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teamhook · 3 years

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Always, Always a Bridesmaid :: 27 Dresses Birthday CS AU

Hello! This is the final installment of my birthday fic for @ultraluckycatnd

Thank you to my beta @demisexualemmaswan

Much love and thanks for the help from @veryverynotgood and @karlyfr13s and the CSMM discord ladies that help with sprints and their encouragement.

FFN

AO3

The newly engaged couple wanted to share the joyous news right away with Mr. Goldman. The doting father was elated at the prospect of having his younger daughter back in town permanently. Emma’s obvious discomfort went unnoticed by her family. Midas without thinking passed down the bride-to-be her mother’s wedding gown, completely missing her fake smile. He was just happy at the thought of his little girl finding a good man and moving back to the States.

“Thank you, Daddy!” Kathryn said.

Graham smiled lovingly at his fiance as she showed him the gown.

Sitting across from the couple, Emma’s heart sunk even further. Not only had her sister swiped away her dream man but her mother’s beloved gown as well. She shouldn’t hold Graham against Kathryn because she didn’t know...but the dress was a different story.

Emma took a deep breath as she entered the bar. She still couldn’t believe she had taken the guy up on his offer for a drink. Who was she kidding? The moment Kathryn and Graham’s eyes met she had increased her alcohol consumption. She was not an alcoholic yet but she was enjoying the drink a little too often.

Killian waved at her from the bar.

Emma plopped down at the chair next to him.

“Hello, love.” Killian smiled widely.

Emma forced a smile. “Hello.”

Killian took a long, scrutinizing look at her. “I can’t help but wonder what deity I owe the pleasure of your company. Don’t get me wrong, love. I’m ecstatic, but you had been dodging my calls, and you suddenly called me to invite me out for a drink.”

Emma grimaced. “My baby sister is getting married.”

“Ah, before you.”

“That is not why I’m upset,” she defended.

“I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

Emma sighed and ran her hands through her hair. “You don’t know my sister. Kathryn is going to want me to do everything for her. I will not just be her maid of honor,” she said with exasperation.

“I don’t see the problem. You ‘love weddings’.” he reminded her.

“I do love weddings but I’m going to have to take care of everything .”

“Alright. How about you simply say, ‘No’?”

“What?” she asked confusedly.

“Love, you have said, ‘No’ to people before haven’t you?”

She scoffed. “Of course I have!”

Killian’s raised his eyebrow skeptically.

“Many, many times before but not in this situation.”

“But you want to say no this time?”

She nodded. “I wish I could. But I can’t; it’s my sister.”

“Alright. We are going to play this little game to practice saying ‘no’.”

Emma stared at him.

Killian took a big breath. “Emma, love, give me 50 dollars.”

“NO!” Emma said with a smile.

“Emma, darling. It’s only 50 dollars. I promise I’ll pay you back,” he said, holding his hand on his heart.

“No,” she said, proud of herself.

“Emma, love. I need you…” he said, licking his lips seductively, leaning closer to her, “To give me 50 dollars.”

“ No ?” she said hesitantly.

“Eh, not bad, darling,” he said proudly. “May I have your drink?”

“Yeah, sure,” she said as she pushed the drink to him.

He grabbed it and with a smirk.

“Wait, I meant no!”

Killian tsked. “You were doing so well. That's terrible,” he said as he enjoyed her drink.

“Mmhmm,” she sighed disappointedly.

The night came to an end not long after for the pair after the game.

Kathryn and Emma shared a walk through Central Park as they talked about wedding plans.

“Ems, did you go to the flower shop and order the favors?”

“Yeah.” She nodded.

“And the invitation mock-ups? Did you get those done?”

“Yes. Done.”

“This is so much fun!”

The girls kept walking.

“Oh, and I want you to ask your friend to be my bridesmaid. The rude one.”

“You want me to ask Ruby? My best friend.”

“Yeah, she is really pretty and she will not throw off the aesthetics. You know that I don’t have girlfriends. Girls, they don't like me.” Kathryn shrugged. “I just don’t understand why.”

Emma gave her an incredulous look with a raised brow.

Kathryn rolled her eyes. “Fine. I know why. Just ask her.”

“Of course.”

“I was thinking you should do a slideshow for the rehearsal dinner with pictures of Graham and me together and say funny things.”

“Okay, I will get the photos from Graham. I have our family photo albums.”

Kathryn squealed. “Before I forget, guess what.”

“What?”

“You know that writer you stalk…well, he called me because he wants to do a whole Commitments column on us for the Journal. Can you believe it?”

“Of course, at this point, I absolutely can. Why not?”

Kathryn stopped across the Boathouse. “I have been thinking and I think you are right. It would be a lovely wedding if I got married where mom and dad got married.”

Emma gaped at her sister for a second. “I didn’t think that was your style.”

“It isn’t but why not? I’m wearing mom’s dress,” she shrugged.

“You are always going on and on about how perfect it was. Tada!” Kathryn enthusiastically waved her hands in the direction of the venue. “We are getting married in three weeks.”

Emma gulped, “Three weeks?”

“Yeah. When I called they didn’t have any availability for 18 months. Then they called me to say they had a cancellation. So I had to take it. I know you can pull it together quickly. I don’t want to wait.”

Emma just forced a smile.

“I don’t get it. Emma, you could at least try to act like you are happy for me.”

Emma resorted to an old nickname from their childhood to appease her sister. “KitKat, you know I am…”

“I know that you wanted to get married at the Boathouse wearing mom’s dress but I’m really happy and I thought my big sis would be happy for me.”

“I am. I just didn’t know that’s what you wanted…”

“It is and you will get the dress after. Okay. Now can we talk about more important stuff?” Kathryn said as she resumed walking.

Emma stood on ceremony.

“Come on. Emma, you have a lot of work to do. I don't like the linens, and I think you need to rent new ones because they do not go with the color scheme that I picked out.”

The next day she met Ruby at the Yoga studio for their workout and she shared the news. She had to beg her to say yes to being a bridesmaid. She couldn’t be alone in this mess.

Finally Ruby relented only after being kicked out for talking.

“You want this cake in three weeks? Emma, I don’t know if I can do it. It’s just not enough time for what you want.”

“Tiana, I know you can do it. I wouldn’t ask otherwise. Do you remember the beautiful six-tiered heart-shaped cake that was commissioned by the Fisher’s or the tower of edible gifts for the Page-Booth outdoor fiesta. You can do anything, and we both know it.”

“ Three weeks?”

“Do it for your favorite maid-of-honor, please?”

Tiana caved with a smile.

“We have a cake.” Emma turned to her sister and Graham with a wide grin on her face.

The sudden clapping from the door alerted her of the newcomer.

“What are you doing here?” Emma asked, already exasperated by his presence.

“Hello. I’m James Rogers,” he said with a gleaming smile.

Emma’s mouth opened but nothing came out.

“Oh, yes. I’m Kathryn and this is my fiance, Graham.”

“Congratulations! Lovely to meet you both,” he said as charmingly as possible.

“ Thank you,” Kathryn and Graham replied together.

“Oh, and this is my sister, Emma. She is obsessed with your stories. She’s your number one fan. She is going to make a wallpaper with all your articles.”

Killian smirked at Emma. “Is that so?”

Finally, Emma found her voice, “Wait, you said your name was Killian. I’m confused.”

“Aye, my name is Killian. I use James for the byline so I don’t get stalked by the crazy brides,” Killian answered Emma.

Kathryn’s attention was focused on her phone.

Killian turned to Kathryn. “How did you lovebirds meet?”

Emma scoffed, “You are an asshole.”

“Emma!” Kathryn hissed.

“What? He is! He told me his name was Killian.”

“Wait, you two know each other?” Kathryn asked.

“We both work the wedding circuit,” Killian replied.

“Kathryn, can you give us one second? Tell Tiana what you want,” Emma urged her sister in the direction of her friend.

“I can’t believe it. You lied to me,” Emma accused.

“Ah, ah. Love, I told you I was a writer. Where is the lie in that? I just didn’t tell you what I wrote.”

“But…you write the most beautiful things. Which one is it? Do you only pretend to be a cynic… or are you a cynic who knows how to spin romantic crap for girls like me?”

Killian scratched behind his ear. “The second one, the spinning crap one as you so eloquently put it.”

“This is just great. I feel like I just found out my favorite love song was written about a sandwich.”

“James, can I steal you away for a second so we can talk about Graham and me?”

“Of course. That's why I'm here.”

Kathryn and Killian chatted away as they walked towards Graham, leaving Emma behind.

Killian walked with an extra pep in his step. He knew this story would get him out of the dreaded Commitments. He found the address that Kathryn gave him.

He knocked eagerly.

On the other side of the door. Emma groaned as she saw through the peephole. She opened the door just wide enough for her unhappiness to see him be on display.

“Kathryn is not here. You can go now.”

“I’m afraid I’m not here for her. I’m here to interview you for the piece.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Just go away, I’m not in the mood to talk to you.”

“Come on, lass. For Kathryn and Graham?” he asked, pouting.

Emma hesitated for a second. She knew Kathryn would be angry if she messed this up for her.

“Fine, let’s get this over with.” She opened the door wide for him to walk in.

Killian got his phone out and set it to record. “The maid of honor, although a lovely lass, is a little prickly. Emma, how do you feel about Kathryn’s whirlwind romance?”

Emma took a deep breath. “She’s my little sister. How do you think I feel? I taught her how to tell time, and how to ride a bike. I raised her. Please, don’t print that. It would break my father’s heart but to answer your question. I couldn’t be happier.”

Killian nodded as he listened to her but his attention wasn’t completely on her. His eyes roamed the apartment until they landed on the slightly opened closet. Love, what are those?”

Emma’s eyes followed his gaze and answered as she tried to make her way over to the closet to close the door and keep him away from her prized collection. “That’s nothing.”

Killian was giddy with excitement as he trailed right behind her. “Are those…”

“No!” Emma tried to keep him away by pushing him away from the door but she wasn’t able to keep him from opening the door.

“Bloody hell! Are these all bridesmaid dresses?”

“None of your business.”

“Good God, lass. Why? The closet is so full you can barely close the door.”

“I just have a lot of friends and I like keeping them,” she shrugged.

“Makes perfect sense because they’re bloody beautiful.”

“Some of them are not that bad.”

“I’d like to see one that is not bad.”

“Fine.” Emma started looking through the dresses, muttering not that one, or that one.

“Aha, this one is not bad.” She showed him a greenish dress.

“Love, we need to have those lovely eyes checked because that is the very definition of bad. What color is this? Vomit?”

Emma rolled her eyes. “No, it's an "olivey" green. The color is super flattering. I’m telling you. It looks great on.”

“I disagree. Love, that dress is one of the worst instruments of torture I have ever seen because the bride wants you to look ugly.”

“No, no. Ariel picked it because it looks good on everybody.”

Killian rolled his eyes. “The lass is delusional and believes anything anyone tells her,” he spoke to the recorder.

“I’ll prove it to you.” She grabbed the dress and headed to her room.

Killian kept skimming through the dresses, grimacing as he took them out to look at them. He kept taking pictures of the packed closet.

Emma came out of the room.

He had to agree the dress wasn't that bad but perhaps it was her .

“See?” she said, twirling.

He smiled. “You are right. The dress isn’t that bad but what about the color? He said as he took a picture and showed her the photo.

Emma groaned. “It’s your camera. It’s defective or something.”

Killian looked at her, unamused.

Emma sighed. “Okay, it’s not that good. Are you happy?”

“You look like a very beautiful shiny mermaid. You should be flattered.”

Emma bit her bottom lip. “It's really not the worst one.”

She went on to show him every dress in the closet and he took a picture of each one. They laughed and made fun of the themed weddings and the accessories.

“Love, you have twenty-seven dresses.”

Emma smiled and shrugged.

“I don't understand. You attend the wedding, why not throw the dress after? This is a huge closet.”

“I know you don’t believe me but I’ve had really good times in those dresses.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“It’s not about me. It’s about supporting them.”

“Alright, but how much time do you spend doing this for others? What about you?”

Emma sighed, “Someday… It will be my day and those people will be there for me.”

Killian’s camera flash took her by surprise. He couldn’t help capturing the image. The look in her eye spoke to his cynical soul. He thanked her for the hospitality but made his excuse to leave.

Emma arrived at Graham’s apartment. She could hear the loud music through the door. Emma rolled her eyes, Kathryn was too busy for the gift registry but she was okay taking full advantage of the fact Graham was out of town for business. She only hoped her sister wasn’t doing anything she would regret.

She rang the doorbell.

Kathryn opened the door enough to give Emma the list. “Here I thought you were going to wait for me downstairs.”

Emma knew her sister well enough to know she was trying to get rid of her.

Emma pushed past her. “Kathryn, what is going on here?” Her eyes landing on Henry vacuuming the living room.

Kathyrn scoffed. “What? He was looking for a part-time job to buy a new computer. He wants an Apple MacBook Air because he wants to be a writer.”

“You have a kid cleaning your fiance's apartment. Graham adores him. He has been his big brother for years.” Emma said in disbelief.

“It’s our secret. Henry’s and mine. Ems, don’t worry about it, okay. You should go, it’s getting late.”

Emma left, grabbing the list. She wondered if she told Graham the truth about Kathryn, what he would say. At the park, she had tried to make him see her sister’s lies but he was blind by his attraction for her.

Killian was looking through his notes and the pictures with a faint smile on his face.

Cora appeared at his cubicle suddenly, as if transported by magic.

A startled Killian snapped up from his computer screen. “Cora, did you need something?”

“The bridesmaid story you pitched, what do you have so far?”

“Ah, yes, it’s still a little rough. I’m working on it.”

“I want to see it now . Email it.” She said and walked away.

“Cora, it’s not ready! Bloody hell,” he muttered, Killian got up from his chair to chase after her after sending the email. She was a heartless woman and people had been fired for less. He had been lucky she had found value in him.

Cora was sitting down behind her desk when he arrived. “Cora, the email was sent with the draft. I hope you let me know what you think and just keep that in mind,” Killian said.

She just nodded a silent way to dismiss him.

“Hello, love. Did you miss me?” Killian whispered in Emma’s ear as she scanned the cookware.

Emma jumped a bit and almost dropped the crystal glasses.

She glared at Killian. “What are you doing here? I didn’t invite you. Go away, please?”

“Kathryn did.” He smiled. “I’m just doing my job. I have to see every aspect of the wedding.”

Emma rolled her eyes as she kept scanning things off of Kathryn’s list distancing herself from him.

“Your sister wants so many presents that she physically cannot register for them herself?” he asked when he caught up with her.

Emma stopped scanning and turned her attention to Killian. “It’s a short engagement so she is pressed for time.”

“How many casserole dishes does a person need? Kathryn doesn’t strike me as the cooking type,” he said as he trailed behind her again.

“This isn't just another vahze ." Emma turned to face him, annoyed at his comments.

“It’s called a vase,” he said matter of factly.

“You just don’t get it. These are the things you build a life with.”

“No, love. This is useless crap that the 70-billion-dollar-a-year wedding industry has conned you into believing that you need to have or you won't be happy.”

“No, you know what I think? I think that all your theories are just a smokescreen.”

“For what, darling?”

“Your secret, whatever it is. Maybe you haven’t found the right girl and you're afraid you never will.”

Killian sat down on a display couch. “And I think that you love weddings so much because you prefer to focus on everyone else’s Kodak moments rather than make memories of your own.”

“What do you want me to say? You're right? You are crazy. Weddings are the worst place to forget you are single.”

“Love, you want a wedding, not a marriage, a bloody wedding. The dress and the special day.”

“What is your problem, asshole? Let me guess you had a fancy wedding and your wife left you for someone else?”

Killian’s jaw ticked. “Aye, with my college professor by the way. They lived happily ever after with their son.”

“What? Oh, shit. I’m sorry. Killian, it was just a guess.”

“A good one,” he laughed bitterly. “For someone who has no insight whatsoever into herself, you nailed me right on the head.”

“Hey, do you want to find the ugliest stuff in here and register Kathryn for it?”

“Aye, let’s do it. I saw the most hideous crocodile gravy boat on the counter back there,” he said with a devilish smile on his face.

Killian walked to Cora’s office.

“Hey, you wanted to see me?” Killian asked as he opened the door and sat down.

“Wow,” she said.

“Cora, I told you I wasn’t done with it. I need to do some edits.” Killian said.

“Relax. I like it. It's a decent story. I have to admit, I was shocked. It’s smart and entertaining.”

“Thank you,” he replied.

“You really nailed this girl. We’re running the story Sunday, front page.”

“No, no. It’s not ready,” Killian insisted. “I still have some things to add and I know it will make it worth the wait.”

Cora crossed her arms over her chest and raised her brows. "You have been begging me for months for a chance. How about some gratitude?"

Mind reeling, Killian searched for any reason to stall Cora's decision. “I really want to get this right. Can you give me a week to make it perfect?”

“If I didn’t know you any better I would say you care for her. Did the girl get under your skin?”

He scoffed, “Of course not. I’m just trying to do my job. She’s more than this perpetual bridesmaid. There’s more to her tale. Just give me a week and you will not regret it.”

“Fine. Get out.”

Killian called Emma to see if they could meet to talk but was greeted with Kathryn’s voice instead. Kathryn had told him that Emma was meeting Graham to pick the menu for the reception. He truly wondered what she was doing for her own wedding. She was always doing something for her instead of for the wedding preparations. He understood what Emma had meant when she told him she would need to do everything.

Killian showed up at the restaurant and stopped in his tracks. Even from his spot, he knew the signs of a woman smitten with the man she was talking to. Emma was in love with Graham. Bloody hell, his stomach dropped for some unknown reason. She was smiling freely at something he said. He hadn’t dared to get closer to them. How could anyone else miss the obvious signs? How could he have missed it?

Emma and Graham were so busy in their conversation that they had not noticed Killian’s arrival. So he started to walk away.

After hearing Graham praising Kathryn, Emma wanted to tell him the truth. She is not who he thinks but stopped herself because he looked so happy. She will not be the one to break his heart.

“Emma, tell me what is your favorite part of a wedding?” Graham asked.

“My favorite part of the wedding is watching the groom’s face when the bride is walking down the aisle, and seeing the pure love on his face,” Emma said.

“I think it’s easy to look at your bride with love if she is like your sister. Kathryn is wonderful and I am very happy I found her,” Graham said with a loving gaze.

Emma smiled at him then lowered her gaze to her plate.

Graham turned away to get the waiter’s attention but noticed Killian walking away.

“Rogers, Is that you?”

Killian winced but forced a fake smile as he turned to face the table.

Emma glared at him as he approached them.

“What are you doing here?” she asked through gritted teeth.

“I have some more questions for you,” he said simply.

“You could email me the questions and I will return the email.”

“Where’s Kathryn?” Killian asked.

“She’s busy and couldn’t make it so she asked me to come in her place,” Emma said.

“Hmm. She couldn’t come to pick the wedding meal?”

“Emma is just helping out. Kathryn had a hair appointment; we are having dinner with my parents later,” Graham replied.

“I’m sure Emma was happy to oblige,” Killian said.

“Should we leave now?” Emma asked Graham.

“We should we're heading up to Rhinebeck to pick out

some linens from an antique store,” Graham said as he waved the waiter over.

“I have an idea, How about if I go with Emma in your place? I imagine you have things to do before your dinner.”

“No, no, that’s okay. We can make it back in plenty of time,” Emma answered quickly.

“I don't mind,” Killian said with a smile.

Graham nodded. “It would be a great help.”

“Mate, I insist,” Killian said.

Graham paid and went on his way.

Emma and Killian got in her dad’s car and drove away.

Emma was driving with a scowl on her face.

Killian laughed, “Of course you’re angry at having to plan your sister’s wedding to the man you love. The second I saw you mooning over him while you had your meal. It was like a bloody anchor was dropped. You won’t say anything because you are too used to facilitating others' happiness instead of your own.”

Emma scoffed. “You don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Hmm. You are miserable and unwilling to do anything about it.”

“You are crazy! I’m thrilled to be planning their wedding. She’s my baby sister like I have for every wedding that I've been a part of. You wouldn’t understand because you are cynical, mean, and dark. That’s your problem, buddy, not mine.”

“Buddy? Did you call me buddy?”

“I could have called you an asshole! Just shut up!”

“I understand you’re vexed. I ruined the day of you pining for somebody that will never be yours!” Killian roared.

“Stop!” Emma yelled back.

Killian’s attention turned back to the rainy road. Perhaps it wasn’t the best time to antagonize her.

“Love, you need to slow down so I can read the sign.”

The car kept picking up speed.

“Do you think you could slow down? Ease your foot off the accelerator.”

“Don’t you ever shut up?”

Killian checked his seatbelt. He should have waited to say his thoughts but she had given him the cold shoulder since they left the restaurant. He hadn’t noticed when the weather had gotten that bad. It was as if the rain was mimicking her mood.

“Emma, love. Slow down, we’re going to hydroplane,” he said in a soothing voice.

Emma rolled her eyes. “We are not going to hydroplane.” Her fingers squeezed the steering wheel tightly as she made a slight correction and the car started swerving out of control. “Shit, shit!! We are hydroplaning!!”

