?  Where was he worse from people ordering abductions, assassinations, assaults? How were his sins comparing to presidents ordering their troops to invade foreign countries, supposedly for peace and upholding higher moral values?

Ultimately, Helena knew Bane was at the very least a murderer. Probably objectively could be qualified as mass murderer. She couldn't find in herself an ounce of honest to God fear over that fact. What she needed was an explanation, reasoning, validation.

Above all, she wanted to make sure he was done with his mercenary work for good.

If only he'd spent all those years and resources towards his research. At fifty there was still some time left for him to leave his mark on the world, a different one he had scored already over the years. Maybe he could bridge the gap between his disposition and what the world made him become, maybe he could reconcile merciless machine of destruction with intricate tool of discovery.

After all, many inventions came to life from dusts of war.

Helena was still the most interested in Bane the person. The man behind now non-existent mask.

How would he be without everything he built so far? No people to govern over, no tasks to complete, no places to conquer. Peace and quiet of retirement crushed many men before him. Would he be like Napoleon, a genius tactician reduced to moping around an island he was confined to, no light in his eyes anymore? Would he become gluttonous and complacent?

All she needed to do to find out was simple - let the man do what he wanted.

But damn, he always got his way. This didn't feel right to just let him slide into comfort of a relationship, without a hitch, hindrance, without second thoughts.

She wanted nothing more herself...

Chime announced new email. She wasn't in the least interested in anything but her neighbourhood friendly mercenary, but obsessing over Bane had to stop. And for that she needed distraction. An email would do.

Was it a commission? A friend with news on their kid? A request from LinkedIn? Some horribly disfigured person asking for money for a medical procedure?

No such luck.

‘I read your emails.’ the message said simply.

Another chime.

‘All three hundred sixty four of them. It took a while.‘

Helena stared at the screen. Laptop could use some cleaning; the edges were darkened with grime. Fingerprints smudged the dark plane of glass. She focused on them instead of words displayed below.

‘One might think you were worried about me.’

“Oh, you fucking dick!” she growled.

‘Contrary to what you might have thought, I took care of you to the best of my abilities and possibilities. This land for instance, along with everything on it would be yours in the event of my death. There is a hefty sum to go with it. The notary is obliged to assist you in any legal matter you might encounter.’

‘Also, there is the small subject of your concessions. Who do you think gave Herr Schmidt your contact info? ‘

‘Also, there is another plot of land in Italy, and apartment in London. A mansion in Kashmir. Summer houses in Chile, Namibia, Mongolia, and Argentina. House in Louisiana. Pick any if this place doesn't suit your needs.’

‘Also, you might want to reconsider your comment about being indebted to me. You're welcome to follow my suggestion as for the interpretation of this whole situation.‘

Infuriating. He danced around important subjects, never leaving any information that could link him to his true identity, all the while conscious of Helena’s awareness of the double meaning of his words. Playing her knowledge against her.

Closing her eyes to think she exhaled slowly, ignoring pings of notifications coming from the computer. Well, for one Bane did put enormous effort into tricking her. Then again, it was all to make her comfortable and content. He never talked her out of her numerous affairs. Instead, he made sure she was well provided for, either by his own commissions or those of his friends. As control freaks go, he was actually quite caring and generous.

Okay, now he was agitated too. Five messages in span of around five minutes.

Very unlike Bane.

Helena glanced over the emails, more ranting with “also” as a starter, and hit reply on the latest one. If they were to discuss anything it certainly couldn't happen over monitored emails.

‘Let's go for a walk. Meet me at mine in five.’

She sent it and closed the laptop. Not wasting time immediately went to put on her boots and warm jacket. She was finishing with laces when Bane appeared on the pathway to her cottage. Well before the time she gave him.

She thought he'd look out of place, the memory of his imposing silhouette from Armenia still etched in her mind, but he was irritatingly casual to a bystander. If not for the scars one could think this was just an ordinary man, past his prime but still fit. Dark jumper with turtleneck hid most of his markings, the sleeves long enough to cover his hands down to base of thumbs. Washed down blue of baggy jeans blended with grey sneakers. The only spot of colour was scarf tossed carelessly around his neck.

Helena could have sworn he magically shrunk over the years. Once she thought he was a giant. Now, as he stood politely by the glass door to the terrace waiting for an invitation in, she saw he couldn't be taller than her latest fling. Which put Bane from realm of fantasy back into cozy normalcy. Unnerving. Dangerous. He was anything but normal, average or ordinary.

She stood up and gestured for him to come in.

“Since it's all yours I don't see why you're sticking to formalities,“ she observed, sliding her hands into warm jacket. It was still chilly out.

“It's your home. I'd hate to be impolite.”

Helena only hummed in wonder. Bane watched as she tucked scarf and hat on, zipped up and put gloves on her hands.