Killian hissed as he grabbed onto the armrest and gripped it as if his life depended on it. In a way it did, he supposed.

“Bloody hell! I told you to slow down! Lass, just calm down and ease your foot off the gas--”

“Shut it! I know what I’m doing.” She eased her foot on the break as she eased it off the gas like Killian suggested and maneuvered the vehicle to safety. “This is your fault if you would have stopped talking for a moment like I asked, I would have been able to focus on the road.”

Killian glared at her.

The car was stuck and they couldn’t get it out. It was too late for a tow truck and there was no cell phone service.

Killian spotted a bar not too far from them. “Come along, lass. Let’s see if we can get some help or at the very least get a drink.”

Emma hesitantly followed him.

The place was a small hole in the wall bar.

Killian found the payphone right away.

“You got anything?” Emma asked.

He shook his head no. “Mate, your phone doesn’t work,” Killian said to the bartender.

The man shrugged. “Nice detective skills. It has been out of service for a while.”

“Our car broke down and we have no cell service,” Emma told the bartender.

The man pulled out a phone from beneath the bar. “You will not find someone to come help you right now. The rain is bad and it’s getting late.”

Emma groaned.

Killian approached the bar. “Rum, three fingers, no ice, please.”He pulled a stool and sat down.

“What are you doing?” Emma asked, annoyed as she followed him.

“You heard the man, we are not getting a tow anytime soon. I’m going to enjoy a drink. There’s nothing you can do. You should have a drink.”

The bartender handed Killian his drink.

“Thanks, mate.”

Emma sat down next to Killian. “Fine, I’ll have one, let me have the same.”

After several drinks, Emma eyed him carefully.

“Jones, I have to know something. You once wrote a column that was so beautiful it made me cry.”

“Aww,” he mocked.

“The Zimmer-York article was full of emotion. It was the anniversary of the mother's death. The brother flew home from Afghanistan.”

Killian remembered the article but he would not admit it. “Sorry, I don’t recall.”

“How can you not remember it? You cannot fake emotion like that.”

“A talented writer like meself can.”

“You’re not that good.”

Killian signaled the bartender for another round of drinks.

“Be honest with me for once. What is your favorite part of a wedding?”

He stared at her. “My favorite part of a wedding is an open bar.” He smiled and waggled his eyebrows.

“No. Everybody likes that.”

Killian laughed. “Alright. The part when the bride is making her grand entrance. I like to glance back at the wanker getting married. He looks happy even though he is willingly entering into the last form of slavery.”

Emma’s eyes widened as he finished talking.

Killian scratched behind his ear nervously. “Why the bloody hell are you looking at me like that?”

“Are you serious? That’s my favorite part! I can’t believe it. We have something in common.”

“Aye, that must make us kindred spirits. Love, it was bound to happen.”

“Just admit you are a big teddy bear that the whole cynical thing is an act so you can seem wounded and mysterious… and sexy.”

“I’m sorry love, what was the last one?”

“ Huh ?”

“You think I’m sexy, love? I'm startling, aren't I? Some people say striking, but I will accept sexy.”

“No, I don’t. I think you think you are sexy.”

“Mhmm,” he said with a wide smile.

Emma’s cheeks blushed bright pink.

Benny and the Jets played loudly, filling the moment of silence between them.

“I love this song,” Emma said, swaying to the beat of the song.

“Aye, it’s a great song.” Killian hummed in tune then broke into song, “ Hey, kids shake it loose together… That's been known to change the weather.”

Emma snorts in an unladylike way. “Those are not the lyrics,” she giggled.

“Those are the lyrics. Alright, lyric police. What are the correct words?”

“You're gonna hear a handsome music… So the walrus sounds.”

Killian laughed. “Walrus sounds?”

Emma grinned and continued, “Say, Penny's no longer in a cement jet… Ooh, but you're so laced down.”

He shook his head, but joined her in the next line. “Buh, buh, buh, buh Bennie and the Jets…”

Emma continued belting out the lyrics, “O oh, in the wind and the waterfall… Oh, baby, she's a "revocaine"... She's got electric boobs.”

Killian laughed so hard with tears in his eyes. “Boobs?”

Sometime after, Killian found himself singing alongside Emma on top of the bar, dancing and enjoying the moment.

The crowd had become a rapt audience to the pair cheering them on after an encore performance.

Killian helped Emma get off the bar table. Once she was at eye level she was so beautiful. He blurted out, “I wept like a babe at the Zimmer-York wedding.”

Emma’s eyes widened at his confession and without thinking she grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him to her, melding their lips together. The kiss escalated fast as they found themselves in the back seat of her car fogging the car windows with their heavy breathing.

The sunshine woke up Emma from her sleep. She was trying to shake off the kinks. She looked around the scenery and decided that there are worse places to end up stranded.

“Morning, love. The tow truck is on its way,” Killian said as he handed her a cup of coffee.”

“Thank you, I just want you to know I never do this.”

“I know, lass, you kept saying that last night over and over.”

Emma groaned, her head pounded. Why was everything so loud? While Killian acted as if he was a two-hundred-year-old pirate with an endless supply of rum.

“I was wondering if you would like to grab something to eat while we wait for the tow truck?”

They found a small diner just down the block and placed their food order when one of the patrons from the bar last night approached them and reminded them of the rendition to Benny and The Jets. Emma grimaces at the thought of singing in public. The man left with a smile on his face while humming the song.

“Oh, why didn’t you stop me?” Emma asked Killian.

“I’m sorry, you looked so free.”

“Hey, you’re that girl! You’re famous.” A customer approached her with recognition in her eyes. “From the newspaper.”

Emma looked confused at the lady. “What paper?”

Killian groaned and muttered, “ Bloody hell .”

The woman had gone to find the newspaper for her to see.

"Always, Always a Bridesmaid by James Rogers? What the hell is this?” She asked, throwing the newspaper on his face. Emma got up from her seat and walked out.

Killian followed her after he paid the bill.

“Emma! Swan, please let me explain. I told my editor not to run it. Lass, no one reads it,” Killian said as he caught up with her and grabbed her arm to get her attention.

Emma whipped around and slapped him. She walked away toward the car leaving him behind.

Killian knew better than to try to talk to her again.

Killian stormed into work to confront Cora, she had lied to him. He had been blindsided when the article was mentioned. The look of betrayal he saw in her eyes made his stomach sour.

Cora’s door was open.

Killian didn’t even bother with any sort of civility. “What the bloody hell happened? I thought we agreed to hold it,” Killian accused.

“I thought the story was ready and I make the decisions here you don’t,” She said coolly.

“Cora, you don't understand. I didn't have time to warn her.”

“In case you forgot. You work for me, not the other way around. You should kiss my feet. I gave you 24 inches in the Sunday paper. Get out !” she said unamused.

Emma arrived at her place to be greeted with a string of shrieks and screams. “How could you let this happen?”

“I didn’t know he was writing a story about me,” Emma said.

“You?! Did you read it? If Emma is the typical, accommodating bridesmaid then her sister, Kathryn, is cast as the overbearing, overindulged bride-to-be who might start stomping around Manhattan at any moment."

“I’m sorry.”

“Emma, he called me bridezilla in the New York Journal!”

Emma stayed quiet as Kathryn scolded her, missing the hurt in her eyes. The phone rang interrupting her tirade.

“What?” Kathryn answered the phone.

“May I please speak with Emma?” Killian asked.

“Are you kidding? The only person you will be speaking to is my attorney! Asshole!” Kathryn yelled at the phone and slammed it down.

The week had started horribly for Emma. Kathryn hadn’t stopped her complaints about the article when all Emma wanted to do was forget about it. Not once had Kathryn shown her an ounce of sympathy there had been so many embarrassing pictures of Emma on the front page of the section. Kathryn had only been mentioned but no one knew what her face looked like. Emma however, was the damn star. Her head was starting to pound. She still had to face Graham. What if he felt like her sister?

Killian had been relentless with the calls and messages. Of course Ruby tried to cheer her up by making light of the situation but it didn’t help.

Graham called her to his office and was so caring and understanding that it made her feel as if someone had her back. He was right, no one read that section.

Emma had to rush to the bridal shop for her meeting with Kathryn.

“Johanna, can you hem this part? Emma, is that you?” Kathryn called out from the fitting room. Johanna went to do the alteration.

“Yeah, it's me,” Emma said as she walked to the back.

Emma sat down on one of the chairs.

“Emma, I have been thinking that it wasn’t your fault. You are just too trusting. I guess,” Kathryn said as she checked her list.

“Thank you. Wait. Is that your enemy list? The one from high school. Are you checking me off the list?” Emma said dumbfounded.

Kathryn gave her a small smile alongside a paper. “About the slide show, I want you to say that. Exactly as I wrote it, that is the script. Graham said he will give you all his photos.”

“Okay,” Emma said as she read over the script her sister gave her.

Johanna walked back in with the altered dress, “Hi, Emma.”

“Hi, Johanna,” Emma said with a welcoming smile and returning her attention to the scripted paper her sister gave her.

“Kathryn, here it is. Step in.” Johanna said as she helped Kathryn with the dress.

“Emma, what do you think?” Kathryn said, twirling in the dress.

Emma finally looked up to see the dress, expecting to see her mother’s dress with some slight changes but instead finding a completely different dress. “I thought you were wearing Mom's dress.”

“This is Mom's dress. Parts of it anyway. It was just too old-fashioned. We could just use a few pieces here and there,”

Kathryn said as she smoothed the material.

“I’m sorry... what ?” Emma asked as she approached her sister wearing a dress she no longer recognized. “You cut up Mom’s dress ?”

“Isn’t it pretty? You can wear it too. Technically Johanna cut it, not me.”

Emma didn’t think her sister could be any more selfish; she was proven wrong. “ No. No, no, no, no. No! God, you don't care. You only care about yourself, don’t you? I have made excuses for you since Mom died but enough is enough!”

Kathryn rolled her eyes. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“I can’t fix the dress but I won't let you hurt Graham. He thinks he knows you but it's all a lie. You even had Henry keep a secret from him. Tell him the truth or I will.”

“I don’t have to tell him anything and you will not either. You are my sister, you definitely wouldn't do anything to hurt me.”

“No, today you're just some selfish bitch who broke my heart and cut up my mother's wedding dress. You didn't even have the decency to ask me about it! You knew how much that dress meant to me but you just didn't care. You could have easily just picked a brand new dress to match your taste. Kathryn, you only get this warning, tell him the truth or a will.” Emma left her sister just staring at her back as she walked away.

Kathryn just groaned as she made her way to change her clothes.

On the day of the engagement party, Emma had been jittery all day but she wouldn’t be deterred from what she had to do. She gave her sister a chance to do the right thing, to be honest. She hoped she had come clean with Graham.

Emma had been getting pitying looks, and dealing with passive-aggressive comments about how terrible it must feel that her baby sister was marrying before her.

The last straw had Emma replying with, “ Yeah, but at least I still get to have hot sex with strangers .”

The stunned look on the old woman's face had been priceless.

The night progressed and it soon would be time for the slide show. Emma had kept trying to talk to Kathryn but her sister avoided her feigning she had to play host.

Ruby arrived fashionably late as always but quickly found Emma, a drink already in her hand. “Hey, you clean up nicely! You look hot! I might be persuaded to change sides,” she said with a wink.

Emma didn’t react with a quip of her own, making Ruby since her friend wasn’t holding up as well as she thought. “Emma, how are you?”

“I’m okay,” she said with a tight smile, grabbing the drink from Ruby’s hand while drinking it in one gulp.

“Hey, that is not water,” Ruby said as she saw her friend finish up to the last drop of her drink.

Emma turned to the guy helping her set up her computer for the slideshow. “It’s under Kathryn and Graham.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yep, I’m fine,” Emma insisted.

Graham approached Emma with a reluctant fiance on his arm. “Emma, thank you for a lovely party. You have gone above and beyond. Hasn’t she, Kathryn?”

Kathryn nodded her agreement while avoiding Emma’s eyes.

Emma got the confirmation she needed with her sister’s attitude. “You guys should take a seat. I’m going to start the slideshow.”

The restaurant was packed with family and friends. Emma gave a lovely introduction as the images played in the background. It started with oohs and awws which morphed into gasps as Emma unmasked Kathryn from her preferred food to her dislike of pets which included Graham’s beloved dog Hunter. The final straw was Henry’s sell pitch for the cleaning business Kathryn was helping him, in which Graham’s home was the first customer.

Graham furiously got up from his seat and left with Kathryn following close behind trying to explain herself.

A crying Kathryn returned alone, walked up to Emma. “I hope you are happy. He broke off the engagement. The wedding is off.”

Emma saw as her sister walked away. Ruby nudged her shoulder. “What happened?”

“He deserved to know the truth.”

“I agree but perhaps you could have told him face-to-face when this mess started. I know that my moral compass doesn't exactly point due north but if I can see there’s something wrong, there’s a reason.”

“Ruby, you’re the one who is always telling me to be brave and stand up for myself,” Emma said, hurt at her friend’s attitude.

“Emma, hun that's not what you did. You unleashed years of repressed feelings in one night. I admit it was entertaining but if you were sure you did the right thing you'd feel better right now,” Ruby said honestly.

Emma walked out of the building, she heard footsteps approaching causing her to turn.

“Oh, my God. What do you want? Can't you take a hint? Why are you here?” she said, rolling her eyes at the intruder.

He shrugged, “Love, you wouldn't return my phone calls.”

“Haven't you ruined my life enough? Let me guess, you want another picture for your paper?”

“Emma, I’m sorry.”

“Please, Stop! You used me to advance in your career. At least have the decency to admit it but don’t try to act as you care about me.”

“I just saw what you did there and all I can say is it’s about bloody time!”

“Stop, I'm not doing this with you again.”

“Do you want to know the truth, why I came here? Alright, I knew this would be a difficult day for you, and for the first time in a long time, I wanted to look out for someone else. I know I was a damn fool. I’m sorry. I will vanish from your life but I want you to know that I think you are amazing, a marvel, and I think you deserve so much more than what you settle for. You deserve to be taken care of like the princess you are.” He turned to walk away but stopped mid-step. “Sorry, love. I forgot to give you this.” He hands her a package. “It’s just something to make your life easier. A new beginning.”

She took the gift hesitantly and watched him walk away.

Killian stared at his computer screen. He had hated walking away from Emma but it was clear she was not ready to forgive him.

“Killian, your little bridesmaid story got a phenomenal response. Looks like you finally did it, you got yourself bumped from Commitments,” Cora said.

“Lovely,” Killian said with a depreciating smile on his face.

“Killian, you should be happy. Isn’t this what you dreamt of?” Cora said as she walked away.

Killian knew she was right, he should be happy. He should be celebrating but it was a hollow victory.

Emma was surprised when her father called the day after and invited her over.

“Emma, you have got to work this out,” Midas said as he hugged her to comfort her pain.

“You two need to talk and fix this. Remember you love each other,” Midas said as if talking to two little girls with pigtails.

They stood stubbornly at opposite sides as their dad gave them privacy.

Emma had grown up looking after her sister. She had no idea what had caused Kathryn to become as selfish as she was. Kathryn had become the person that only looked out for herself. Emma had let go of her hurt over Graham because she had no idea of her feelings for him but the dress. The wedding dress was part of her dream wedding and she took it knowing so. Not only that but she shredded it without concerns about her feelings. But as Emma stared into her sister's eyes, she recognized the pain that had reflected in her own. She had done the unthinkable and caused pain to the one she had protected all her life.

“Kathryn, I’m sorry. I feel terrible.”

Kathryn’s mouth opened. “Sorry? You humiliated me in front of everyone!”

“I know but --” Emma stammered.

“Just admit it! You have always been jealous of me!” Kathryn yelled as she threw bags of chips and anything she could find at Emma.

Ducking and dodging various items being flung at her from the shelves, Emma became aggravated by Kathryn's child-like tantrum, but once she picked up a family-sized can of vegetables to throw, Emma snapped. “Stop it! Kathryn, I’m sorry but you could have been honest with Graham from the beginning. We wouldn't be standing here if you had. Did you even love him or was it just convenient?”

Kathryn huffed, “Get off your high horse. Sweet Emma, kind and smart. Perfect Emma. You always thought my life was perfect. The truth is you resent me because you had to braid my hair, go shopping for my prom dress, and make my Halloween costumes.”

Emma sighed. “No, Kathryn, I never did.”

“You think my life is so easy.”

“Kathryn, you never had a care in the world. You did as you pleased, never caring for the consequences. You are beautiful and fun. Your life is perfect.”

“You have no idea, Emma. Do you want to know the reason why I stayed home? I got fired from my job and James dumped me. Then I met Graham and he was nice to me. I just wanted to be someone worthy of him. I was trying to be you.”

Emma asked, confused, “Why would you want to be boring me when you get to be you?”

“Emma, you have taken care of me since Mom died. You stopped being my big sister and became my surrogate mother."

“I had to. You are my baby sister.”

"No, you didn't. I'm sorry about mom's dress. I know how much that dress meant to you. I wasn't thinking," Kathryn sighed. "I was too busy enjoying my happy moment. I didn't care about you or anyone. You were right calling me selfish. I just never thought I would hear those words coming from you. I will not lie and say it didn't hurt. In a way, I'm happy you finally started saying what you feel. I will always be your sister and I think it's time for you to stop taking care of everybody. It’s time to focus on you.”

"Kathryn, I am sorry for what I did. I never wanted to be the one to cause you pain."

The girls hug and start cleaning the mess.

Emma was at home cleaning out her closet. Finally taking the advice she had been given. She decided to start fresh.

The phone rang several times before she answered it. “Hello?”

The familiar voice on the other side greeted her warmly.

“Hi, Graham. I can do that. No problem. I'll be right there.” Emma rushed to get ready and meet Graham at the office. It was the least she could do after her stunt at the party.

Graham was sitting at his desk trying to find his speech for the benefit. He looked up and saw Emma walk in. She looked beautiful. He was not blind but he never wanted to cross that line.

“Emma, you look--great. Wow!” Graham said.

“Thank you,” Emma replied. “Before we go, I want to say sorry about last night. I shouldn't have done that.”

“Emma, you did me a favor. I was about to marry a woman I didn’t know. It’s not your fault I got swept away. Let’s forget about the whole thing.”

“Only if you’re sure.”

“I hate to ask for another favor but I need to print up my speech for tonight. I looked but I couldn't find the file.”

“Sure no problem. I can get it for you.” Emma walked to his desk to find the file.

Graham sighed in relief. “Emma, I’m so thankful I could call you tonight. I love that I can always count on you to never say no.”

Emma froze and looked at him. “What?”

“I'm sorry. Did I say something wrong?” He asked, concerned.

Emma sighed. “Oh--”

Graham approached her with concern.

Emma stared at the computer screen. “Graham, I quit.”

Graham’s face turned confused. “What do you mean?”

“You hired me right after college. I was so blown away and caught up by the company and you. I never bothered to get my own life. Then I couldn’t leave because I was so madly in love with you.”

He takes one fluid step into her space. His right hand sliding to the back of her head pulling her into a kiss.

Emma froze for a second waiting for the fireworks to explode but it was a dud.

Graham noticed her reaction and backed away. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me.”

She looked at him with understanding. “It’s okay. I always wanted to know what it would feel like.”She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, but that's not what it's supposed to feel like.” Her phone ringtone to Benny and the Jets went off interrupting them.

He smiled warmly as he saw her face brightened up with realization.

She smiled and left him behind.

Emma found the building easily enough. She approached the receptionist's desk interrupting a group of people deep in conversation. “Excuse me. I’m looking for Ki-James Rogers.”

The person that replied was a classically handsome man with a boyish quality and fair complexion with a bright smile. “He’s at a wedding. Wait, aren't you the girl from the article?”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I’m famous.”

Emma had been pleasantly surprised at how accommodating the guy, Victor, had been. He quickly provided the information to her with a smirk.

Emma ran out of the building hailing a cab.

The taxi came to a screeching stop.

Emma opened the door and got in. “Pier 17,” she said looking forward while waiting for the car to move.

The face of the cabbie that drove her the night she met Killian smiled through the rearview mirror. “I only have one dress tonight.”

The man grumbled in disappointment as the possibility of some extra cash disappeared and started driving.

They arrived shortly at the destination. Emma rushed out of the cab noticing the venue’s wedding sign, and asked the two valet workers to point her in the right direction.

Emma easily found the wedding on a ship and it was about to depart. Emma didn’t think twice and just jumped landing on the gangplank.

She landed safely, taking a deep breath and she started her search for Killian. The wedding was lovely. She was amazed by the magical feel of it.

“Hey,” a voice called out from behind her, Emma turned to face the voice.

The tiny blonde with a big smile greeted her. “I know you from the article. What are you doing here?”

“Yeah, that’s me.” Emma grimaced; she only hoped the bride was a romantic. “Long story short. There's this guy and he is here and I ...” Flustered at her own boldness Emma confided her story to the pixie bride who eagerly helped her.

Emma took the microphone nervously at the encouragement of her new friend.

“Hello. Good evening, I’m sorry to interrupt such a happy occasion. I promise this won't take long. I’m looking for someone, Killian? Killian Jones?”

The groom arrived and stood next to his bride, “Love, what’s going on?”

The bride said, “Shhh. Don’t worry, this is a good thing.”

Killian heard his name in a familiar voice and muttered, “Oh, bloodiest of hells…”

The Bride grabbed the mic from Emma’s grasp. “Can we have a spotlight, please? Killian Jones, come forward.” With an encouraging smile, she returned the microphone to Emma.

Killian begrudgingly stepped forward. The spotlight landed on him as the bride pointed him out.

Emma’s eyes met his and she continued to lower her armor. “I just wanted to say you were right about me. I wasn’t ready to hear it, especially not from you. I waited all my life for my prince charming. Then you showed up, a scoundrel, a pirate. The truth is, fighting with you is the best thing that ever happened to me. I think the chances of me falling in love with you are very good. That's all I had to say. I'll go now.”

Emma made her way through the crowd to meet Killian in the middle.

Killian smiled as she hesitantly arrived a few steps in front of him. “It’s about bloody time,” he said, pulling her as close to him as possible before he kissed her soundly.

After a few minutes of enjoying their kissing session, they are separated after hearing someone clear their throat.

“Little brother, I thought I taught you better manners. How about introducing me to the lovely lass that crashed my wedding to profess her feelings to you?”

“Leave them alone, Liam. They have a lot to talk about.”

“They can talk all they want but I feel like we deserve at least an introduction.”

Killian rolled his eyes as he hesitantly made space between Emma and himself. “Emma, this is my elder brother, Liam Jones. You have met my new sister-in-law, Olivia, but you can call her Tink.”

Emma’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry I interrupted your wedding. I wasn’t thinking. I never do stuff like this.”

Tink laughed, “It’s okay: you’re family.”

Killian shook his head. “Tink, I didn't know you were so intent on helping me find something as precious as my happy ending.”

A year later…

After quitting her job, Emma opened her wedding planner business: Savior Weddings. Soon enough, she found herself planning for a very special day.

You are cordially invited to the union of Emma Swan and Killian Jones.

Kathryn was the maid of honor, she smiled at her new boyfriend Frederick. A kind man that she met at her father’s store. He sat on the bride’s side.

Graham and his date Elsa arrived at the wedding with an excited Henry who happily tagged along for the special occasion. They were seated in the bride’s section.

Tink sat excitedly on the Groom’s side. She was so happy her brother-in-law found happiness.

Ruby smiled widely as she guided guests to their seats.

“Excuse me, what do you think makes this wedding special?” a voice got her attention.

Ruby turned to the source and smiled wolfishly. “And who are you?”

He smirked. “I’m the new writer of the Commitments column for the Journal, Victor Whale. I was hoping I could buy you a drink later.”

She laughed, “You do know it’s an open bar, right? I'll buy you a drink.” She winked and walked away. It was almost time for the ceremony to start.

Liam was happily standing next to his little brother as the music started. He joked saying he earned being the best man since his bride crashed his wedding.

Emma glided down the aisle. Her father proudly escorted her.

At that moment she didn't care if everything was perfect or not because the only thing that mattered was the way Killian looked at her, full of love. She looked at her bridesmaids. All twenty-seven of them were there to support her.

Once she arrived at her spot next to Killian he smiled lovingly as he asked her, “Is this moment everything you had hoped for?”

She beamed with happiness.“It’s so much more.”

Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join Emma Swan and Killian Jones in holy matrimony. Marriage is a cause for celebration… I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.

The 27 Brides:

1 Lily/August

2 Alice/Robyn

3 Astrid/Leroy

4 Victoria/Flynn

5 Mary Margaret/David

6 Ariel/Eric

7 Aurora/Phillip

8 Ashley/Sean

9 Belle/Gaston

10 Anastacia/Will

11 Anna/Kristoff

12 Merida/Mulan

13 Gwen/Lance

14 Marian/Robin

15 Zelena/Hades

16 Tiana/Naveen

17 Regina/Daniel

18 Jacqueline/James

19 Nimue/Merlin

20 Jasmine/Aladdin

21 Wendy/Felix

22 Megara/Hercules

23 Cruella/Isaac

24 Fiona/Malcolm

25 Tamara/Greg

26 Ivy/Henry

27 Priscilla/Jefferson

Tagging:

@allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 @andiirivera @anothersworld @apiratewhopines @artistic-writer @batana54 @beckettj @bethacaciakay @bixisarusher @branlovestowrite @brooke-to-broch @captainodonoghue @carpedzem @chasedancer17 @cocohook38 @courtorderedcake @darkcolinodonorgasm @deckerstarblanche @demisexualemmaswan @djlbg @donteattheappleshook @dovelyheart @elizabeethan @gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot @holdingoutforapiratehero @hollyethecurious @hookedonapirate @hookedonaswanprincess @hookedonhiddles @ilovemesomekillianjones @imlaxdris71 @itsfabianadocarmo @jarienn972 @jennjenn615 @jonesfandomfanatic @jrob64 @justanother-unluckysoul @k-leemac @karlyfr13s @kday426 @killian-will-do @klynn-stormz @kmomof4 @kwistowee @kymbersmith-90 @laschatzi @lassluna @let-it-raines @lfh1226-linda @lonelyspectator12 @mariakov81 @motherkatereloyshipper @officerrogers @ohmakemeahercules @onceratheart18 @pirateherokillian @purplehawkcaptain @queen-serena88 @resident-of-storybrooke @revanmeetra87 @rumdrum91 @sailtoafarawayland @sals86 @scientificapricot @scribomaniac @searchingwardrobes @seriouslyhooked @shardminds @shireness-says @snowbellewells @spacekrulesbians @spartanguard @stahlop @superchocovian @swanslieutenant @tehgreeneyes @the-darkdragonfly @thejollyroger-writer @therealstartraveller776 @thesschesthair @thislassishooked @thisonesatellite @tiganasummertree @tomeandflickcorner @ultraluckycatnd @veryverynotgoodwrites @wefoundloveunderthelight @wellhellotragic @whimsicallyenchantedrose @winterbaby89 @winterbythesea @xemmaloveskillianx @xarandomdreamx @xsajx @zaharadessert

#Captain Swan #CSMM #cs ff #CSMM20 #Captain Swan Movie Marathon

42 notes · View notes

zhongbaal · 3 years

Text

Fall

"Why do the trees change in the fall?" Raiden recalls her daughter asking, and her mouth curls with amusement, putting down the quill pen and meeting those opal eyes. "Time changes everything, dear."

Anxiety

“How could my friends be so mean?” It’s a cacophonous combination of words riddled with frustrated wrought, and she could only frown, enveloping trembling shoulders with protective arms.

Remark

“Auntie’s smart,” the curious little girl begins, harvesting a triumphant grin from Makoto which she returns, opening her mouth to agree when— “but you’re the prettiest lady in the whole wide world!”

Music

Beyond nights where entwined voices, one with a low timber and the other youthfully light, filled the retro-styled car, Raiden thinks she didn’t have much else to look forward to in nighttime.

Question

“Who’s he to you, mom?” She remembers being asked, a brisk tug at her sleeve, and of all things, it’s this silly little thing that renders him speechless.

Arcade

The first time Raiden finds herself in an arcade is with him, eyes trained on molten gold, brows a deep brown caught in a frown, a new spectrum of determination in this cycle of failed attempts to win a prize.

Promise

“Tell her you won it,” Zhongli reiterates not because he thought her deaf but because the unsettling frown adorning her gentle features worries him so. “I don’t mind.”

Ponder

In dimmed quietude, she finds herself thinking about the way he held her ungloved hand after having won the stuffed toy on that fateful day.

Gift

“Miho,” Raiden calls out, cooing with a gentle, soothing low timber. “The nice man from the other day got you something.”

Undoing

The next day, she sees him in the train station wearing a fine trench coat, gazing upon his watch— his schedule is with flaw when Miho greets him with great cheer, “Mister, thanks for that teddy bear!” and he gazes towards her, she looks away, he says, “You didn’t tell her?”

Quarrel

“It was something you won, I couldn’t just—“ She insists, harvesting a shake of the head. “I told you it was fine,” So unusually calm, Miho looks up at the two of them, the sound of trains in motion eluding her. “Did I not?”

Concede

“Fine,” She concedes after a while, tangling the light brown hair of an owner idle on her lap, zoning in and out of the exchange of riddles. “I’ll just have to win one of my own next time.”

Focal

Only when her filial angel says, “Um, about the other day… I don’t think you should stress yourself out over a toy, mom! I just wanna spend time with you!” does Raiden realize that perhaps she missed the point a tad.

Forever

Forever is the age of princesses and pirate ships for a pristine child such as her; forever is then not Raiden’s strife but the motivating factor behind her unnervingly calm strikes.

Fourteen

Zhongli has exactly fourteen cents when they meet in a cafe when her slight irritation is mitigated by the hollow crash of a few Mora against the coffee table, then followed her laughter— soft yet audible enough to accelerate his pulse.

Remembrance

A rough blend, mostly unfiltered, almost a deep red— that’s what she remembers him by, his taste, and it’s good enough (… she supposes) entertainment on the way towards Yae’s place where she was forced to entrust Miho to at least for today.

Fool

Yae notices how particularly giggly she is and thinks it odd until the stoic prune’s screen flashes open, revealing a notification from Zhongli sent around six minutes ago; ‘Ei, I can’t find my phone. Could you call it?’

Vehemence

“You don’t have to get it exactly right—“ She remembers interrupting Saiguu with an unusually vehement shake of the head, voice almost breaking, “I do, I have to.”

Stone

In the solitary reign of thunder in a graveyard, a less than suitable theater for its mighty flash, she thinks about how pathetic it is that some concrete standing upright, engraved with a name she knows best, could draw large, genuine tears from her eyes.

Fortune

Her car breaks down and she thinks to call Yae, caressing the hair of one sleeping girl all the while. Finally, her friend picks up and is informed of the situation, yet she prefaces her thoughts with: “Why don’t you ask that good friend of yours to give you a ride?”

Askance

“Pfft,” Venti snickers, unbothered by the glowering purple sparks. “Give you a ride, eh? Sounds like a plan.”

Product

He does, in fact, promise to give her a ride for as long as the car is being fixed… yet his cheeks are dusted a muted pink when she tells him of Venti’s comment.

Assumption

Raiden likes the fact that her subordinates assume her and him a couple because of their little contract; all fiction, noise, until one morning; “See you later, dad!”

Sage

“In his long life, he has met countless people, and shall meet countless more still.” She forgets that her life is just as equally unpredictable, fickle, and to her, his smile is first and foremost the sweetest relief before anything else.

Denial

"Would it kill you to be a little more honest with yourself?" With that, she fights the urge to pry the pink minx's fingers away from her hair.

Myriad

“Try acting upon your feelings a little more!” Venti suggests and Zhongli shakes his head, looking at the occupied woman dressed in opulent purple as he answers with: “My feelings will only prove to be a burden.” because he knows she isn’t listening.

Favor

“She’s inviting some friends over for her birthday,” For some reason, it’s him she’s saying this to yet he makes no comment on the oddity of it all. “Could you help me with it?”

Awkward

When he comes over, Miho is too occupied with her toys to notice how they’re sitting too far apart on the couch in silent supervision.

Maelstrom

Gone is his composure when she draws closer to adjust the tie gone messy thanks to Miho’s shenanigans, and gone is it still even after she’s out of his radius.

Candlelight

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday, happy birthday…” It begins, the children’s lively song riding their steady claps— “Happy birthday to you.” She sings along and because he’s closest to her, he knows her artful tune best.

Refrigerator

Raiden finds herself grieving the lack of saccharine leftovers to eat, and by some hopeful innate voice, she goes downstairs, in the middle of the night, to come to terms with the tragedy— it’s how she finds him brooding on the table, how her tired self leans down to tell him: “It’s not good to stay up… as you would often tell me yourself.”

Mystery

Raiden thinks it’s strange that he says she’s funny when all she ever does is say what’s on her mind.

Waterways

Fatigue flows like a tenfold a waterfall’s pressure the very next day, and she slouches towards the kitchen, the prominence of food filling her senses. It’s something she’s always struggled with, really, and to extend her gratitude towards the ever composed chef, she entwines her fingers with his in a lazy weave— she doesn’t notice his momentary flinch.

Thoughts

Raiden thinks about all the times he doesn’t push her away, doesn’t reject her touches, how his gaze is sometimes trained on her lips, and how she hates that it’s these things that peel her exterior.

Answer

“Soooo, who is he to you?” This question seems familiar, she thinks and this time, laughs, whispering something into Miho’s ear that makes her gasp, leaving Zhongli in the hands of guesswork.

#raiden ei #zhongli #zhongei #1 sentence fic #domestic fluff #single parent ei #modern au

31 notes · View notes

lumosandnoxwriting · 4 years

Text

Hold Me Tight - Fred Weasley

Title: Hold me tight

Pairing: Fred x fem!reader

Summary: Just after the battle of Hogwarts, Fred is taking a moment to himself by the Black Lake when his girlfriend decides to join him

A/N: my first post on this blog!! requests are open if you like what you read! feedback is always appreciated!

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Want some company?”

Her soft voice makes him jump, a smile spreading across his face as she takes a seat on the ground next to him.

Behind them Hogwarts is quite literally, a mess. People are mourning, some are celebrating, and Fred is pretty sure that at least one tower is still smoking. The school he knew so well is no more. Most of the walls have giant holes in them, and the entire great hall and entrance way have been reduced to rubble.

Rubble that almost killed you a few hours ago, he thinks to himself. A cold shiver runs down his spine as he relives the moment where he was nearly crushed to death by a great stone wall.

“What are you thinking about?”

Their sides are pressed together tightly, her head resting on his shoulder, her large eyes looking up at him. Fred had been so lost in thought that he hadn’t realized they’d just been sitting there in silence for the past few minutes. He shrugs, trying to put a smile on his face.

He speaks quietly, not wanting his voice to give away his emotions. “Nothin’.” He looks down at her, trying to act casual.

But she had seen the moment he had been reliving in his head for the past hour up close and personal. Fred still remembers how her voice cracked as she screamed his name, the sob she made when a last-minute spell by Percy knocked him out of the way, saving his life. He doesn’t think he’ll ever forget, that sound is imprinted on his brain.

She smiles at him as their eyes meet, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. She reaches up to wipe a tear he didn’t know he had shed, before placing her palm against his cheek. He leans into the soft touch, letting his eyes flutter closed. He feels her thumb start to stroke his cheek bone, over the bandage Madam Pomfrey had placed there to heal a small cut some of the debris had given him.

They sit there like that for a few minutes, allowing the events that have taken place over the past 24 hours to really hit them. They haven’t had a quiet moment together since before Bill and Fleur’s wedding nearly 8 months ago. Their wedding had ended in a disaster, and she barely had a moment to say goodbye before Hermione was grabbing her hand and disapperating them away to somewhere safe.

“I thought you. I thought you were gonna-,” her voice cuts off abruptly, almost as if she had lost the ability to speak at all.

Fred turns his head so he can kiss her open palm, before he opens his eyes and looks down at her. Tears are silently falling down her cheeks and silent sobs wrack her body. She looks away, towards the expansive lake in front of them, not wanting to upset Fred even further.

This is not the reunion she had envisioned in her head as she fell asleep each night that they were apart. She imagined hushed words and soft kisses on one of the overstuffed sofas in front of the fire at The Burrow. She never thought the first time they’d touch again after 8 months apart would have been when she and George carried Fred’s lifeless body towards the Great Hall. The only hushed words had been her prayers and hopes that Fred would be okay.

“Oh darling,” Fred speaks at a normal volume as he reaches for her face. His voice cracks under the weight of the emotion he’s feeling in a way it only ever has with her. To everyone else he is boisterous, the life of the party, unnerved by nothing. Not with her. He can be vulnerable with her, share all of his hopes and fears.

He takes her head in his hands, shifting himself so he can look at her face to face. He kneels in front of her, despite the fact that his knee still stings from the spell Madam Pomfrey used to pop it back into place. Their eyes properly lock for the first time in months and he leans forward, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. He pulls away briefly to wipe away some of her tears with his thumb before kissing her again.

“I thought I was too,” he admits a few moments later when they part. “That’s what I’ve been doing out here for so long. Just replaying it over and over again in my head. I can’t stop thinking about it. What if Percy had missed? What if the wall fell just slightly differently? What if-.”

His anxious rambling is cut off by her lips pressing hastily into his. Their kiss is uncoordinated and desperate but neither of them care. Fred leans forward, laying her back on the grass. Her hands grasp at his shoulders tightly, like they’d disappear if she let go. He pulls away with a small gasp a few moments later, letting himself fall onto the grass next to her. He lays flat on his back, eyes gazing up at the sun to avoid looking at the pain in her eyes.

“You mean everything to me,” she says as she rolls onto her side, carefully draping half of her body over his and resting her head on his shoulder. “I don’t know what I would have done if you had.” She trails off for a moment before continuing. “If you had died.”

It’s the first time either of them has spoken the word. Died. Died. Fred could have died. He lays there quietly, letting the word soak in. His mind races, thinking of all the things he’d never get to do, never get to see, never get to say; thinking of all the promises to her he’d break.

Their last real conversation had been on the eve of Bill and Fleur’s wedding. It was her birthday; she was finally 17 and their future looked to be more in reach than it ever had. His and George’s store was booming with business, she only had one more year left at Hogwarts before their life could truly start. He was confident that everyone would be attending their wedding next summer. They had sat outside in the warm summer air that night, in a position similar to the one they were in now, talking about everything they wanted in life.

“Well good thing Percy was there, eh? He may be a right old git most of the time but turns out he can come in handy from time to time,” Fred says with a sort of chuckle. He’s never felt like this before. So emotionally drained yet emotionally charged at the same time, he’s doing all he can to try and make sense of it in the way he knows best; humor.

She lets out a breath that kind of sounds like a laugh, but he can tell she’s still not feeling better. Fred frowns. He had been so in his head about what happened to him that he hadn’t thought about her one bit since he settled down at the lake hours ago. He instantly feels a pang of guilt and brings her in closer to him.

“I don’t remember much after Percy knocked me out of the way, probably because my head knocked into the floor,” he pauses briefly when she winces. “But it must - it must have been scary for you. I’m sorry that I scared you I didn’t mean t-.”

She laughs loudly, causing Fred to stop talking. He looks down at her as she presses her face into his chest, trying to calm down.

It takes a few moments, but her giggles die down, and she takes a deep breath to steady herself before she looks back up at him, a little life back in her eyes.

“You are such an idiot!”

He must give her a perplexed look, because a moment later she carries on.

“Why are you apologizing to me? I’m not upset at you for scaring me, I’m just,” she pauses, taking a minute to try and figure out what she’s feeling. “I’m upset at the whole situation. Everything that’s gone on since last summer. Honestly Fred you almost dying was the icing on the cake.”

They both let out a short laugh at that and he takes the moment to press a kiss to the top of her head.

“Well I still feel bad,” he says indignantly, turning onto his side so he can look down at her. His head casts a shadow on her face, and his breath catches in his throat at how beautiful she looks in that moment. He reaches up to stroke her cheek just as she had done to him before. “How can I make you feel better?”

She pulls his face down to hers, kissing him hard. It’s full of emotion and when Fred pulls away a moment later, he’s breathless.

“Just hold me tight.”

#fred weasley fic #fred weasley #Fred Weasley imagine #Fred Weasley x reader #harry potter #Harry Potter imagine #fw #golden #imagine

456 notes · View notes

emsylcatac · 4 years

Text

A little push

Summary:

Alya asks Chat Noir to record a video of himself encouraging Marinette to confess...to Adrien.

Of course his mouth speaks on its own. Of course he says yes.

Of course his Lady is most likely sure to kill him.

...And of course Marinette feels like she's the one who's about to die.

Read it on AO3

Happy (very late) birthday to @janaikam ♥

I hope you’ll like this post-reveal pre-relationship fic!

A big thank you to Bren, Lisa & Alizeh for beta-reading this you’re all amazing!

* * * * *

“Pound it!”

Adrien looked into Marinette’s eyes as he said it and she did the same, giving him that soft smile of hers that never failed to make him feel better. They lingered a few seconds with their fists touching, searching each other’s eyes knowingly.

Even though it had been months since they’d discovered each other’s identities, they couldn’t help but share a special glance that said, ‘I know who you are now’.

They disconnected their fists and turned towards the victim of the day—a woman in her thirties—who was slowly gathering her bearings. Marinette walked towards her and helped her stand up, offering words of reassurance.

Adrien watched her fondly before joining her and giving the woman a pep talk himself, until she left, thanking them once again.

“Well, Kitty, we did good today, eh?” Marinette said, nudging him with her elbow.

Adrien laughed. “Of course we did, we’re unstoppable! But I think you should go, you’re about to detransform soon,” he winked.

“Olala, I should hurry! Wouldn’t want you to find out my oh-so secret identity super top secret!”