“Are we going far?”

“Don't be so amused. I was always amazed how you'd burn up even in the middle of winter.” They went out to the terrace and Helena immediately congratulated herself choice of wardrobe. Despite the sun, cold wind pinched her cheeks with unpleasant gusts. “We might take a turn around the beach?”

Bane nodded and they started, silent for the short walk down to the sea. He followed Helena down wooden steps through budding foliage, across the tarmac and down to the sandy patch by the water. Only then he stepped up a bit to catch up and stroll shoulder to shoulder.

“I like your hair like this,” he gestured vaguely towards her messy bun.

“Dishevelled?“

“Long. But the disarray is quite charming too,” he admitted.

“Thank you. I like you with your hair on better too.”

The weather was nice, even though gale from over the sea tossed their scarves around carelessly.

“You know, I don't think we ever went anywhere together like this. Always either you or I was one step behind, trailing along.”

“Technically you’re wrong, since I carried you around once or twice. Almost the same.”

“I disagree. That's hardly comparable to walking together.”

“Perhaps.”

“I'm worried, you know.” She sighed. Bane waited patiently for a follow-up. “You turn up all of a sudden after all this time and I have to remind myself of everything you are.”

“Do you?” He sounded genuinely interested.

“No, I really don't.” Helena laughed dryly. “But it feels wrong to just pick everything up and start anew.”

“Why?”

“Well, you're a mass murderer. Maybe not exactly, since the bomb exploded safely away from Gotham, but you confirmed yourself you wanted to blow everyone up.”

“Does it matter to you?”

Fuck.

“Maybe.”

“Helena.”

He knew her too well, had her thoughts, intimate and private, on display for him for years.

“How do I even call you now?” she spat angrily, furrowing her brows in impotent frustration.

He only chuckled. “Tony.”

Nose wrinkled in comical display of distaste Helena sneered.

“Don't be ridiculous. It doesn't fit you one bit.”

“It’s my name.”

“I get it, your alias should be like a second skin, yadda, yadda…”

“No,” he interrupted. “You don't understand. That is my real name.”

“It is?”

“Yes.”

“But you were born in prison.” Like that would be the explanation to everything.

“Every penal institution keeps meticulous records.”

“Even ones where people are treated like animals?”

“Yes, even those. I know exact time and date of my birth, names of my parents, my weight, height, and credentials of doctor who cut the umbilical cord. No different from any other person.” Looking down at her he snorted inelegantly. “You thought it was all savagery and dirt?”

“It sounded like it.”

“Nazis treated people like inferior beings, which didn't stop them from recording every name anyway.”

“Point taken. Still, Tony just doesn't suit you.”

He chuckled again. “What would then?”

“...Bane.”

He laughed.

“But we can't keep using that name, what if someone overhears?” she continued, oblivious to the way he stared at her in amazement. Whether she realized, the decision was made, and she already acted upon it. “I could always try calling you ‘babe'. “ She winked at him. “Sounds almost the same and is culturally acceptable. Alas,” theatrical sigh escaped her, followed by slight shaking of her head, “that would imply a relationship closer than what we have.”

“How do you mean?” Bane furrowed his brows again. Maybe she knew exactly where she stood and only played with him?

“Well I don't really know you. I thought once I had you all figured out,” rueful smile softened her gaze for a second, when she recalled one conversation they shared, “but in reality I don't know how to reconcile everything I know about you. You're like three different people to me now. Bane the terrorist, Tony the scientist and this unnamed man who said yesterday he loves me.“

No, she wasn't sure what she wanted, Bane thought. She was figuring it all out still.

“It’s too much, all at once. Two days ago I was mourning your death. Yours and Dorrance's!” She huffed a small scoff. “And now here we are. But enough on that. What did you mean when you said you want me to go away with you?”

“There are people who know your name and your connection to me never was a mystery. I wanted to take you somewhere where we could both have a fresh start.”

“But I like it here.”

“It would be safer that way.”

“You assumed I'd just pack my things and go because you say so?”

“Yes.”

“How typical.” There was some disappointment in her tone, but she was surprisingly stable otherwise. “How about this. Stay here with me. Let me get to know you. Then we'll see.”

The proposal was risky at best. Unwise.

“For how long?” Bane found himself asking to buy some time.

“I don't know. As long as it takes, I guess.”

“It’s not a game, Helena. “

“I'm not playing games with you… pal.”

“Pal?”

“I have to call you something!”

“How about ‘mate'?”

“Tsk, tsk, you try to sneak double meaning in there?”

“Never,” he winked.

But his smirk faltered into a disappointed scowl.

“I imagined this to be different,” he admitted towards the sea.

“Well, it's real.”

“It is,” he agreed.