They both giggled, Adrien shaking his head. “I’ll see you in class on Monday,” she whispered, and dropped a kiss on his cheek before flying away.

He touched his cheek and stared at her retreating form. He was about to let yet one of his all too recurrent lovesick sigh when a voice called out to him.

“Pssst, Chat Noir!”

He turned his head, only to be met by Alya’s grinning face and waving hand. He beamed at her, noting that he still had enough time left if she wanted a small interview.

“Well well well, if that isn’t our ever-so always intrepid Ladyblogger!”

Alya took that as a sign that she could come and talk to him, laughing all the way.

“Please, call me Miss Ladyblogger, The Most Intrepid And Greatest Reporter Of All Time, and not to brag, also personal favourite citizen of our local heroes themselves, between you and me.”

“Oh, my bad,” Adrien chuckled. “What do you need of me? An interview? A selfie featuring my best winning smile? Or,” he dropped his voice conspiratorially, a hand around his mouth, “pictures of Ladybug falling in the fountain because she was scared of…a ladybug?”

Alya laughed. “Actually, I had a favour to ask from you, but if these pictures are still on the table… how much would you want for them?”

Adrien winked. “Give me a croissant and I’m your cat, if you don’t tell Ladybug about your sources, of course.”

She smirked. “Of course. It’s a deal. I’ll have your croissant same time, same place tomorrow.”

“Lovely. Now what was it you needed of me, before my time is up?”

“Oh. So this is gonna sound really weird but...Okay. So my best friend is a fan of yours; her name’s Marinette, I don’t know if you’ve heard of her?”

Adrien bit back a laugh and tapped his bell. “Rings a bell, must have met her once or twice. Admirable citizen, just like you!”

“Why, thank you,” she said, falsely flattered. “Well. So Marinette is trying to hype herself up to confess to the boy she loves—”

Oh.

“—but she’s always had troubles, you know? Except now she told me that she really wanted to do it, and I’m so proud of her! She has been in love with our friend Adrien for so long now—”

OH.

Adrien’s brain short-circuited after that, and Alya was talking, and probably saying very interesting things, but what was it about Marinette loving him?!

“—So, could you do that? It would really mean a lot to her! ...Chat Noir?”

He startled, trying to reconnect with reality, and was met with Alya’s confused frown.

“Sorry,” he said—because yes he could still speak, which was great, wasn’t it?—“I didn’t quite catch that last part. Could you repeat, please?”

“Oh! Yes, so I was wondering—since I’ve heard from akuma victims and Ladybug herself that you give the best pep talks and since Marinette holds you high in her esteem— if you would agree to give her a few encouraging words while I record you? I want it to be a little surprise for her.”

Oh. Now that was a funny situation.

...A very, very embarrassing situation he had no idea how to get out from.

Was it true? Was Marinette really in love with him? It made sense, in a way, he reasoned.

It would explain a lot of things.

But what would Marinette think if she saw him, Chat Noir him, making a video for her to confess to him, Adrien him?!

...She would probably hate him forever.

“...Chat Noir?” Alya’s voice brought him back on Earth once again. She was looking at him with what he assumed were the best pleading puppy eyes she could muster, and he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t working. Now he knew why Marinette couldn’t say ‘no’ to Alya and vice-versa. “Could you do it? Please please please please pleeeaaaase? I’ll bring you another croissant! And Marinette really deserves it, you can’t deny her that—”

“Sure.” He heard his voice speak. Oh no. “I would love to!” Sometimes he wished he hadn’t been gifted with the ability to talk.

Alya let out a happy squeal, pulling out her camera. It almost convinced him that he had made the right decision in agreeing. Almost. “Thank you, Chat Noir, you’re the best! Marinette is going to be so happy after seeing it, no way she won’t nail her confession!”

“Hahaha…yeah...no way…”

Marinette was going to be mad at him. He didn’t know whether he should warn her or not; call her or not.

But one thing he was sure of, he was not at all ready to face her after that.

“So when you’re ready,” he gave an awkward thumbs up, “on the count of three… One...two...three...aaaand action!”

Adrien stared at the red indicator light on Alya’s camera, feeling like a deer caught in headlights. It was a terrible feeling. If a deer miraculous existed, he was sure very glad that he wasn’t its owner.

Alya nodded at him, reminding him that he had to speak.

“So,” he brought a hand to his neck, rubbing it awkwardly, “um, hello, M-Marinette, as you can probably see, this is Chat Noir! I’m here to tell you that...to tell you that...that…” He took a deep breath, trying to summon confidence he wasn’t sure he possessed at the time, and looked straight into the camera. “I’m here to tell you that I believe in you. I know you’re an amazing person and—”

* * * * *

“—you’ve been proving that you were very brave the few times that I met you. What I mean is...trust in yourself, and I’m sure your confession to...to that boy…”

“—Adrien,” Alya’s voice added in a harsh whisper.

“...Right. That boy A-Adrien will be very...very happy to hear it. I mean, you saying it, yeah he’ll be, um. Overjoyed. I think. Probably. So good luck and, uh...be happy.”

Marinette stared at her phone screen as the video ended, stopping on Chat Noir’s awkward finger guns with a face that clearly screamed like he just wanted to drown himself into the Seine, a sentiment she was currently sharing with him.

She couldn’t move for the next few minutes, replaying his words in her head. She didn’t dare to press “play” again and feel the embarrassment she was already feeling more and more a second time.

It was sweet of Alya, really. And well thought out. And Marinette probably would have loved the attention if the person she was planning on confessing to wasn’t the one encouraging her in this stupid video.

“Marinette?” she faintly heard Tikki’s voice calling out to her.

“I’m gonna die. No, wait… I’m already dead.” And with that, she dropped her phone on the floor and threw herself unceremoniously onto her bed, an arm covering her face.

“Marinette, this is great!” Tikki squealed. Marinette violently pulled her arm away to look at her. “Chat Noir said Adrien would be overjoyed to hear your confession!”

“Tikki. He said that ‘Adrien’,” she quoted the name with her fingers, “will probably be overjoyed. Keyword: probably. Keyface: the desperate one he was throwing at the camera screaming ‘please let me die’. How is any of this great, uh?”

Tikki didn’t answer right away. “Well,” she spoke in a timid voice, “if you’re both gonna die, then at least you’ll be together?”

Marinette knew Tikki was always trying to be optimistic, but this was a little much.

Tikki sighed. “Listen, I know it looks embarrassing—”

“—understatement of the century—”

“—but now you have the hardest part of your confession already done! All you have to do is call him or wait for him to call and—”

Marinette gasped and straightened up suddenly. “HIM TO CALL!” she screamed, and grabbed her phone.

When it was clear that no new notifications had appeared, she released a loud sigh to alleviate the pressure and fell back on her bed dramatically.

“Tikki. He hasn’t called. Or left any messages.”

“Maybe he’s waiting for you to do it?”

“Maybe.” Maybe not.

Marinette continued to stare at the ceiling, a thousand thoughts running through her head, all catastrophic.

“Tikki,” she called again. “He’s never gonna love me, isn’t he?”

“You know that’s not true.”

Marinette ignored her kwami. She grabbed her Chat Noir plushie that was snuggled up against her cat pillow, held it in front of her, and caressed the side of its ear and hair with one hand.

“All I want is to get lost in his emerald green eyes,” she almost sniffed, “pet his cute little kitty ears,” she rubbed the doll’s cat ear between her fingers, “and...and kiss his adorable kitty nose,” she bopped its nose, “and hold him close to me,” and she hugged the doll close to her chest.

“Marinette, don’t you think that you’re being a little dramatic here?” Tikki’s voice pulled her out of her reverie.

She glared at her, straightened up and shoved the doll into the kwami’s face.

“Tikki. There is nothing dramatic when it comes to this boy and my feelings for him.” She brought back the plushie close to her and lowered her voice. “I love you Adrien,” she murmured, before dropping a kiss on its forehead with a loud mwah.

Tikki sighed. “Well, now that you just practiced your confession and are ready for next time you see him, off to bed!”

Marinette pouted and gave her a distraught look.

Tikki’s expression turned kinder and more tender. “I’m sure everything is going to be perfect, Marinette. You don’t have to worry.”

“I hope you’re right, Tikki,” she answered while the kwami nuzzled her cheek. “I hope you’re right.”

* * * * *

“Are you finally going to tell me where we’re going?” Marinette asked again.

“Nope,” Alya grinned. “This is going to be fun, I promise.”

Marinette groaned playfully, the bag of croissants her best friend had asked her to bring swinging at the rhythm of her pace. It was a nice morning, and it was sunny for once in Paris. Marinette might not have slept a lot that night, but Alya’s overjoyed mood was lifting up her spirit.

...Until a realisation hit her and she suddenly stopped walking. “You’re not going to bring me to see Adrien, are you? Because you, dragging me on a Sunday morning, with croissants...”

Alya just laughed. “Of course not, silly. That’s you and only you who will have to decide when you meet up with him. I think I’ve done my part already,” she winked.

“Your par—oh. The video.”

“Yes, the video, the last little push you needed to have the most perfect and grand love confession that love history itself has never heard!” Alya dramatically said while making wide gestures with her arms, which would have amused Marinette greatly were it not for the tight knot she could still feel in her stomach from the previous day.

She forced a laugh. “Hahahahahaaa, yes it was very nice of…of Chat Noir to accept and…”

“Oh my god, Marinette,” Alya interrupted her. “Chat Noir was such a sweetheart. I wasn’t expecting him to accept but it was really nice of him.”

“Ooooh, yes yes, veeeery very nice of him, he really shouldn’t have,” Marinette nervously nodded.

“Right?! He probably had tons of other things to do but he still chose to take the time for us,” she kept on gushing.

Marinette thought she must have nodded dumbly after that. Talking about Chat Noir and the video just reminded her that he knew now and that she had no idea about what he thought of it.

That she had yet to officially confess—that she had yet to face him.

And somehow, the fact that he knew that she was in love with him when she hadn’t even told him herself, well… It felt more stressful than any surprise confession she could have planned.

“...and he even said that you were an admirable citizen, by the way,” she heard Alya’s voice talking to her again.

“Who? Me?”

“Yes, you! And me too, but that goes without saying,” she fake-bragged. “But come on, we’re almost there.” She grabbed her hand and pulled her in a small run, eyes glinting, and Marinette had no other choice but laugh at her best friend’s antics.

They passed by a small shop Marinette recognised as one that was destroyed the previous day during the akuma attack. They turned around a corner she knew would leave them were they defeated that akuma and—

“He’s already here!” Alya gasped.

—Chat Noir was casually leaning back against a wall, seemingly lost in thoughts and inspecting his claws.

...And all of Marinette’s panic came back full force in the span of a second. She was not ready. She was so, so not ready to meet him just yet.

She unknowingly gripped the bag of croissants and Alya’s hand tighter, using the latter as an anchor.

“Hoy, Chat Noir!” Alya waved at him.

Adrien turned his head.

Smiled and waved back.

Looked at her.

Dropped his hand and smile, eyes widening in horror.

Clearly, he too hadn’t expected her. She was probably looking at him with the same horrified look on her face and cursed her inability to pretend that everything was perfectly fine on command.

Luckily, Alya didn’t seem to notice the tension between them.

“I’m glad to see you remember our little deal,” she joked.

Adrien, bless him, quickly schooled his expression into a more neutral one and turned to Alya.

“Of course. A promise is a promise.”

“I’ve got your croissants,” she went on. “All warm of today from the one and only Dupain-Cheng bakery!”

“Wooohhh,” Marinette could hear the forced enthusiasm in his voice, “that sounds de-li-cious!”

He quickly glanced at her, and she averted her eyes immediately.

A nudge from Alya reminded her that she was the one with the bag of croissants and that she was supposed to hand it to him.

She all but shoved it into his face.

Great.

“Oops, err, sorry, here,” she apologised, dropping the bag in his hands instead.

“It’s fine, thanks,” he answered quietly.

She didn’t dare to look at him. Maybe he was looking at her, or maybe he was avoiding her, too. It felt awkward.

It felt so wrong.

Wouldn’t he look overjoyed if he was in love with her and just learned she loved him back? Wouldn’t he?

Alya’s voice pulled her out of her spiralling thoughts. “So, do you have my merchandise, hm?”

Marinette looked up to Adrien who seemed to be startled from his own thoughts, too. “Of course,” he zipped down his pocket, “here. It’s all on this USB key.”

He gave Alya a wink for good measure.

“Thank you, you’re the best!”

“What’s on it?” Marinette asked, more to pretend that she was invested in whatever was happening than out of real curiosity.

“Ah-a! That’s for me to know and you to never found out,” Alya wiggled her eyebrows. “Oh by the way,” she gave a small movement of the head in Adrien’s direction, “what did you think of the video?”

Marinette’s eyes widened in horror and she looked into Adrien’s eyes to see him looking back at her absolutely...terrified. She couldn’t find a better word to describe it.

He looked….he looked terrified.

...He really had moved on, hadn’t he? She was too late, and the idea that he would have to reject her terrified him, wasn’t it?

Marinette tried to control her emotion and keep the tears she could already feel prickling her eyes from escaping.

“The...the video?” she said timidly. “The one you sent me yesterday with Chat Noir?”

Alya nodded enthusiastically. Adrien was offering a tentative smile but she could see how much it was costing him to do it.

“Oh yes I hope… I hope it’s gonna help you,” he murmured in a trembling voice.

...She couldn’t do it right now. Internally cursing herself for being a stupid coward or some other name she didn’t even had in mind, she took a deep breath and summoned the cheeriest voice she could muster.

“Ooooh hahahaha, yes it was very nice of you and um, and a good surprise! But pfffeeew, it wasn’t necessary at all, I mean! I loved that you took your time for me but… I’m totally over Adrien, hehe. It wasn’t even a big big crush I had you know, just a tiny tiny little feeling, but now it’s all gone into the wind, wooooshh!”

She could feel Alya’s incredulous eyes on her, and saw the small smile Adrien had been trying to maintain completely disappear.

“But… Marinette, what are you saying? Just yesterday you were telling me on the phone that you were head over heels for Adrie—”

“Exactly,” Marinette cut, nodding, “yesterday is suuuuuch a long time ago, things have totally changed now!”

Her statement was met with silence, so she looked awkwardly from Adrien to Alya, and to Adrien again.

Adrien, who looked like a part of his world had just crumbled in front of his very eyes.

“Well,” he said, voice quivering, and she suddenly felt like she was falling from very, very high, “it’s okay.”

It was not.

“I’m glad to know that you’ve made peace with your feelings,”

Oh god no, please no.

“and that you don’t really need my help to...to confess.”

No, no, no...Everything, but not this.

“Chat Noir…” Alya tried to speak, sounding apologetic.

Adrien gave her a wobbly smile.

“Don’t worry, I’m always happy to help, even if things don’t always work out as we hope they would. And it was fun to spend a little time with you two.”

Marinette wanted to speak, but no words would come. She was sure her tears were visible and she tried to convey what she wanted to say with her eyes instead except...she didn’t even know what exactly she wanted to tell him.

Probably it was why she couldn’t form a sound.

Adrien’s eyes met hers for a split second, and he turned around, his back to them.

“Well, if you’ll excuse-me, I have somewhere else to be. I hope you two have a nice day.”

“Chat Noir, wait—”

But he extended his baton and soon disappeared behind a building.

“Wait…” Marinette whispered again, staring at the spot where he had just vanished.

“...Marinette?” Alya tentatively called out to her.

She turned to her best friend and let her tears free to roll on her cheeks.

“Alya... Why do I keep messing up? Why do I keep messing everything up?”

“Oh, girl… It’s okay.”

Alya pulled her in a hug and Marinette let herself cry.

“No, no it’s not. It’s… It’s not. Why did I say all of this? None of it is even true,” she sobbed.

Alya rubbed circles on her back and let her talk her heart out, listening patiently as always.

“You panicked at the idea of admitting again to someone that you loved Adrien?” she finally asked.

It wasn’t exactly that, but Marinette couldn’t really say why, so she just nodded into her neck.

Alya sighed. “I’m sorry, I probably shouldn’t have asked Chat Noir for this video. I thought it would be a good idea, but…”

Marinette shook her head frantically. “It was a great idea Alya, it’s not your fault.” And she meant it: she would have loved the video had Ladybug and Chat Noir not been her and Adrien. “It’s just me, I don’t know why I’m like this. And now, I hurt Chat Noir,” she whispered.

“Forget about Chat Noir right now,” Alya said. “It’s you who’s hurting. I’m sure he’ll understand, he said he had been happy to help anyway. And if you want, we can make a little video to tell him it was a joke,” she teased.

Marinette managed a giggle through her tears, and broke off the hug. Alya kept her hands on her shoulders.

“But seriously. Are you sure it’s only the Adrien thing that is making you cry? I feel like you’ve been more stressed than usual lately.”

She shrugged; she didn’t even know the answer to that.

“You know what?” Alya said, tone a little less consoling and a little cheerier. “I declare today as a girls day, and a make-Marinette-feel-better-day. So we’re going to have a nice lunch in a nice little restaurant, and then we’ll go to the cinema, how does that sound?”

Marinette finished to wipe her tears. “That sounds great Alya, thank you so much. I couldn’t have asked for a better best friend, you know... You’re always there for me.”

Alya laughed and gave her a side-hug, dropping a kiss on her cheek. “Oh you could. You could have been me and have you as a best friend.”

That made her laugh. She still had to talk to Adrien, but for now she was glad to forget a little about him.

* * * * *

It had taken quite some time for Marinette and Adrien to get used to each other’s identities. They had been fumbling with their words a lot, overthinking each of their moves. It was a sort of out-of-body experience to merge two persons you viewed as two different entities into only one, and it had taken some time to really click in their mind and adjust their newfound dynamic.

So yes, it hadn’t been short, but they had gotten there—they had found a common, safe compromise.

But now, as Marinette anxiously watched Adrien’s back as he was packing his bag before leaving for lunch, it felt as if all this progress had been destroyed and they were not even back to square one, but to square minus ten.

She purposefully took more time than necessary to clean her table, nodding to Alya to let her know to go ahead and that she would join them at the cafeteria in a few.

And soon it was only the both of them left in the classroom.

Starting a conversation with Adrien had finally felt natural, like starting one with Chat Noir before they knew each other’s identities, yet it had never felt harder than now.

Thankfully, he was the one who took the plunge.

“Marinette? Can I… Can I ask about what happened this weekend?”

His tone wasn’t unkind, far from it, but it was also firm.

“This...this weekend?” she stuttered, cursing herself for pretending she didn’t know what he was referring to.

His expression crumpled a little and he sighed. “You know what I’m talking about. Listen, I’m gonna be honest with you—”

The knot she had in her stomach tightened and she could feel her heart beat faster—the kind of beat that wasn’t due to a sudden surge of love, but the one that was fearful of what the turn of events might be.

“—but sometimes, you confuse me. I mean, it got better now that we know, but there are times I don’t know what you think and…” he sighed again, and ruffled his hair.

Marinette kept staring at him; he was right.

“And this weekend, I finally thought I had figured it out, but then you…”

“I’m sorry,” she murmured.

Adrien shook his head, looking like he was the one feeling sorry. He took a step towards her, and brought a hand to her face, gently putting some strands of hair behind her ear. “It feels like you don’t trust me with your feelings, my Lady,” he almost breathed. “I’ve always told you how I felt, or if something was bothering me...even if I’ve been more than clumsy about it at times.”

Marinette said nothing.

“I’m just asking you for the same honesty.”

He dropped his hand from her face but kept maintaining her gaze. His look was intense, expectant, but oh so disheartened.

“I’m sorry,” she finally mumbled again, because words still wouldn’t work.

His expression turned to a resigned one, and her heart broke a little.

“You know that you’re my best friend and that I’ll never think badly of you no matter what?” he said, before turning around.

“Adrien...wait—”

His phone rang.

“It’s the Gorilla. He’s waiting for me. I’ll see you after lunch,” and with that, he exited the classroom, leaving Marinette even more frustrated with herself than she had been before.

* * * * *

It’s precisely because something is important that it’s important to say, no matter what.

She had lost count of how many times she had repeated this in her head ever since Chat Noir had told it to her. She had often been close, so close to follow it and say what was on her heart.

So close... But she had never achieved it.

Marinette took a deep breath. Exhale.

Adrien was in the locker room, alone. All the other students had gone back home now, but a fencing lesson after class had held him up.

She had waited the entire lesson—she knew he would come by the locker room at the end to take some school books.

“Adrien?” she called timidly.

He stopped what he was doing, a hand on the locker door. He didn’t turn around.

How many times had she imagined confessing to him?

How many times had she planned her confession to him?

How many times had it all failed…?

Confessions don’t plan themselves, she figured. They just happen when they happen.

“I know you’re probably still frustrated with me, but...there are things I want to tell you.”

Hello Marinette; as you can probably see, this is Chat Noir.

“First of all...I’m sorry. For yesterday; for being confusing to you. For being a coward,” she whispered the last word.

I’m here to tell you that I believe in you.

“The truth is… I’ve always been afraid to open my heart, and especially to you.”

She couldn’t read his expression, but he hadn’t moved, his back still to her.

She took a step forward.

“Which is stupid, of course, because you’re my partner and there’s probably no one I trust more than you.”

You’re an amazing person—

Another step.

“But I think that’s because you’re so important to me that I’m scared to be honest with you. Because once I tell you…”

—and you’ve been proving that you were very brave.

“Once I tell you, you’ll know everything about me. And that’s terrifying.”

Trust in yourself.

“You told me once that it was because something was important to say that it was important to say it. No Matter what. Well. I have something important to tell you.”

She took another step, so she was standing right behind him now.

I’ll be happy to hear it.

“I love you, Adrien,” she whispered, and hugged him from behind.

You, saying it. I’ll be overjoyed.

“I love you,” she repeated louder into his back.

Good luck and…

She untangled herself from him. “I love you,” she said firmly, confident, one last time.

...Be happy.

Adrien turned around.

And he had the brightest smile she’s ever seen on his face, tears glistening at the corner of his eyes. Just like that, hers that she hadn’t noticed forming ran on her cheek and she let out a choked giggle. She threw herself at him, her arms around his neck.

He caught her easily and hugged her back just as tightly.

“Thank you for being honest with me,” he whispered into her hair. “I love you too. So, so much.”

She hugged him tighter, and put her hand in his hair, massaging it.

They stayed like that a few minutes, gently swaying.

Then, Marinette loosened her grip on him to look into his eyes. She slid her hand from his shoulder to his arm to his hand to link her fingers through it, but kept her other one in his hair.

She could almost feel him shivering.

They nodded at each other, knowing what they wanted.

And then their lips met. Softly, lingering but not pushing.

Marinette was aware of everything that was him, that felt him: his hair, that she was still caressing with her hand. His arm around her, with his hand slowly running up and down her back.

His other hand, still tangled with hers, slightly pressing more and more as the kiss went on. It sent waves of shivers throughout her body.

And his lips and breath on hers.

They broke the kiss, giddy smiles on their faces. Marinette grabbed his face then and kissed his nose.

Adrien laughed. “What was that about?”

“I wanted to kiss your kitty nose.”

He snorted. She giggled, and climbed on her tiptoes once more to kiss his laugh.

Once. Twice.

Three times.

He kissed her back each time.

“I’m sorry about this video. It must have put you in a tight spot,” she said after the third kiss.

Adrien whined. “I am the one who’s sorry. I had no idea what to do and I thought you were going to kill me.”

“I thought I was going to kill myself when I saw it,” Marinette exclaimed. “And then Tikki said that at least we’d be happy and dead together!”

Adrien burst out laughing. “I’d rather be happy and alive with you for now, if that’s okay.”

Marinette nodded frantically. “Oh yes me too. It was a good video though. It did help me in the end.”

“Yeah?” he asked, sounding hopeful.

“Yeah. And from now… I’ll make sure that you know what I feel about you.”

He gave her one of his soft smiles, one of her favourite smiles of his. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

And she sealed it with another kiss.

_____________

Bonus scene:

Adrien watched Marinette out of the corner of his eyes. She was calm, sipping her tea.

But something was wrong. He could feel it.

Maybe it was in the way she was so casually drinking, almost ignoring him. Maybe it was because she still hadn't reacted to the pictures of her, Ladybug her, falling head first in the fountain that Alya had released the previous day—with the bright grand title "Ladybug vs ladybug? It's more likely than you think."

Maybe it was a little bit of both.

Marinette brought her tea one last time to her lips, and put the cup on the desk.

"You feeling good Chaton, uh?" she asked in a calm voice. Calm, but with a tone that either meant "all is good" or "all is wrong".

It was terrifying. He gulped.

"Yes?"

She nodded. "Good."

His right leg was rapidly bouncing up and down in anticipation. Marinette grabbed her phone and tapped a few things on it, before putting it back on the table.

His phone rang.

She was looking at her nails, casually rubbing them with her thumb. Adrien raised a brow and looked at his own phone.

One new message. From Marinette.

A link. And a caption that just said: '😘'

He clicked on it. A tab to the Ladyblog opened.

He felt a wave of dread slowly washing over him as the page loaded.

And suddenly, in bright, grand title was written:

"Five Times Chat Noir Was Scared By A Passing-By Cat, And The One Time He Fell Into The Seine."

#ml fanfic #rated T or G idk #fluff with slight angst #post-reveal pre-relationship #marichat #adrinette #not that it matters anyway fjdhs #alya & marinette friendship #alya & chat noir friendship #mine #myshitwriting #yes they're idiots #what's new here

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dreamiesdotcom · 3 years

Text

butterfly effect│nct dream

Summary: You think of it as something caused by the butterfly effect — the great loves you had to leave, and the one that made you stay.

Pairing/s: 7dream x Reader

Word Count: 12k

Moon's note: since it's my birthday and I promised... it's not the best but I'd like to thank you guys for staying with me and wishing me a happy birthday! I hope you all have an awesome 2021!

You weren't really thinking straight when you met him — instead, your mind was a mess of one thought and sidelines; the little things. Butterfly effect. The knowledge that ten minutes from now the train will board — you'll miss your ride to school, you'll miss school — so you run faster, faster, and there it goes. The butterfly effect — knowing that what little thing you did could've changed someone's life entirely.

If you have made it ten minutes earlier, maybe you'd be sitting in the spot where a child buzzes with excitement, knowing that she'll see her father sometime soon, and in exchange, she will be in another place — maybe she won't meet the girl sitting across who offers her one of her candies. Maybe she won't be riding the train at all — maybe she would have to wait six months again before she can go see her dad.

You sulkily take the path to one of the exits, thinking about catching the bus or something. The skies are dark and you're aware of its plan, also aware that you left your umbrella. Frustrated and too annoyed to even think about school, you crash to the empty bench, bags left to drop to the floor. Tough luck.

The boy chuckles, "Missed the train too?"

"Yeah," you grumble, not even bothering that he's a total stranger. "Was caught in a daydream and got lost on the way. You?"

"Eh, my idiot of a best friend made me wait," he shrugs. He brings his book down and offers you a handshake, "I'm Huang Renjun — I see we study at the same place. May I know your name?"

You don't speak after a minute or two, but you shake his hand, to which he laughs at. You think it was you being overwhelmed. Maybe your soul just knew how much impact he was meant to throw at your life.

Huang Renjun doesn't become a one-time encounter, but instead, he becomes someone you take train rides with; be it you're late or not, to school or to the library. He stays constant occurrence, so much that Huang Renjun turns into Renjun, then Renjunnie — until you're free to call each other names like 'dumbass' and 'stupid' and everything crumbles down; formalities, facades, walls. You don't feel it then, but if you were to look back, you think it's that one dark-skied Monday with you two terribly late and finding yourselves back in the same bench, when everything the world laid down for you has shifted.

Renjun pout his lips, bored. He tears his bag from himself and lets it stay under the shed, but he stretches his hands out to the sky where his eyes are set, watching water fall in tiny drizzles before a full-blown rain, "Perhaps, dance under the rain with me?"

"When we should be at school?" you huff, more amused than questioning but it comes out as a scolding. He only nods his head, and you furrow your brows, "Renjun, you're crazy."

He doesn't reply, only answers with a deadpan gaze that asks Are you going or not? and it makes you tighten your expression further.

"Hold me."

The boy grins in triumph — he cheekily smiles, immediately pulling you under the rain and laughs like a tiny kid. It's contagious, you figure out, his laughter; if not for his hand on your waist and the other entwined with yours, you would've fallen over laughing with him. It was less of a dance and more of a cuddle, swaying to the sound of the rain and his sweet hums. Renjun whispers to you the melody of a love song, and you couldn't help but ponder.

"I always wanted to do this, you know?" you feel silly even confessing, "To dance under the rain with someone, look into each other's eyes, exist as if the world doesn't and maybe give them a kiss. I wonder how that'd feel."

Renjun's serenity read ideas — those that never failed to get you two in trouble. He tilts his head, "Kiss me, then."

You feel like the world stops, and your heartbeat slows, as if the raindrops are little speckles of star-like lights littering the surroundings. Your eyes widen at his suggestion, shock ripping through your body, a confused sound escaping your throat, "What?"

"I guess you don't always need to have feelings for the person you're kissing," Renjun purses his lips. Of all people, you laugh in your head, those words you expected to come out of this one's mouth the least. He huffs, "And I don't have feelings for you."

There's just enough hesitation — uncertainty, unpredictability, skepticism — in his eyes that you find he can't be trusted as much as he normally would be. Renjun drops a half-smile, eyes unreadable, "But I sure do know I want to kiss you. A lot. Right now."

Renjun smiles in victory the second time that day.

═ ∘❁∘ ═

You come across Donghyuck in the most inconvenient way possible; a few months after you started dating Renjun and there's a little too many mishaps with making schedules meet. He strides to your chair one sunny Friday, clothes too colorful for the shades of beige decorating the place. Donghyuck didn't know how to approach you; he just kind of winged it by showing you Renjun's texts that he asked him to pick you up because something came up and he can't make it anymore. You didn't really like that — the fact that he didn't even speak, the fact that Renjun stood you up. You thought Donghyuck was arrogant. The car ride home was silent.

He was far from that, you learn the one too many times the same scenario occurred. Renjun was too busy to even show up, more often in the library than in his own place. Donghyuck, being his best friend, never failed to be there for you, keep your relationship intact, make excuses for the other. He'll pick you up from where you were supposed to meet your boyfriend, grab food and spend the whole day playing video games that only he understands, and then half of the time he'll compliment you with little playful remarks. That day was supposed to be nothing so different from the others — it's just that it didn't take much longer for Donghyuck to fall.

How could he not? You smiled so lovingly and spoke so gently, always so understanding and patient and kind. How can he not, when he's already known what song makes your day the most? When he saw how ethereal you looked under the moonlight, as he danced with you by the shore? Sure, maybe most of these moments wouldn't have been if it wasn't for Renjun's absence, and truly most of the things he loves about you aren't for him; he fell in love anyway. Still, that day was supposed to be nothing so different from any others — you're stuck in the odd place quite between grateful and guilty.

"Something came up, he won't be here." The boy says firmly through gritted teeth, hands-on your wrist trying to make you get up, "Please. He doesn't have his phone. He's not coming anymore, let's go home."

"Let me wait for him, please," you say, eyes teary, "Please, Donghyuck."

"No." He simply mutters, and whether it was the sinking feeling of defeat or the determination in his voice, it doesn't matter. You let yourself get tugged away from that place, feeling weak and oddly empty. The car ride home was silent.

"Thanks a lot, you know?" You shyly say later, once Donghyuck's lost enough in video games and he's run out of knock-knock jokes and witty statements. He couldn't stand the sight of you with your head hung low and eyes teary, "You're always there for me when Renjun is not and... just thank you."

"You're welcome," he sincerely replies. You try to look for it, the lilt in his voice or the smirk stretching his lips, but all you see is worry, and it concerns you. The bad butterflies in your stomach, the bad thoughts in your head; you feel like right now, with you so vulnerable, there should be someone by your side — someone that is totally not Donghyuck. He clears his throat, "You know he didn't mean to, right? He wants time with you too, a lot, you know?"

"I know what I have, Hyuck," you reply, a chuckle at the end of your tone. You lean your back to the couch, head tilted up and voice hoarse, "and I'm fucking scared I'll take him for granted."

Donghyuck's heartbeat slows down, but you don't need to know that. If you're thinking of a similar situation, a place in time back then as cruel winters and as harsh as summer sunlight in the afternoon, you figure he doesn't need to know that, too.

You let out a huff and a smile, "I don't want to know how painful it is to lose Huang Renjun."

Donghyuck thinks he knows why you said it; things normally go down the drain when you start realizing why someone fell for a certain person — at least, he thinks. If his experience is a reliable source, this is the point where you start falling for that person too. When you see how gentle they are, how caring, how understanding. Maybe Donghyuck is lonely — maybe he just wants to be someone who holds another person, singing them lullabies until they fall asleep, much like Renjun does for you. Maybe you're really just lovely — maybe there's an undiscovered force in the universe that places you in the center of his everything. He makes note of the rejection in your confession, and he accepts it, gracefully.

This is the point where he suppresses all the what-ifs in his head — what if you gave me a chance? What if I met you first? What if I didn't skip class that day, and I was with Renjun, and I met you at the same time as him? Do you think you would've ended up with me? — but these thoughts, despite being concealed, they leave a constant reminder that they're still there. It's a truth you both already know, the words that drip like honey from his lips, "I could love you better, so much better."

It'd be a lie to say you didn't think of it, considering his feelings. It would be an even bigger lie if you said that you don't think anyone can love you better than Renjun — you know someone can, and with how you two are handling this, it wouldn't be so hard to. Donghyuck is just so easy to fall for — the way he always knows the right thing to say, the compliments he throws at people, how confident he is, how clingy he gets. You would lie if you're asked, but you can't deny having feelings for Donghyuck, you can't deny how many times you've fallen in a reverie thinking of how good it must feel to be adored by him. Maybe you were lonely, maybe Donghyuck was just like that. Either way, no matter how great this love could be, you know it's wrong.

"I know you could. I couldn't be any happier when I'm with you. Those instants, they're one of the most beautiful moments in my life, but —" you halt, eyes still staring up at the ceiling. The twist in your gut tightens as you proceed, "But in those moments, I was secretly hoping for things. I was hoping that he was the one doing all of that for me. I was hoping that the happiness I had with you, he was giving me instead."

Donghyuck remains silent for a while. He smiles wistfully, "I know."

It's a rather odd answer, but you figure it shouldn't shock you as much anymore. You sit up straight, confused. Donghyuck motions for you to stand as he does the same. Stars shine in his eyes still, but it's a different light — there's hope in them, but it's a difficult kind of hope. He's beautiful even under dull lighting, it's something hard to pronounce; unrestrained and raw, as if one look at him and you'll crumble.

"Please, for just a while, even just a little bit," He steps closer, eyes downcast, "hold me like you love me."

You figure you were right about thinking that there was always something wrongfully more with Donghyuck — also discover that no matter how much more this feeling is, whatever it is, it can never be love; at least not a healthy one. What love could possibly ruin relationships? Donghyuck and Renjun are practically soulmates — they were made to be best friends, and while they had their other friends, nobody is just like Renjun and nobody is like Donghyuck. You don't want them to fall apart; you of all people know how hard it is to lose someone special.

Donghyuck's hug felt like fire, uninhibited and uncontrolled, given to someone so undeserving. You hold him like you love him the same way.

"I don't need you to love me back," but maybe he was hoping a bit. Yeah. Maybe. "There was never a chance for us, you know? Against my own best friend, I know I won't stand a chance. I just wanted to hear it from you."

A pause.

"Because I can dance with you under the moon, and I can walk on streets holding your hands, I can give you all the time in the world — I could spend a lifetime telling everyone I'm yours," Donghyuck locks gazes with you, and you wonder how he manages to be both heartwarming and heartbreaking at the same time. He shakes his head a bit, "But that won't make you love me."

"Because I can only ever catch you," he says wistfully "whenever he fails to. I always do, don't I? Catch you, save you, love you. But you're not falling for me. You're not in need of my saving. You're not mine to adore."

He loosens his hug, looks at you like the sun bidding farewell to the moon. He's just as beautiful, if not more, he really is — gold dusting his eyelids and strawberry balm on his lips — he's ethereal. Donghyuck is beautiful in all ways manageable and not, but it's also a different kind of beauty — quite like love, adventurous but uncertain, poetic but tragic. There's a lot of pain in this beauty. He closes his eyes.

"There's not much of us, but I'm setting you free."

═ ∘❁∘ ═

You find yourself knocking at Renjun's door that night, for no particular reason — certain events made you forget that he stood you up. Renjun apologizes and repeats his reasons like a mantra, but words seemed to leave his mouth once he sees your eyes; tired and sore. You don't really need his apologies. You just need him.

Apologies, you see, they almost always never come when they're asked for. When they do, they're mostly unwanted and unnecessary from that point forward. You just feel odd, more restless than you actually are, the world is too loud — you just want to close your eyes and escape for a bit. Renjun holds you silently the whole night, his heartbeat calm, his arms holding you tight and secure.

Renjun knows, but he decides it's better for him not to. He shifts a bit, "If not because of me, why are you sad?"

A part of you knows that this is his way of telling you he understands, that he's aware of what somethings happened behind his back. Renjun always knows. The bigger part of you hoped he didn't — selfishly. You know it's the safest choice to keep your mouth shut.

You're sad, for a million reasons or for just one, you don't bother keeping up with the numbers. Renjun looks at you like you're a treasure, though, like he means it — you think the only favor you could do him and for yourself as well is to lie. You grin, effectively hiding away the tears threatening to brim your eyes, "I forgot."

He doesn't really know what answer he expected, but his heart sinks at the reply nonetheless. Renjun decides, tomorrow.

Tomorrow comes quickly in a way Renjun wishes it wasn't. He wakes up tired — he was up all night singing lullabies to himself, whispering confessions that wouldn't change a thing and promises he'll never be able to fulfill, stuff that would never make you stay. Renjun didn't cry all night — there was a tear or two, there was three — he didn't just cry all night. He did so much more — relive the past, think that he's sorry, accept defeat and the fact that he's never gonna be enough for you; then he closes his eyes. The rain pours heavily outside and Renjun reaches a hand out to the sky.

"Perhaps, dance under the rain with me?" he says with tired eyes. "One time once more, baby."

You ignore the telltale signs of a heartache — maybe you were too numb, maybe you wanted to pretend it's all normal. Renjun tugs you outside and pulls you into a hug so tight, as if he didn't want to let go but he's losing you. Is he?

Dancing with Renjun under the rain is oddly similar to the one you shared with Donghyuck under the moonlight, and you find yourself full of guilt as you sway together with him, humming love songs just right next to your ear.

Renjun knows of that dance, of course he does. He was in front of the place you two were supposed to meet at, hoping that he could still make it. Because of this, he doesn't ask why you're entwining fingers with his while recalling memories of another. He doesn't mind — he thinks, as long as your eyes look at him so softly like that, he doesn't mind anything.

You think Renjun is beautiful like this — his everything an aesthetic you can endlessly write about. His eyes, though, his eyes look distant, wishful and longing. Renjun looks at you like he's letting you go and your heart drops, as gentle and as sweet as the poems he's written of you and the kiss he gifts your lips with.

"Just leave, darling," he whispers, "Stay a lovely memory to me."

It's just like any lovely excerpts you wrote, the last line with Renjun quite familiar and bittersweet. As if in any other circumstances, had he said only the second sentence and the second sentence only, it would have made your heart skip and your cheeks rise in temperature.

Real love is a little not like literature, though, at least the one you had with Renjun isn't. It wasn't almost being the same person. It wasn't sweet chaos. For both of you, it was doing what was the best for each other at the moment — whether it will make you cry, whether it will be painful before it becomes easy, knowing that it won't always be picture perfect but still wanting to give each other what you deserve. It was so much simpler than how he said it in his poetry, just as complicated but not any less romantic than that. Huang Renjun knew that you were aware of what was the best for the both of you — with neither of you ever wanting to force something to work and end up hating each other the more it fails, successfully trading the happy memories with more regrets, you walk away. Renjun doesn't follow just because love isn't always like the idea of it, but he does remember to never forget. You walk away, holding his love dear to your heart.

═ ∘❁∘ ═

Some people are just not meant to be alone, you think. Mark Lee comes just as quickly as Renjun was gone.

You don't even know why your paths crossed — Mark is literally the town's golden boy. He plays sports and aces exams and has a good set of friends; surely, he has more important matters to deal with, and definitely getting coffee at a dingy coffee shop isn't one of them. Not when it's three a.m in the morning, at least.

The shy barista at the counter sends you a gleeful smile as he hands out your order, one which you return with a curt nod and a quiet wish goodnight. He watches intently, subtle but focused — he really isn't one to gawk at people, but he couldn't help it. You held with you a smile that doesn't match the exhaustion in your eyes. You looked like hope. You looked like someone to look up and search for the stars even on a cloudy day. You seemed like a full-bloomed spring to trapped minds and sour hearts. You think Mark is a little too curious like Alice. Mark thinks you're even better than the Wonderland he'd always fall for.

He knows you saw him, he feels the hesitation in your stare. He knows you know him, he's shared a couple of classes with you and has done a couple of assignments as a team, so naturally, Mark couldn't help himself but ask, "Wanna sit down with me?"

You walk up to him with a nod, grateful. Mark tries to remain calm for the rest of the night — caffeine not helping — and he tries to look at his book instead of you, but he simply fails to. He tries his best to conceal himself, but he can't seem to tear away. He can't look at anywhere else when you're sitting there right in front of him — you know pain, you're familiar with sadness, have always been friends with enduring what you couldn't take; Mark sees in you a landscape that makes his heart hurt, a leafless tree he loves by itself but couldn't resist the urge to nurse back into life. Every now and then you'd look up from your cup and he would look away from this book that he's "reading" and your eyes would meet, and the both of you would shyly giggle and open up a small talk.