No matter what happened next he knew he'd never let her go now. Even if she would keep him perpetually an arm’s length away. Just being together like this, walking down the beach, was doing wonders to his battered soul. For the first time in years he felt good. Even despite aches of his body and discomfort the conversation brought along.

The smile he gave her when he turned back threatened to overpower weak March sun. She didn't see it, observing rolling clouds, swimming deep into her own thoughts.

He faltered. That was his mistake in the past. He was too focused on his own musings to take into consideration she had ones of her own. Valid point of view, vector of actions she took. He would do well to listen to her more carefully this time. What he wanted could be different from what she needed...

“How did you get here, anyway? After you've been hit by a rocket back in Gotham.”

The reply was automatic, he had other things on his mind, but he was glad she was interested in him still.

“There was a lot of commotion that I missed, since I was unconscious for the most part. I ended up in a bunker, been roughly patched up. Transported around the city to avoid detection, then out with a smuggling tunnel. Spent most of those two months on a vessel at sea.” And in a hideout that was tropical mansion in Bahamas. Details, details, details. Helena didn’t have to know everything, at least not all at once.

“And you magically healed yourself?”

“No. There was a professional who took care of me.”

“So, the League of Shadows just let you go?”

“No.”

“Are you going to volunteer any information without me explicitly asking for it?”

“Probably not. It's not who I am.”

“Go figure,” she chuckled.

Bane resisted an overwhelming urge to gather her close and kiss that sound away. He hadn't had a chance to kiss her yet. How did that omission even happen?

“Okay, so what about your primary occupation then?” she continued, unaware of his inner turmoil.

“I'm an astrophysicist.“

“I'm being serious here, friend.”

He was taken aback.

“Is it really so hard for you to call me by my name?” Do we have to negotiate everything too?  He thought. Do you still want me? Why won't you accept me for who I am now instead of who I was?

“Yes. Now stop evading the question.”

Her sincerity put him in his place.

“They thought I was dead, but are probably looking for me.”

“Why?”

“They expect me to lead them. Expected. Now they probably want me eliminated.“

It came out more bitter than he intended, resentment towards Helena bleeding out into his words.

“Would you stay alive as long as you did, if that was really their objective?”

Bane stopped dead midstride.

“Well, your men are League’s men, are they not?”

“They are loyal to me.” The argument sounded childish even to his own ears. But he knew that to be true.

“Maybe they just let you retire with dignity.” Helena reasoned, offhand remark offering no comfort, only brutal honesty backed by cold logic. That was a hard blow. The realization he might have been let go of consciously, as a courtesy for years of work. As a reward for his sacrifices.

“You could step up and lead them different path, right? But you chose to come here instead.”

Action as clear to interpret as a written resignation.

“What happened to the people who cared for you when you were convalescing after Gotham? The ones who smuggled you to safety?”

“They work for the league still, or went into hiding.”

He never stopped to think about what happened to them. Some leader he was.

“I still don't understand how you are up and about so fast after major injury.”

“That drug I was taking, the one the mask was for. It had many purposes beside the main one. One side effect was vastly improved self-healing ability of my body,” he supplied absentmindedly.

He didn't leave them, they abandoned him. A general no longer needed. Broken soldier sent back home to put himself together, too incomplete to be an asset again.

“Cool.”

Helena's amused voice brought him back to reality.

Wasn't that what he wanted? To be left alone, to live in peace?

If the League let him go, as she suspected, he had nothing to escape from. He could just stay here.

“Plus I was cared for by the person who concocted it. She is real magician with organic chemistry,“ he finished his previous thought out loud.

“Isn't magic an undiscovered science?”

“Indeed.”

This time he made sure she saw his happy grin. Relief pooled in the pit of his stomach and he started different kind of plotting nearly instantly.

Again, why didn't he kiss her yet?

oOo

Bane stopped at the threshold waiting for Helena to permit him entry. She scoffed and waved him in, aggravated with his attention to formalities.

“Do it one more time and I will legitimately treat you like a vampire. With your accelerated healing and all.” She warned half seriously.

“That was Venom. Don't have it anymore.” He vaguely gestured around his bare face.

“Oh. Mere mortal like the rest of us puny humans.”

“Quite so.”

He followed her downstairs to the kitchenette.

“Take a seat,” Helena threw over her arm as she busied herself with the stove. There was still enough soup for the two of them, and she could make some grilled cheese to go with it.

Warm chest pressed to her back and two big palms splayed over the counter on each side of her. Bane leaned in to peek over her shoulder.

“What are we having?”

“Chunky tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. Do you like them with mustard?”

“I don't know.”

“I'll make two kinds then. Fried in butter or baked?”

“You decide.”

“Mustard ones will be fried, and I'll make plain baked too, then.”

“Sounds good,” he rumbled and turned back to sit at the table.