He walks you home that night, this one and the other and the many next times after that; it's just your thing by now, getting coffee at the most unreasonable hours of the day and staying up until it's too late for either of you to sleep because by this hour you should be blinking awake, walking down lifeless streets and past neon signs and holding hands. Mark would look at you with such awe and when he does, you have some things you forget, and your heart races. He's became a regular part of your day, a constant stranger. And then he becomes your friend. Then kind of more. You think, maybe, just maybe, he can become something more than more.

"I have many regrets in this life, you know? But I don't wanna be imprisoned by them," you shrug, too scared to look up at him and see that he wonders just what failures you've done. You continue your slow pace, both in walking and letting go of things much like words, "I don't want you to be one of them."

Mark stops walking, but he doesn't make you feel like you've said something wrong, so you finally glace up and meets his eyes; those that hold as much tiredness as yours, pressure, those that are glassy and brimming with tears. You smile, "And I like you, a lot, even if I'm in broken pieces. "

Mark looks at you and doesn't see majestic brokenness. Mark falls deeper in love that day, the next and all the others; you were deep like that. He fell and couldn't stop falling and he can't wait to fall even deeper into you, diving into unknown waters with blind fates and silent confessions of love.

Your relationship was practical — literal and convenient, full of compromise but in a good way. You both were almost always on the same page of what should be done and how to do it, and if not, you two know that it's the best to give it a rest and understand. The balance, that kind of synchrony — it was something you both need, was something you liked about your dynamic; the fact that the partnership was there and you're certain of no taking more than you could give and no giving of less than you deserve. For once, you feel like you aren't pouring liquid into a leaking jar, and you feel content at the warmth he gives you with.

Renjun never made you feel this way; he didn't make enough accommodations for your relationship and you didn't voice out your expectations of him, you just wished he magically knew. Because he always knew that you would understand and other people wouldn't, he ended up giving you most of the weight of the relationship you both should've carried together. Mark was everything you hoped Renjun was; this is where the conflict begins.

When love is fueled by what the past wasn't able to give and what the present is willing to offer, you end up falling for the ideas and not the person. He makes up to what Renjun didn't, he filled to the brim what Renjun wasn't able to, he satiates what Renjun couldn't satisfy. You always saw the things Mark did as what you expected from someone else, so you weren't able to appreciate them as they are. You never truly saw him as Mark Lee who loves you, always as the boy who did everything the last didn't.

Just as any relationship that revolves around somebody who's not involved, the conclusion was something you saw coming. It comes with tired eyes and worn out sighs, burned out hearts and linked fingers, sour hearts turning bitter. Mark doesn't look at you at all, and you keep your eyes set to the stars.

"The thing with me is I always long for consistency — for someone to understand me and stay understanding of me forever." He breathes out, voice raw. Did he scream? Was he screaming in those empty spaces you two gave each other? In any of those yells, did he call your name? You think you need to yell at the top of your lungs just to hear a sound louder than your heartbreak. He chuckles before continuing, "And I know that it doesn't exist and it never will. I knew that since childhood, but even if I continue disappointing myself, I never stopped hoping."

His shoulders drop — he feels that weak that time, even his knees buckle down and his eyes sting from holding back tears. "So baby, don't play with me," he whispers, more begging than warning and he falls apart, "I don't need a chase — I need someone to wait for the end with."

There's a whine at the back of your throat, but you settle with looking at his direction with an apologetic call of his name. He doesn't reply.

Mark never knew that he could fall in love with the same person all over again even during a break-up. You're just lovely like that — always dancing in your daydreams while you carry the world on your back. Mark feels his breath catch at his throat, he feels his palms go numb, he feels his heart going haywire and begging him so desperately because no, no, don't let go, please, don't let go!

"There's a huge difference between how much I love you, and how much I can take." He finally spares you a glance, his everything so spent and lonely and blue in a way that isn't the calm of an ocean. "If you can't love me, then please let me go."

Mark knew your answer when you smiled.

────── ❁ ──────

The trip to the coffee shop was slow and empty and chilly, your hands trembling in need to get a hold of warm coffee and your feet taking little steps to such a familiar place. Honestly, you don't even know why you're letting yourself go there — why do you keep on doing this, torturing yourself? You don't even know — maybe you came here to reminisce the past, hold it close one last time before letting it go. Maybe you're here to remember how Mark was, how he was before he met you — oh, how you wish he didn't meet you. How badly you wish he never did, how you wish he never offered you a seat, his comfort, his love, a place in his heart. How you wish you didn't steal the sparkles in his eyes, and at that very moment, you feel the sudden urge to turn around.

But you're already pushing the glass door wide open, causing the chimes to make that delightful sound.

"Good...!" the cheery voice fades, a concerned look adorning exhausted eyes, "...evening. The usual?"

You hum, nodding soullessly. The boy — Jeno, quietly works your order until he decides he's had enough of you rubbing your cheeks raw wiping down tears. He sighs and finishes your drink, hands it to you with a sympathizing smile, "Uh, you don't look fine, but are you okay?"

You suppress a giggle and a glare — why does he care? But you're lonely, too lonely, so lonely that you only manage a nod, "Rough time. I wish today didn't happen."

"Oh, but other people had the best day of their lives today. They wouldn't experience that day if today didn't happen," he smiles, flashes of child-like optimism and hopes hinting behind the sleepy glaze in his eyes. "You're on your way to yours."

And while on any other day, his reply would have made you annoyed, you find that he's right, and wish that he indeed is. You feel like it's the only right that didn't go wrong today.

Something warns you that you shouldn't be getting yourself caught in his strings and his ways, but you find yourself straying around his orbit. You were lonely. It was that bad — so bad that you found comfort in everything and everyone and Lee Jeno just happened to be convenient; It's just safe to be around each other, and that's what great friends are supposed to be, right? Jeno doesn't judge and he doesn't pry when you tell him not to push it, and he tries to understand without forcing you to make him if you're not ready. Lee Jeno had a soul like comfort and a smile like a piece of home. You insist that you had no interest in either, but with you so down and him the only thing pulling you up, you couldn't help but let him in.

You think some people are just like that — timeless souls stuck in mortal bodies, liquid gold; glowing and burning and bright and hopeful, stars. They're like stars — human stars.

He's always beside you, you see, Lee Jeno. He answers the dumbest questions and the deeper ones, he stays up listening to your heartaches and struggles. He knows a lot about you — never everything, but they're more than enough — and you know about him, too. It's a dangerous edge you two are leaning far too close to tipping over, and still, your gaze screams life and hope and energy, Jeno thinks he doesn't mind. He remembers earlier memories with him crumbling under your fingertips, tears in his eyes.

"Mark Lee... he's not replaceable and I'm not a replacement..." he shifts his eyes down, can't bring it to him to just look at you without breaking himself. He manages a heartwrenching smile, "but I think I'd rather be a replacement rather than a distraction, darling."

But you looked at him and cup his cheeks and kiss his forehead so mellowly, assuring him that he's neither. The storm in his heart stops and all his insecurities don't matter, and Jeno doesn't think he ever felt this good — so light, so dreamy. Your touch brings comfort, much like lullabies, and after years on insufferable insomnia, Jeno falls asleep.

Your gaze, too. If you continue looking at him that way, he doesn't think he'll mind anything.

"Thanks, Jen. For the coffee," you say with a smile, another night spent with him at the coffee shop. These days, you spend most of your free time waiting for his shift to end, watching him stutter and flush every time he realizes you've been watching him. There's a giddy feeling spreading inside your gut as you continue, "and for staying with me. That was so thoughtful of you — how much lovelier can you be?"

He laughs, shaking his head. He sighs, "Stop it. You're giving me hope."

Your heart skips a beat.

"Oh, but I want to," you quickly roll your eyes, an attempt to faux cool control, your expression immediately shifting to something welcoming and soft just enough that his chest tightens. Jeno feels kind of odd — a good kind of odd, a welcomed sensation. You beam up at him with glassy eyes. Jeno shifts his to his shoelaces.

"Don't do that."

"Jen..."

"I love you," he confesses, shallow breaths coming in quick intervals. The floor seems to sway under his feet and the skies feel like they're swirls of dripping liquid, and it's hard to even breathe, let alone swallow the bitterness of his words, "But I would rather have you not say it back than hear you not mean it."

"I'm... I— Jen," you gasp out, fast to hold his hands to try to keep him down. For a reason or two, you feel like crying. Jeno feels lost. "I'm falling."

But you're not, and you don't know why you said it, but there's a galaxy in his eyes and the universe so beautifully laid down in his mind and he's pulling you close, tears in his eyes, this boy. Lee Jeno who's so in love with you, Lee Jeno who's hopelessly whipped, Lee Jeno — your sweet, sweet boy. You look up to him and shakily whispers, "Please catch me."

Jeno looks at the luminaries and wonders what it would feel like if one day he looks into the very same orbs only to find that the stars have fallen.

The wind blows gently, the coldness of the place prickling his skin, but Jeno doesn't think it's what caused the flush to rise on his cheeks. He stutters, curses a little, says again those little words and dives for a kiss — you feel like it's the best night ever; no nightmare, just pure bliss.

You blindly walk the path inside your house, dropping your belongings on either of your sides. You try to keep your knees from buckling as you bring yourself to your bathroom, stripping off your clothes. You lean your back to the cold tile walls of your shower, feeling the rush of water that is supposed to drown your thoughts not doing anything to keep them at bay. What have I done?

Loving Jeno is easy, though, far too easy if you may. He's so full of love and in need of affection but never asks for them, and you're more than glad to give all of that to him without words needed. The days with him have been light-hearted, felt deeply nonetheless. In this little world, it's you and him, him and you, no one else. Right? Is that right? Do you promise?

Jeno knocks at your home one day, sullen and lethargic. He spreads his arms out for a hug, one you throw yourself into without hesitation. He leans into the touch, leaning down to burry his head on the crook of your neck, "Thank you, baby."

Your brows draw closer, "For what?"

"You were never mine, but you were always lonely." He suddenly says, He suddenly says, voice fading weak and unstable. There's warm tears dampening your shoulder, and he shakes ever so slightly that you panic and try to pull away, but he doesn't let you. Instead, he continues, "In my twisted logic, I made myself believe that it's the same."

"What are you saying, Jen?" You laugh, a bit confused and a lot afraid. "I love you."

"No, please, don't say that," his reply baffles you. When he lets you go, Jeno has a certain saddened look in his eyes, and it feels so familiar that you should be numb to it by now. You're not, though, and so you pretend to not know where this all would lead. He pulls you in again and hugs you tighter, "Let me tell you that I love you without you answering back, please."

The boy breathes out shakily, "I want us to have at least one memory that isn't a lie."

And then Lee Jeno says goodbye.

────── ❁ ──────

Park Jisung is the clumsy florist who keeps breaking vases in the flower shop his cousin owns, just several blocks away from the kindergarten both your nephews attended. You meet him one too many times you had to pick the little boy up, and talked to him finally one fine Tuesday when you decided flowers would be nice, out of random. You become friends from then on.

This thing you have with Jisung is something lovely, child-like, and carefree. It doesn't put any pressure on you — there are expectations, but they're all voiced out and kept healthy. You're friends — great friends, not best friends — whose dynamic is not necessarily convenient. It's safe to say that some people think you have a complicated relationship.

You think, not really. Not to the two of you, at least — Jisung just knows when you're down and in need to be left alone or cuddled, while you know when he needs to cry or if he's pushing himself to his limits. He knows what flower you hold most dear, your treasured scent, your favorite shade of yellow. You know his most loved tracks, the beat he looks the happiest humming to, the color of his dreams. It's much more simple than that — it's just that you two have fun, even with your differences, and when you're together, everything else just fades away.

You just... don't like being alone. Jisung doesn't like not having company — well, there are indeed people he doesn't want to be accompanied by, but he doesn't like being the only one walking alone in crowds of many. He doesn't make your heart skip, not really, instead it's just a warm feeling in your chest, much like home. He doesn't make you nervous — not at all, but he does make you feel safe. Comforted, even. It's the type of love you've always yearned for, the only kind of love he's comfortable with.

"You dance?" Your eyes widen in surprise, dropping your book on the table. Then you smile, "Oh? Aren't you full of surprises?"

"Mhm, you'll see." He says with embarrassment hinting his voice, but then he stops arranging the flowers and looks at where you're sitting. "You? Aren't you full of surprises, too?"

You pick up your book, a sudden low, shrugging. "It won't be a surprise if I say now, wouldn't it?"

He just shakes his head, tries to lift the vase to the other side and accidentally knocks another one down. You laugh at him, curious at how much control he has over his body that he must be able to dance so fluidly, hit the beat like it's what he's born for, and yet he can't seem to hold a vase and not break it. Jisung giggles, taking it lightly. You wish he didn't.

The days with Jisung are filled with your favorite bouquets and post-it notes. Each and every day, the words written inside changes from 'You did well', until it develops to 'I hope you smiled today,' 'I wish something good happened today,' and 'You're really, really pretty.' He'd take you to little uphills, asks you to teach him how to make floral crowns from wildflowers, dance with you barefoot under bright daylight. A little summer, a certain person, your most dreaded feeling of having someone mean so much that you let flowers bloom in your chest until it's so hard to breathe and you cough them up.

"My parents asked me to study dance in another country," he mumbles one day, a shaky breath leaving his lips, "Please give me a reason not to go."

"Chase your drive, Sungie," you whisper back. You lean your head further to his chest, safe and warm and fading, "I love you, so choose your dreams over me."

There's the slightest hint of betrayal in his voice, a tinge of rejection in his eyes, "If you love me, why would you make me choose?"

If you love me, why can't you choose me? You selfishly ask, the kid in you whining at the thought of being left alone. The greedy part of you begs to ask him to stay, the needy part of you wants to hug him until he's so full of you that he forgets even the bare thought of wanting anything else. The silent voice inside you, the one that learned and keeps learning, the one that could've saved you so many times if you listened to it, sighs sadly. Don't risk anyone's future for your present, it seems to say.

"Because I love myself too," you look directly to his eyes, cupping his cheeks in between your palms, "and we need to put ourselves before anybody else."

And yet again, you're starstruck by the almost golden swirls in his irises, a peek of his soul. You think his eyes are beautiful — astounding, art worthy, a sight to never get tired of. He thinks they're only beautiful because he's looking at you.

This thing with Jisung isn't something you should've let go. You shouldn't have let him go but you weren't ready and the last thing you wanted was to hurt someone who held you so close beautifully. He didn't mean to, though — it was just too hard not to go overboard, and the next thing he knew, he was in love. He didn't mean to, so he walks you home the last night, hand in hand with a certain something hidden underneath his mellow smile. Jisung stands in front of you, waiting for you to open your gates, but you don't move. You stay basking in the tenderness of his gaze.

You think the little problem is that he's even more breathtaking up close and in silence, when the night feels so dead that it thrives — you feel like if you weren't so broken, if you don't keep on seeing another person when you look at him in the eyes, if you let go of the past, Jisung would be everything your heart desired. It just so happened that you two are both too infinite for forever, too broken to fix anything for the latter. Jisung was too charming — his smile was one that doesn't ask for attention but still steals it, never content with just taking your breath away so he takes with him your mind and soul.

You can't handle losing any more of yourself, though, so you smile, "Thank you for waiting."

"I have always been waiting for you," he grins shyly. You make a mental note to remember him like this — dyed locks a mess on top of his head and glasses messily perched on his nose bridge, tall and too pretty to be real, eyes so loving and expressive. There's an obvious sorrow in his voice, "Without fail, consistently, inevitably, forevermore."

You smile, standing on your tiptoes to press a kiss on his cheeks, "Good night, Jisung."

The last note comes in between the pages of your notebook, a pretty pastel purple accompanied by pressed wildflowers. There, in his messy letters and colorful ink, reads a confession:

Maybe I couldn't stop myself from falling because it felt like flying with you.

You shake your head, sigh reading 'I told you not to do that'. Still, you feel a tug at your chest, a link between the two of you in the sense that you seem to be moving in synchrony with these words — Park Jisung is your last love, you swear. You shift your eyes, tired of the same chain all over again, flipping the note to read the words behind them.

When you find the right love at the wrong time, what will you do to make it work?

You sigh to yourself as you read the question, tracing the pristine paper with your pen, and finally, finally you smile;

Let it go. Set it free, because the greatest love of all is the one that lets you grow.

You tilt your head up, holding back the tears that threaten to spill from your eyes.

────── ❁ ──────

Zhong Chenle invades your life like a hurricane of mixed emotions, a little like three months just in time when you finally decided you've had enough heartbreaks. You meet him from one of your friends, Qian Kun, and literally had to stop and wonder how in the world he managed to find this thing — you can't help it, alright? Chenle just stood silent and proud, clad in leather and rumors and reputations and reeking of expensive. He comes in the scene like thoughts as turbulent as unwanted flashbacks and as easily as finding trouble looking for the right answer when you're in a rush.

Quickly as he entered your life, he became a friend; you're too familiar with this scene, but you've had enough. You can't take any more. You've spent most of your life haunted by sugar smiles and breathy laughs and in exchange, had yourself break everything you wanted to keep intact. It doesn't matter that he's not at all what he's perceived to be, it doesn't matter that he makes your breath hitch. You don't even care what you're going against with, if it's fate or heavenly beings or the world — no more. You can't anymore.

The world is the ocean and the ocean is a God — people are mere sailors who think they're stronger than the tides, but they're not; once the waters have made their decision to kill you, there's no reason you should fear the phenomenons trying to do you harm. It seems like it's made that plan, that thing you hoped so much you wouldn't do. Chenle knows so he smiles at you brightly, "Don't you dare run away from what you're feeling."

"Else what, you gonna run after me?" You bite back just for the sake of it, laughter bubbling from your throat, "Gonna go chase me down?"

He shrugs, taking a challenge and a risk, "You better not regret."

"Absolutely fucking not." Kun hisses after you've told him what happened, months after you've started dating and you're tired of hiding it already. Your friends already tease you about getting together, anyway, so why should you even hide? Apparently, this. The profanities leaving his mouth should worry you, really, but it doesn't; not as much as his disagreement. Still, you couldn't even bother to ask him why because you see it in his eyes — you know him that much, you're familiar with that look — "You're not in love with Chenle, please, we both know this."

"I am in love with him!" You say, hurt. The look in his eyes softens, but the pain of his word doesn't, neither does his determination, "Kun, please. I didn't tell you just so you could lecture me, I told you because you're my friend! I do love him!"

"Are you, really? In love with him, you say? Completely?" Your eyes shift to the side after his statement, the lack of sarcasm and warmth in his tone both bothering you. You want to cry. When you look at Kun, you find he feels just as much. "You're not in love with him in the way he deserves."

There's a dry chuckle leaving your lips as you grab your bag, standing up with a tear slowly rolling down in your cheek. More than devastation, there's a certain withering look in your eyes. Kun tries to apologize, but you're already moving away from him. The betrayal in your voice is impossible to ignore and forget, "How dare you make accusations about how I'm feeling?"

Falling in love with Chenle wasn't in the plan; in fact, you hardly even had any plans to begin with. As another fact, the only plan was to not fall in love with anyone anymore. Plans are ever-changing things, you'd always counter, they depend on the situation. When Chenle came in your life, you figure there happened to be another shift — something significant had changed, a good change.

Maybe it is why you didn't even take Kun seriously. You've always hoped that all those lows would lead to this point, the part where there's content spreading on your chest, a feeling just as bright as the luminescent blanket of embedded diamonds and rubies, a sky full of stars. By your side, the boy looks at you with eyes shining just as much; Zhong Chenle, badly misunderstood, so truly loved. You couldn't help but pull him in a kiss — giggly and messy, chaste and ever so delicate.

You think you could spend lifetimes just staring at him. You swore on it, really, to not be in love with him. More than anybody else, you hoped to fate that you'll never fall in love again. It's just that this person — Zhong Chenle, he has a tendency to be very addicting, and oh, how easily addicted you are. His kiss a lovely burn against your lips, his words a heavenly whisper to your ear, his existence a delightful surprise. You find it inevitable to fall because of the many similar nights before this, just weeks after you two met. Those days where you two were laughing way too hard for midnight and your heart blossomed with happiness it hasn't felt for long. It's the sweetest kind of doom.

It's doom, nonetheless.

"With whom was your first relationship with?" Chenle suddenly asks, no hint of jealousy in his eyes, but there is, aside from pure curiosity, something else — lost, baffled, seeking an explanation for something he doesn't even think he should know. "I mean, you're mine. You're my first love, but I know I'm not yours, and I'm curious. "

"You don't even know him, Lele." You laugh, trying to hide your hesitation. The boy insists, says that he just needs a name. You roll your eyes affectionately, "Huang Renjun. He's a great guy, but timing kinda messed up."

Chenle hums appreciatively, but he stops trying to find constellations and making up shapes of his own; instead, he dives in a pool thoughts deeper than the dark. He thinks of what he doesn't know if he believes in, but he keeps his eyes up at the stars and hopes to God that his life wasn't such a movie; he stays quiet.