Silence stretching between them was cozy like a blanket, invaded only by sounds of Helena working, heating up pan and oven, layering cheese over toasts and checking on soup back on the stove. Bane just watched her sprawled in the chair like in the old days, listening to her absent-minded humming. Skylight in the corner let some of pale sunlight in, but it hardly reached the counter below and rest of the room. Helena worked under cold spotlight stretching under upper shelves over the working station. The oven emitted warm, yellow light, a counterpoint to almost medical detachment of grey planes of steel shelves with their cold blue of led lamps.

This was it. The feeling of rightness washed over Bane, the familiarity of place and situation, ridiculous since there was nothing he could attach himself to. But he did find himself at home. Sitting in a chair and watching Helena like he did so many times before.

It was right, somewhat. He was complete.

“You make me satisfied. That's why I came here. You make life simple. There is something that's just enough, without much fight, without much arguing. You allow me to just, be,” he said, recalling a rant interested same subject years past.

To think she knew what was best for him even back then.

“This is the first time in your life no one expects anything of you,” she mused, mulling over his words while she ladled the soup.

Bane only murmured in agreement, waiting for anything more she might add.

Twin bowls clunked softly on wooden plane of the table, followed by plates Helena set gently with a smile.

“Tuck in,” she encouraged Bane, sipping soup with a muffled sigh of satisfaction.

“How barbaric,” he noted, smiling over bite of toast.

“Cutlery is useful, but not always necessary. This is much better at warming one up after a stroll,” she defended herself, glancing coyly over rim of the bowl before she set it finally on the table. “Besides, isn't it nice to wrap your hands around something warm and pretty?“

“I had in mind something else than clay,” he smiled. She didn't pick up on frivolous tone he used. Too soon still? “This is my new favourite thing. This soup.” He practically inhaled half of it in one go. “If I knew how good you were in the kitchen I would have you cooking along with copying.”

“You don't get to joke about that!” She huffed in mock annoyance.

“Why not?”

“I'm supposed to be traumatized over the subject, you know.”

“Are you?”

“Not over this one, no.” There was enough between them to leave open the possibility of working through myriad other things other than the fact she was abducted and imprisoned. “So, did you have anyone? Over the years?”

Surprised look he sent her was a gem, the unguarded way his lips opened a bit taking off at least a decade of strain off his face.

“There were women,” he admitted.

“Anyone long term? “

“No,” he furrowed his brows, leaning back in the chair. “You know how difficult it is to meet anyone not professionally interested in my person, in my line of occupation. They were all paid.“

Helena nodded with a hum, not in the least put out.

“I expected as much.”

“Last one was few years back,” he said quietly, munching on his toast, eyes turned down.

It wasn't like him to be embarrassed, so what was it?

“So this is the first time in your life you're allowed to just get to know people, develop healthy relationships, without complications over work.”

That wasn't a question. She said it like she only needed him to confirm something she thought about long and hard, before they even started this conversation.

Bane didn’t like the look of resolve on her face. Not one bit.

“Where are you going with this?”

“I think we both should give each other ample time and space to work this situation over,” she said, a decisive nod punctuating her conclusion.

“Explain.”

“Perhaps it is not me you're in love with, but the idea of this life that I lead. The peaceful life you want to have. Perhaps I'm in love with the memory of you, more than the actual person.”

He couldn't argue otherwise immediately, which in itself gave him pause.

“What then? How do you want to proceed?”

“We have the basic covered already. Let's get to know each other. You have your cottage, I have mine. I wouldn't mind if you wanted to broaden your circle of friends.”

With some effort Helena could pretend she didn't notice how he seethed across her.

“Which reminds me, Grace and Graham will invite me over for Easter, am I allowed to say you're here?”

“Yes,” he hissed.

“Would you like to come with?”

“I don't know,” His eyes were impassive, but his jaw was set so hard he barely opened it to speak. “My thanks for the meal,” he nodded and turned to the stairs.

“Are you gonna sulk because I want to deal with this situation like an adult?”

“Am I allowed to?” He sneered.

“Do what you want. I know I can take care of myself and just live on my own. Can you?”

He turned at the bottom of narrow staircase, straightening up to look down at her. No more a scientist she walked with over past hour.

“Helena, you will do well to remember one simple truth about me. Whatever you or I would like to think, I am not a product of my circumstances. I am a product of my decisions.” His voice was quiet, but gravitas of words seeped to her in powerful confident waves, strengthening their message. “And my decisions over past decade proved that not only am I  capable of taking care of myself, but also of you, and a very complicated military operation, all at the same time.” His eyes narrowed, conducting the anger he felt. “Now for the solitary living, the whole point of me being here was to avoid it. I've been alone most of my life. But I understand your fears. You won't hear from me again, until you ask yourself for my presence.” He nodded in farewell. “Goodbye, neighbour.”

#bane #fanfic #bane dcu #original character #tdkr #fanfiction