"Who's Jaemin, then?" The question comes, harmless but shocking nonetheless. Chenle breaks his stare from the dull-starred sky and looks at you with a smile brighter than daylight. His question makes your gut twist. "Jaemin who danced with you under the rain... Jaemin who made your day with corny jokes, with late-night talks, with coffee, with notes."

You don't reply, so he ponders some more. He thinks about walking the streets holding hands, he thinks of cheek kisses. He thinks of waking up tomorrow and doing all of that with you. He looks forward to a couple of years — maybe you'll move in together, maybe you'll share a place and clothes and everything. He thinks of counting down the memories, having lived most of his life satisfied. Chenle thinks of doing it all with you; someone who takes tragedies and turns them into masterpieces. Someone who sings sad songs with a saccharine smile.

"Jaemin with a reputation, known for all the wrong reasons..." his eyes cast down, dull and slowly piecing everything together, "Just like me."

He thinks of a vow, a promise — to the stars, till dawn do us part. He thinks of how near the sun is from rising, and he thinks of silhouette, of being hidden behind one. You don't answer until then, so he just takes it as your reply.

"You don't have to. I already know," he smiles, fingers entwining with yours. "Maybe I just hoped that I didn't have to find out from Kun."

Chenle is innocent, kind of naive. He wears his heart on his sleeves and gifts its pieces to anyone who dares to get to know him. He loves a lot — his friends, his family, stars. A person who grieves the loss of midnight too, when the stars start to fade; you. Because of that, he could forgive anything you did and would do.

It's one of his many ways of love, you see, this thing you have going on. Chenle's just like that — you never know just how much more he can give before he runs out; there's just so much of him and it's difficult to put it into words. He's shown you how he treasures relationships, how he adores everything around him in each and every time a different way and kind. He's shown you so much, all the ways he displays his affection with, this little magic trick. That's not all of it, though, and a little part of you sinks because of the fact that a lifetime will not be sufficient enough for you to know just what this love is, completely, because every passing moment, the boy falls for something; each fondness different from the lasts.

Chenle just loves like that; so much that he doesn't mind being loved for carrying pieces of another person — being adored simply because he made you remember what you didn't want to forget. He thinks, if he doesn't think it matters, it wouldn't; he prays that if he doesn't bring it up, you'd forget. He's loved you for so long but you know so little of his kind of love; ever so pure and limitless, impossible to define and dictate.

When he holds your hands, though, you feel like it's enough — it's enough to have known slightly more than what you think you should.

"You give too much," are the only words that you were able to form. He looks at you as if to ask if you think so, and you feel the time stop for a bit when he leans his head on your shoulders, his dark locks tickling your skin. You laugh, humorless and sentimental, "Isn't it about time you'd learn to love within limits?"

"You're brilliant, you know?" He mumbles, albeit sleepily. "Kind of infinite. There are no restrictions in the love you deserve."

Something about brilliant just hits so different from beautiful — something so damning and sweet and you feel it again; just how much love you have in you, how much of it you are willing to give. Maybe boundaries really aren't your thing, maybe its the reason why you let Chenle adore you beyond what you know you can take, why you allowed him to give more than he should've given. Maybe it's why you poured affection after affection without conditions — maybe that's why you were selfish enough to love shadows. Maybe it's as most people say — you tend to burn too bright, to share too much of yourself, and not everybody can handle that. You're a bit too much for others. Maybe it's why you find yourself sitting down, pen roughly scribbling on paper.

Somewhere, there's a soul aching for your love... but no matter how much we try, we know it's not here, with me.

────── ❁ ──────

Kun doesn't knock at your door until a few weeks later, and whether it was him giving you space or him not being able to leave Chenle alone, you think of it as a blessing in disguise. It wasn't even after a week or two that you found it in you to get your life together — fake it till you make it, clean up your home, clean up your mess. You greet him with a smile on your face, tears prickling your eyes, "Come in."

Kun doesn't even say anything, he just puts the snacks he bought somewhere and crashes the sofa. He turns off the television, eyes the clearly was-messy place, and huffs at you, "It's just me. You don't have to play cool with me when you're feeling so broken."

"You're acting so much like Kim Dongyoung." You whisper just enough that he could hear before making your way to him and sobbing in his arms. Kun lets you stay like that, his hands threading your hair and affectionately patting your back, a soft 'I told you you're not ready yet' that's less scolding than it is loving. You stop crying then, just miserable sobs and sniffles, and he stands up to get you a cup of water. You look at him.

"Thank you, Kun."

Suddenly, his not amused expression is back. He moves away a little, placing a strict space in between the two of you, and then directly looks into your eyes, "Were you ever gonna tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

"Were you ever gonna tell me, or was I just supposed to learn about it after you've left?"'

"Kun," you breathe deeply, "I need to."

"For who?" He asks, hoping that amongst the reasons read your name. Are you finally choosing yourself? Is it still because of other people? He wants to ask, but his voice keeps failing him and all he can whisper is words about how he's proud of you, how much you've endured, how badly he wishes to ease the pain. Kun doesn't look at you with disappointment, with hurt; he looks at you with pure utter understanding, and you find it in you, a reason to smile.

────── ❁ ──────

You can't help but reminisce things as you walk from your home to the train station, neither can you when you asked the person in charge for which train will get you out of the place the quickest. You didn't really have plans, you never did, and perhaps that's where everything starts to go wrong; you just forget things, or at least, you try to suppress them. You never tried to solve anything.

This town knew too much — there are memories of Renjun on the trail from here to the benches, flashes of Donghyuck's sly grin meeting your gaze in the reflection of the glass whenever you look at the vending machines. You feel like you've walked every street in here, hand in hand with Mark, like you've danced under all these blinking lights with Jisung, like you've been to everywhere with Chenle. There is so much to remember, and this place can't hold them all and it breaks your heart so much, knowing that many things are meant to be memories, but not all memories should be remembered. You close your eyes in silent hopes that no matter how painful, you never forget one second.

It was impossible, surely, but you think that the thought of being able to recall them completely will be enough to keep you company. Even until now, you don't really want to be alone — some people are just not meant to be by themselves, and sometimes those people aren't really good at settling down either — being one of them, you leap from one crumbling bridge to another, hoping to never feel the pain of a great fall. There was never an end where you didn't.

Waiting for the train to board, you look back to a certain place in time. The one where you think everything began.

Your first love is something you remember vividly. It came in the form of childhood crushes, wildflowers, and ruined playgrounds. It's a coincidental meeting; you were running away from your house, tired of the yelling and the crashing and the constant fear in your little heart, while he was sneaking away from his house to play more because he's a 'rebel'. Your first heartbreak takes some years forward, years just a little far from now even if it feels like it's been forever standing here, waiting for an uncertain return.

Until now, you think that it was that night under a rusty slide and above dry leaves when your life started to change.

You meet again with Na Jaemin just minutes before your train arrives, a brief eye-contact and a skip of heart and it doesn't take so much for you to know; those eyes, that smile, the red string sitting too tightly on his wrist. You remember what promise that meant — you know that, right? The thing they say about red strings, how they connect people? — and what childish hope that strand held — if we wear this, we would always find our way to each other, because we have a red string connecting us now! You remember, you do, really — of course, you do; how you could you ever forget him? Surely, maybe he's grown a lot, and everything about him has changed, he even dyed his soft hair blue. You're certain, though, you knew that it's him — maybe the red string worked. Maybe it's the butterfly effect and the heartbreaks your heart and several others nursed. Maybe it's the look in his eyes that remained soft and sweet and honest.

You miss your train, but you can't help but feel like you're just in time.

"Jae—" you choke, eyes wide and shocked, "Jaemin!"

────── ❁ ──────

Na Jaemin meets you again on a busy train station, three years ago after he just came back in town for a visit. He remembers the punch in his gut at the sight of your face, the red string delicately wrapped on your wrist, far too small but still so beautiful. He remembers the sullen look on your face, the realization dawning on him that you're late for your class and he chuckles; you never really made it in time for school, even as a child. The rain pours and he has to fiddle his bag for his umbrella, opens it so that he could let you in. When he takes a step closer though, you were talking to another boy, and Jaemin thinks he's the one a little late.

He comes across you a lot of times next to that, too, but never when you're alone. He thinks, his timing is a mildly off as well. Every time he tries to come and talk to you — when you were sitting alone in the middle of a busy restaurant, inside the coffee shop, in front of his niece's kindergarten — there was always somebody else. It reminds him of back then, one of your conflicts as you started to grow up and apart; the many times you needed each other and the other person is too caught up needing someone else. Jaemin thinks that the beat you both are dancing to is a little too delayed.

Jaemin remembers meeting a boy just as blue as him, a face a little familiar, smiling longingly at the two dancing under the moon. He remembers eyes as regretful as his, he remembers a smile, "They look so happy, don't they?"

None of that matters, though, not when he's pulling you into a hug and dragging you to a rooftop, not when you're several floors off the ground and beside you is Na Jaemin, sitting side by side, with eyes that take you back to the past and makes you hope for an unbroken present.

When you two stand under the bright sky and you stare at him instead of gushing about flying, Jaemin realizes just how drastically different this present is. If the look in your eyes says anything, he's certain that you feel the same.

You have just always been waiting for this moment, you know? And you missed your train, but you were just in time to meet Jaemin, and the rush of affection cleared all the lines you had to cross and everything was light and filled with teary laughter before right now. You've had it planned, the both of you, multiple scenarios where you two could meet again — none of them are this way. It's awkward and tense and the other feels so far away; this wasn't how things were supposed to go.

Jaemin could leave. He should leave, he figures, thinking that it's always been what he's best at. It's not working, anyway; maybe it was him being gone and you going through so much, maybe it's life knocking some sense in the both of you, but none of that matters — it's not working. It's just like this, relationships — two people could start at the same point and still go separate ways. It's not meant to be. He could leave, forget, maybe he'd find enough courage that he marks this chapter closed and finally, finally stop thinking of childhood feelings and even the grown-up ones. He could find a new beginning in this chapter closed.

That's the way it goes, anyway, right? Some ends feel like new starting points. Jaemin could drop it here. He could make it easier for himself, he'd be able to say this isn't working and he'd be back to his normal self; the one that looks at you and looks for you in a way that he did before falling in love. He could be young and free, away from untold reasons and unsaid apologies and undelivered feelings. He could make it easier for himself.

But to hell with ease, he didn’t want to.

"Remember, back then, we would always sneak out to play in the rain?" Jaemin is the first to break the silence, "And we look at flowers... you used to cry at everything back then!"

You flick his arm at that, and he sits on the floor next to the railing because he couldn't hold himself up anymore, laughing. Even until now, this still feels like a very vivid dream. You spend the night trying to believe that this is reality — Jaemin does the same.

Fate has a tendency to bring people apart and put them back together again, so you can't really help it that Jaemin was months and weeks away from leaving the town again. There was a point where you cursed time — you just found him, and now, why is he being taken away from you? There was a time where Jaemin thought you weren't meant to be — if you are, then why do you keep on being forced apart?

He thinks he really should stop thinking this way. It's just something really odd, this love stuff, because it's never really just one thing but rather a couple of many nothings to make up an entirely different, supposedly magical occurrence. Love is never just love — it's oftentimes euphoria with even the slightest glimpse of devastation. Jaemin doesn't think he understands why the both of you try so hard to make it easy — no matter how difficult, he knows it's worth it, knows that he'll fight for it.

Jaemin spends his last day in this place smiling, cupping your cheeks as he stands in the middle of a busy train station yet again, this time, with you in his reach. The skies are dark but his smile is bright, and it burns brighter when you flush after asking him why he's staring at you so hard. The boy cooes, "Perfect should try to be you."

"If perfect was me, perfect would be a mess," you quickly counter even through you being too flustered. In your absolute anxiety, you think that everyone is looking and judging you. With the way Jaemin is staring at you, you don't think you'd mind even if they whisper things so mean.

"A lovable mess," he raspily whispers, sincerity in his gaze and honesty in his words. Jaemin smiles, "I can't make this up. I fall for you several times a day, repeatedly."

Jaemin lets go of your face and dips in to kiss your forehead, and then he giddily messes your hair. You can't even bring it in you to get mad — you have several minutes and you have so much to say and the time is too little, your words are so limited. Jaemin asks for your hands and leaves a red string, identical to the ones you gave each other as children but bigger and adorned with the tiniest butterfly charm. You look at him, confused, "What's this?"

"A farewell gift, and something I'll definitely come back for," he flicks your forehead as if to say it's so obvious, and you can't help but feel like time is running out all over again. You breathe, unsteady and ragged, a desperate call of his name, "Na Jaemin?"

He doesn't answer, but he wipes the tears streaming down your face and he hums.

"I'm so happy that the ending is me and you." You finally confess, taking him aback. You smile, sweet and cruelly beautiful, brutally emotional, and if there were no children around and Jaemin was a tad bit more shameless, he would pull you into a deep kiss. He couldn't, though, so he just gapes and stares and listens.

"I'm so happy that it's back to you."

As the train boards, you find yourself realizing how tough the world gets — the lovely, sinking feeling lingering in your chest as you recall the highs and the lows of life and fate.

You've had far too many great loves in your life, so much that using the term would probably not sound special anymore to other people — but they're different, each one of them, the way they loved distinct at least — and this one, just this one, Na Jaemin, by far, is the greatest.

The end is sweet and lovely, if a bit sour and bitter. The end is where you hopefully find yourself.

────── ❁ ──────

"Mom and dad keeps on fighting. " your nephew murmurs under his breath, one sunny Friday spent walking on streets that are cooling down, on the way to what must be the happiest place on Earth for a kid. "Do you think they don't love each other anymore?"

You nervously scratch your nape, thinking of easy ways to reply to the question. You think of your childhood, how you spent most of it dreaming of love. How until today, the thought of it still haunts you. You just shrug, "People just have some bad days, but look, they're still together, right?" he nods, and you feel a blossom of proudness in your chest, "They love each other, and that's why they had you."

The kid suddenly frowns, "Why do people get together, then?"

You halt your steps before continuing, on the verge of asking why he asked that question before you realize that it's your nephew, anyway. He loves holding mature conversations even if he doesn't understand anything, he likes asking away and being taken seriously, like an adult. You chuckle, "Uhm, because people make each other happy!"

"Why don't you have someone, then?" You don't know how to answer his question, and neither did you expect it. He looks too interested to be brushed off. "You said people make other people happy!"

"Hm, well, I do have someone," you think of sugar smiles and giggly kisses as you say those words. There's a comforted exhale leaving your lips as you look down on the kid, "But, he's not the only reason I'm happy... I'm happy with myself, without him."

"Do you not love him, then? Because you're happy without him?"

"I love him, I do, a lot! We went through a lot to find each other again," you smile kindly, patient. "But it's a different kind of love, just like how it is a different kind of happy with him."

His lips jut out, wondering about things not so completely disconnected from his first questions. He then sighs as if he's carrying the weight of the world, "If you had to find each other again, it means one of you left. Why did one of you leave if you love each other, then?"

Why?

"Well, you see, maybe..." there's no answer pouring from your lips, but emotions threaten to spill from your eyes and then down your cheeks. The child won't understand your tears, though, so you think of familiar faces and the one you entwined your fingers with, like home. You keep your head held high. "Maybe it's so that we could find each other again in a time where we would be better versions of ourselves."

It's not enough to sate his curious mind. "But if he's almost always never here, how are you supposed to know if he's the love you're supposed to have, then?"

"The love I'm meant to find has always been here, within me," you say genuinely, and the child, ever so confused but curious, remains silent to understand. You shake your head a bit, "but with him, this love grows bigger and bigger, and it helps us cross any kind of distance between us."

Finally satisfied, he stops asking questions at the sight of his most favorite place, muttering incomprehensible gibberish as he tugs you closer to the entrance. Then you think of how happy you are to be standing under this sky, above this ground — you think of the butterfly effect, all the little moments and major events, and everything that passed and will forever remain remembered. You think of all that lead you to this.

You look at the reflection of yourself from the glass walls of the candy shop, and you couldn't help a smile. The look in your eyes screams dreamy as you push open the door. This is it — you're on the way to loving yourself.

Welcome home.

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santigarcia · 4 years

Text

we’ll meet again

a ww2 au santiago ‘pope’ garcia x reader x frankie ‘catfish’ morales fic~

rating: m for smut; threesomes, some war violence

word count: 3.5k

summary: You’re in a relationship w/ Santi and Frankie and they both are drafted for the war; you anxiously await their return home.

a/n: ive been wanting to do a santi x reader x frankie fic for a while now, but i wanted to do something different w/ mine! just wasn’t sure how! until i got this ww2 idea~ so i hope you enjoy and feedback is always appreciated

thank you @huliabitch for this aesthetic!!!!!

We’ll Meet Again

Santiago Garcia whistles a tune while he checks the mail. He’s on his lunch break from work and he decided to come home to see you. The mail is downstairs in the lobby of your apartment building. He fishes his keys out of his pocket still whistling the tune.

Frankie Morales is right behind him; he had the same idea to come see you at lunch during his break.

“You wanna get mine out too?” Frankie asks, Santi nods not turning his head. He knows Frankie’s voice.

He knows a lot more about Frankie than the average person should. These two men are in a relationship with you. The three of you share an apartment.

You’re up there waiting for them to come home right now, and both men have a spring in their step. Until Santi pulls out two identical envelopes from the mailbox. He doesn’t have to open it to know what it is. He hands Frankie his letter. Santi stands still, while Frankie tears open the letter, his eyes scanning the document, all the color leaving his face.

“We can’t tell her,” Santi holds his hand up, he’s calm as he tries to process this.

“She sure as fuck is going to notice that we’re gone! How are we going to keep this a secret?”

“No man, I mean we don’t tell her we got drafted yeah? We tell her we volunteered.”

“How is that better? That we chose to leave her?”

“Fuck I don’t know,” Santi sighs and brushes his hand over his face.

The light clack of heels on the floor turns their heads, and they are greeted with your smiling face. Your hair perfectly curled and red lipstick swept across your lips. Normally their tongues would wag at the sight of you, but there’s too much fear and uncertainty running through their minds.

“Hi boys,” you greet them with a smile, unaware of what news they hold in their hands and is just waiting on the tips of their tongues.

“Hey honey,” Santi greets you with a kiss to your cheek. He’s better at acting than Frankie.

When you turn to Frankie, you see the worried look on his brow, and the letter in his hand.

“What’s that?” you ask him, your voice catching in your throat. You know what it is, but you don’t want it to be true.

“Baby,” Santi brings the attention back to him. He takes a deep breath about to tell you when Frankie cuts him off.

“We volunteered.”

Santi gives him a look of surprise that he said it, but you don’t see it. You feel sick to your stomach.

“Both of you?” you reach for Santi to steady yourself; you feel dizzy. Frankie reaches for you to keep you upright. “When? When do you leave?”

“Next week.”

Tears begin to fall down your cheeks. You aren’t angry, you’re scared. The loves of your life are leaving for war. There’s a high chance they won’t come home.

You try to soak up as much of them as you can in the next week, but there’s an ever-present darkness over your lives. The next few days fly by, even amidst the fear and anxiety that fills your little apartment. Before you know it, you’re at the station saying goodbye to your boys.

Soldiers in uniform are everywhere, and many others like you are saying goodbye to their sweethearts, their sons, or their fathers. There’s a bitter feeling in the air, tears are on many faces.

“At least the last image I see of you boys is how handsome you both look in your uniforms,” you sniffle, trying to make light of this situation. You smooth your hand over Santi’s broad shoulders and straighten Frankie’s crooked tie.

The train whistle blows it’s the last call to board. They have to go.

“Santi,” you reach for him. His gorgeous eyes are sad, but his eyebrows lift when you call his name. Your hand rests on his chest over his heart. “Don’t be too reckless. Keep an eye on Frankie.” Your other hand cups his face, stubble already growing in from his shave this morning. You move your hand up to touch at his hair just above his ear, his uniform hat hiding his greying curls from you. “You’re so smart and brave, use that to your advantage. But stay out of trouble.” You kiss his cheek, then he kisses your forehead when he sees the tears in your eyes.

“Frankie,” you turn to him, your hand still on Santi’s chest. “Be brave. It’s ok to be scared. Don’t let Santi be stupid.” His lips quirk up in a smile, and you feel Santi’s chest when he chuckles. You touch Frankie’s face and kiss his cheek too. “Don’t shave off that mustache. Let your kindness shine through during this. You’re so much stronger than you know.” You let out a sob and he wraps you up tight in a hug. “I don’t want you to go,” you tell him.

Santi’s hand comes to rest on your back, and he gently pulls you from Frankie to hug you one last time.

When you look at their faces you smile through your tears seeing you left a lipstick stain on each of their cheeks. You reach in your purse for your handkerchief, but Santi grabs your wrist, “leave it.” He says with a soft wink.

They each give you one more kiss then they turn and board the train.

That first night is one of the worst. For so long you’ve had not one, but two men in your bed keeping you safe, keeping you company. Now this bed feels so empty and cold.

It isn’t easy for them either. It’s not until they sit down on the train that the gravity of the situation hits them both. It’s here where they meet with two brothers, Will and Benny. All these men here are in the same situation, leaving home behind to go to war.

Basic training is up first for the boys, and Frankie struggles. He throws up on the first day, Santi claps him on the back telling him it’ll be alright – and he doesn’t just mean his stomach.

Santi intends to keep his promise to look out for Frankie, he’s family.

The boys write to you as much as they can, even when they’re shipped out overseas. Their letters serve as a comfort for all three of you. For you it’s knowing they’re alive, for them it’s a chance to think about something else, something better – you.

Santi is formal in his letters, precise. His handwriting is neat. His words are comforting, romantic, and full of sexual things he’d like to do with you when he gets home. He tells you about what’s going on as much as he can and tells you funny stories about Frankie, he hopes will make you laugh. He tells you about how he and Frankie have nicknames now. How he’s Pope and Frankie is Catfish. He tells you that he looks at the photo you gave him often, wishing to hold you again.

You like to imagine what Santi looks like when he writes. Maybe he’s in a tank top, arms dirty from the mud. A cigarette hanging loose between his lips. It’s much better to think of the alternative, which in reality Santi is in the mud, but he’s cold. Writing to you from a dim flashlight, hearing the sounds of shells exploding in the distance.

Frankie writes the way he talks, it’s simple and sweet and direct. His handwriting is messy, and his letters bring you a different kind of comfort. He tells you that he’s got his eye on Santi. That he too looks at the picture you gave him. How much he misses your warmth, your laugh. How he wants to take you out dancing when he gets home. You can tell by the way he writes that he’s sad. But there’s a change in him too that brings you comfort; he’s finding his courage.

What he doesn’t tell you is the ridicule they’ve gotten for “fuckin’ the same broad.” When everyone was showing off photos of their girls, someone snatched your picture out of Frankie’s hand. In Frankie’s photo, you’re smiling bright – a smile just for him. In Santi’s photo, you’re blowing a kiss to him.

Frankie almost punched the guy for talking about how sweet your pussy must be for two men to want it. Santi had to bite his tongue as he pulled Frankie back.

When you write to the boys, you tell them what you’ve been up to. How holidays and birthdays are terrible without them home. How you are helping out with the cause in whatever way you can.

What you don’t tell them is the nightmares that plague your mind. Graphic depictions of their deaths. It’s hard enough to imagine one, but often times both of them die in your dreams.

The nightmares only seem to worsen when the letters become less and less frequent. You resort to other things to keep their memory alive while they’re gone.

The scent of Santi’s aftershave becomes a comfort. You hug Frankie’s pillow at night, so you don’t feel so lonely.

Your boys have no such comfort other than a small fading photograph and your letters sprayed with your perfume. Their lives are a living nightmare, and it continues to grow more hellish.

The worst of their nights at war is when boys reach a small German village, the enemy hiding in the homes of innocent villagers. It’s dark, all the lights in the town are out. The moon overhead, and the lights the soldiers have with them are the only way they can see.

Santi volunteers to take first watch.

During his walk of the perimeter, he peers around a corner and a grenade explodes. He wasn’t close enough for major shrapnel to hit him, but the force of the explosion sends his body hurling backwards. He slams into a brick wall like a ragdoll, his knees hit first. He falls to the ground hard, and it is chaos now around him, but he can barely hear it because his ears are ringing.

Frankie searches frantically for Santi, and his commanding officer Redfly, orders Frankie to stay at his position. But he doesn’t listen, he made a promise to you.

“Why don’t you just leave him eh Frankie?” he hears one of the other soldiers tease him. “The competition’s been wiped out!”

Frankie keeps looking, and finally in the early dawn he finds Santi in a heap in the mud and blood.

“The hell are you doing?” Santi groans when Frankie gets to him. Gunfire and explosions light up the morning sky around them. “Leave me man. My legs are shot.”

“I won’t leave you here,” Frankie shakes his head and leans down to pick up Santi.

“Fuck!” is all Santi can say as Frankie moves his body. “Wait, just wait. I can’t walk.”

“No shit,” Frankie almost laughs.

“I promised to keep you safe, now get out of here.”

“And I promised her I’d keep you from being stupid.”

“How’s that workin’ out for you?” Santi laughs and splutters up some blood.

Frankie leans down again and hurls Santi’s body over his shoulder. Fear and adrenaline are his only explanations for how he managed to do this.

The next thing Santi remembers is waking up in a medical tent. Both of his legs are bandaged and elevated, and he feels miserable. His ears still have a dull ringing in them. He has an awful headache, but at least his legs don’t hurt, and he can in fact feel his toes. He misses you. He wants you here. Fuck. He wants to hold your hand. For you to comb your fingers through his hair to help him calm down.

He takes in his surroundings. Men are in beds everywhere. Nurses are walking all about, checking on everyone. His best guess is he’s in the recovering area, but he can still hear muffled screams in a nearby tent of extreme trauma cases.

He feels sick to his stomach, images of war coming back to him. It’s then he sees Frankie is sitting next to him, his arm in a sling.

“What happened to you?” Santi rasps, his voice gone from not using it in a few days.

“I carried some idiot off the battlefield over my shoulder. Tore it to shit.”

“She’s not gonna be happy about this,” Santi laughs. He can only imagine your reaction, but he would love for you to fuss over him.

“We’re fuckin’ alive man. She’ll take us however we are.”

And Frankie’s exactly right. He stays with Santi until he heals. And soon after that – the war is over.

They get to come home.

You cry when you hear the news on the radio. So many lives lost, you mourn with those around you who won’t have their soldier coming home.

You’d gotten one letter from Frankie in the last few months, and one only one came you feared the worst. But in his letter, he details how Santi was hurt and doing well in recovery. You felt sick reading this letter, to be so far from those who you love when they are hurting is a pain you never experienced to this degree.

And you can’t even begin to imagine what they went through. It tugs at your heart.

The entire time they were gone, every time your phone rang – it filled you with dread. That this would be the phone call alerting you of one or both of their deaths. You never got that phone call.

But today, you’d get to hear their voices on the other end of your phone.

“Hello?” you answer, and you hear both of their voices pouring in through the phone. From what you can hear over their excited babble and your crying, they are in New York. They’re boarding a train and will be home to you tonight.

Santi’s holding the mouthpiece while he and Frankie talk into it. You wish you could see them.

“We love you, honey. We’ll be home before you know it!”

They don’t talk long because they have to board and the lines for the phones are packed full of people trying to get in contact with their families.

You hold your own phone mouthpiece to your chest after they hang up. You’re setting it on the hook to hang up when you hear a knock at your door.

Confused, you move towards it to answer.

When you open the door, there they stand. Frankie and Santi. Shoulder to shoulder in their uniforms. Their bags at their feet. Santi slowly takes off his hat when he sees you, Frankie’s chest tightens. Your hand flies to your mouth and tears fall from your eyes as you leap into their arms. Your arms wrap around their necks and you cry there in the hallway, not caring who can hear you.

They both lean in to press kisses to your cheeks. Then Santi goes for your neck while Frankie whispers affections of love in your ear. You kiss both of them on the lips, smearing your lipstick all over their faces.

Even when they set you down and you pull them into your apartment by their ties, you still have tears falling down your cheeks.

In the soft light of the apartment, you take a good look at them. It’s the first time you’ve seen their faces in four years.

They look older. There’s a look in their eyes that makes you sad, it’s hidden but you know it’s what they’ve seen that haunts them. An unspeakable weight they carry. Santi’s hair has more grey than black. Frankie still has the mustache, and he stands taller.

“I wish I had known you sneaky boys were going to be home so fast! I would have made your favorites!”

“Baby, you’re our favorite,” Santi winks as he takes a seat at the kitchen table, shrugging his bag onto the floor.

Frankie quietly walks over to the record player and puts on a slow song. He takes off his hat and smooths down his hair, only to put it back on again. He reaches for your hand and the two of you start to sway to the music.

Santi has a soft smile on his face. Just happy to see you again. Happy to be home. It’s strange to be there all together again. How are you supposed to go on now? Do you all just pick up where you left off? There’s so much that’s been seen, pain that’s been felt.

All that you know right now is how good it feels to lean your head on Frankie’s chest. Frankie guides you over to Santi, and you reach out to weave your fingers into his hair.

“You going to dance Santi?” you lean down to kiss him.

“In a minute, he deserves this one.”

You look up at Frankie as you continue to sway.

“What does he mean by that?” you ask.

“Did he not tell you?” Santi lights a cigarette and places it between his lips, pocketing the lighter. “He saved my life. Threw me over his shoulder when I couldn’t walk.”

He sugarcoats the story, it’s still to raw to talk about.

“Why didn’t you tell me in your letter?”

“I was just keeping a promise,” Frankie smiles and leans down to kiss you.

“I’ll dance with you baby, but back in that bedroom.”

“Then what are we waiting for hmm?” you reach for Santi and tug Frankie back towards your shared bedroom.

There’s heat in their eyes, and an ache you’ve all been needing to fulfill. You take your time to undress each one. You want to touch him just to make sure he’s real.

While you undress Santi, his hooded eyes are full of delight. He’s been waiting for this for four years. There’s a smirk playing on his lips as you fumble with buttons out of excitement. You slap his hand away when he tries to help, only coaxing a chuckle from his lips.

You strip him down until he’s naked, only thing on him are his dog togs dangling around his neck. He goes to lay down on the bed while you work on Frankie.

His eyes are you on, but there’s a different kind of heat in his eyes. He shudders when your hand touches the skin on his chest. He groans into your lips when you pull him in for a kiss.

“Lay down, sweetheart,” Frankie rasps. You do as he tells you and you lay next to Santi.

Parting your legs, Frankie dives in to mouth at your heat, his mustache tickling your sensitive flesh. Santi takes this opportunity to angle himself so he can mouth at your breasts and neck and your lips. His hand on your forehead groaning into your lips and on your chest.

Frankie moves his tongue over your lazily, even after you’ve reached your high, he still works his tongue over you, enjoying the taste he’s been starved of.

When he’s through, Santi rolls back over and you crawl into his lap. You’re slick and ready for him, so you sink down on him. You both shudder to feel this, the warmth you’ve both been missing. Frankie stands near you, and you reach for him – grasping his hard length in your hand you stroke him lazily while Santi thrusts up in you. Frankie slides his hand down to rub at your sex.

Feeling both of them after going without for so long has you coming hard on Santi. You shake and Santi steadies you with his hands on your hips.

Your hand is still on Frankie, and he lets go before he meant to. He wanted to be inside you, but feeling you was too much for him and he’s coming all over your side.

A couple more thrusts from Santi and he’s tossing his head back coming hard in you. You lean forward to kiss his chin and capture his groan. Then you sit back up and lean up to kiss Frankie’s lips, his hand coming to cradle your jaw.

You clench once around Santi while he softens up, and he groans again. You giggle to tease him so, and he whispers, “that’s my girl.”

You spend the rest of the night like that. Naked and laying in between your two lovers. You kiss them as deeply as you can. Listening to them tell stories, and they listen to yours. Catching up on the four years missed, it feels like a lifetime ago.

It’s strange to feel whole now that they are home, but there’s something missing too. They are not the same men as before, but you’re not the same woman. The one thing that hasn’t changed after all this time – through war and sorrow is your love for each other.

tagging: @agentpike, @bisexual-space-slut, @blancatobarxoxo, @cosmicmando, @damndamer0n, @darksideofclarke, @feelmyroarrrr, @ghosttofcalum, @goldhoran, @himbopoes, @huliabitch, @ironman-iam, @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa, @itspdameronthings, @ivars-heathen, @javihoney, @knittingqueen13, @limenlimon, @literatureandqueen, @maciiiofficial, @magicsuperheroes, @mandoplease, @marvel-dameron, @melanietrancy, @mitchi-c, @mylifeliterally, @pajamasecrets, @pascalplease, @pascalz, @perropascal, @phoenixhalliwell, @poesflygirl, @poeticandors, @punkpascal, @rewritingstars, @savagethewhale, @saved-fanfiction, @sgtbookybarnes, @shadow-assassin-blix, @stanningtoomanypeopleatonce, @stardust-galaxies, @the-bird-suit, @thehippiequilter, @thepjofanqueen, @this-cat-is-dea, @tintinwrites, @triggerhappyflygirl, @waatermelon-sugaar, @wakalas, @xremember-me-notx, @xxidontwikeitxx

#santiago pope garcia x reader #santiago garcia x reader #frankie catfish morales x reader #santiago garcia x reader x frankie morales #triple frontier #triple frontier x reader #my writing #I HOPE YALL LIKE THISSSS

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thedistrictsleepsalonetonight · 3 years

Text

Your mess is mine

Sue may only be a math major, but she knows this much about telling a story: it needs to have a beginning, middle, and an end.

If she were to sit down and write one, here is where it would start — Emily laughs and she falls in love. It doesn’t matter the year, the month, or the minute; when Emily laughs, she falls in love. Sue’s a little slow when these things are concerned, love doesn’t come to her as quickly or as easily as it has historically come to Emily. I saw you in the coffee shop and I knew you were the one, she’s fond of telling Sue, usually during fights. It’s highly annoying that Emily thinks it’d work on her. Even more annoying is the fact that it does.

Alright, does she have moments of intense déjà vu sometimes? Like when they’re lying in bed, after one of Austin’s house parties, and Sue curls up into Emily’s soft shoulders, plays with her pretty, pretty hands? Or when she catches Emily conked out in front of her laptop in a corner table at the café on her break and gently wakes her up? Sure. But isn’t that what love is? The same five gestures repeated in infinite ways, creating a well of infinite affection. So if walking the steps with Emily settles deep into her bones without flinching, as if they’ve done this before, she’s convinced that it’s because they’re well and truly perfect together.

(Definitely not because — and this is something that has been occurring to her more and more lately — they were star-crossed lovers in a past life a century ago.)

(That would be crazy.)

(Right?)

*****

Falling in love aside, Emily can be really, infuriatingly, secretive about the worst of things. Sometimes it is charming, watching her having to pick her way through multiple explanations, create long-winded detours just to attempt to confuse Sue into getting exasperated enough to drop the subject altogether. But that’s at the very end, when it turns out that she was going to all this trouble to make sure Sue wasn’t going to find out she’d gotten her that one Hawaiian shirt Sue had off-handedly admired once, aeons ago. Or that she’s been holed up in their room all day because she’s been setting up lights in honor of it being exactly six months since they first hugged. Which is why she is more resigned that surprised when Lavinia sits down in front of her, leans in, and asks her what she’s doing for Emily’s birthday next week.

Sue sneaks a look at Emily who is currently chatting with an old lady who usually comes in on the weekends. Her girlfriend happens to be one of those baristas who is beloved by the elderly, God only knows why. All the older ladies will hang back at the counter and tell her all about their grandkids’ schools and ballet recitals. In return, Emily will rant to them about college and apparently, Sue as well, which was something she discovered one day when she walked in and two old ladies gave her teasing yet approving smiles from their table.

(And then took her aside to whisper — Showing a little skin wouldn’t do any harm and would keep your girl on her toes — which near about killed her)

The entire situation is hilarious. Also the most adorable thing she has ever seen.

“Why haven’t you guys discussed your birthdays yet?”

“It’s just never,” Sue muses, “come up, I guess.”

Austin rollerblades past, swivels to a stop and bends so he’s approximately level with their faces. “Are we talking about,” he says, lowering his voice to a comical whisper, “Emily’s birthday?”

Lavinia pulls him down, so he’s sitting on the spare chair. “And Sue’s, apparently. Did you know her birthday falls, like, nine days after Emily’s?”

Austin stares at her, wide-eyed. “That means it’s on the.... 19th?

Sue nods.

“The 19th of December? After Emily’s birthday, on the 10th of December?”

“Y....es?”

He swipes at his phone, taps a couple of buttons, and then looks up with a smug smile. “I knew I remembered something. Look.”

Lavinia has to angle her whole body to see, but it registers for both of them at the same time. A certain poet and her muse, who also apparently shared the same birthday as her and Emily.

“Huh,” Lavinia says. “Maybe there is something to Emily’s theory after all.”

“You mean Emily’s theory that we’re the reincarnations of those two?” she asks, hearing her own voice get progressively more hysterical by the word. She clears her throat, takes a deep breath, adds it to the list of rapidly growing coincidences in her head that she’s never going to give a closer look to, because that would be crazy.

“Really the only part of this I’m genuinely shocked by,” Lavinia says after a long pause, in which Sue is struggling to reason with the logical part of her brain, “is that Austin remembers Emily Dickinson’s birthday.”

Austin smiles proudly, and the thought is so funny that it drives potential insanity out of her mind eventually.

*****

“Why didn’t you tell me your birthday’s tomorrow?”

Emily startles from where she’s staring out the window of the car, and Sue has about a moment to regret blurting it out before they’re looking at each other. She’d spent the entire week setting up the entire thing for Emily and now it probably won’t even be a surprise, but she’s insanely curious. No better time for it, either way. She’d planned everything perfectly, from picking up Emily at the café in the classy car she’d borrowed from Austin, to making sure it wasn’t too late after dinner. And yet, here they were, surrounded by cars and honking people because traffic was a fickle bitch.

“Is that why we’re taking this trip?” she asks, wide-eyed.

Sue extends a hand towards her, ruffles up her hair, feeling fond. Trust her idiot girlfriend to not have figured it out yet. She moves her hand to Emily’s cheek, and feels Emily cover it with her own. Feels a soft kiss pressed against her palm.

“What did you think it was, dumdum?”

“Well, it is the three month anniversary of—” Sue’s alarm is probably showing on her face, so she backtracks quickly. “Kidding. Kidding. There’s nothing tomorrow.”

Sue pinches at her cheek. “Except your birthday. Speaking of which—”

“Eh,” Emily shakes her head, shuffles around on her seat awkwardly, “it’s.... uh, complicated.”

“Is the complication that you happen to share a birthday with a poet from long ago?” she’s only half-joking.

Emily laughs at that. “Caught on, did you? Did you also check—”

“E-yup.”

“That your birthday is also—”

“E-yup,” she says. Then turns to look at Emily. “Wait. How do you know when my birthday is?”

Emily opens her mouth, but before she can say anything Sue hurriedly cuts in. “And you’re not allowed to say you have your ways.”

Years ago, when Sue was fourteen, one day her dad and her mom came home with the same vegetable. Same quantity. It was beans, and she could vividly remember all three of them staring down in mock dismay at the two separate huge bundles of beans that now took up most of the space on the table. Then they started comparing prices. Turns out her mother’s bundle had cost a couple cents lesser than her father’s. But it’s not the same , her mother had insisted, holding up both the bundles. See, yours weighs more. I think the grocer I bought it from took some off .

To this day, she defines love as the way her mother’s hand fell over his, combined with the way her dad looked at her next — like a child who had just been told that the blanket fort he’d spent hours constructing, wasn’t going to be torn down. Like someone had just handed a piece of the world to him, and told him to make of it whatever he wanted.

Sue recognizes it in the way Emily looks at her. Like she’s saying — Of course. Of course, you know me well enough to guess the next stupid thing that comes out of her mouth.

(She’s not very good at love, but she hopes Emily can read the answer in her eyes just the same)

“Birthdays are complicated,” Emily says, slowly. “I’ve had some very good ones and then some very bad ones.” First girlfriend who she asked out on her 20th birthday, and second girlfriend who she broke up with a week before her 23rd; Sue fills in the blanks as she talks. “So I guess I try not to tell people so I myself don’t expect anything out of it. Neutral birthdays are better than euphoric ones or sad ones, because at least they don’t haunt me forever.”

“Baby,” she says, and then trails off. Sometimes she likes calling Emily endearments, or just say her name out loud, randomly, even if there’s no statement attached to it. The sentiment’s always the same, however. I’m glad you exist. I’m glad you found me. I like your name. I love you.

(Emily’s fallen asleep by the time she’s driven to the top of the grassy knoll, by the time the clock hits midnight. Sue lets her sleep through it. There will be time to sit on top of the blanket and watch a sleepy Emily blow out the candles on a tiny cake that looks like a typewriter, to stare at the stars all night long while they listen to soft, slow songs on a pair of shared earphones. For now, Sue watches Emily sleep, head tilted against the glass and decides to hold off on telling her she loves her until the day after her birthday. It’s a perfectly neutral birthday. No use in spoiling it.)

(Emily says it back though, in case anyone was wondering)

*****

Sometimes, when Sue sees Emily cooking for her, she loses her breath.

(And sometimes, it’s not even due to the smoke from a burned dish)

But there’s something peaceful about watching Emily cook, especially if she hasn’t yet cottoned onto the fact that Sue’s watching her. She’s one of those annoying people who always has their headphones on, so most of her cooking in the kitchen involves perfectly timing the beats with the swipes of her spatula. Sometimes she spins around in the middle of a pancake flip to see if she can catch it in midair. Juvenile shenanigans aside, what really gets Sue, even after almost a year of having watched Emily dance around in the kitchen is the care with which she handles food that they will eat. It’s so different to the kind of food she cooks when she’s just cooking for herself. Sue’s seen her slap on two days expired cheese on top of a tortilla and call it lunch. And yet.

And yet. Sue will have the best of things. Lasagna that’s still steaming. A sandwich filled with the most delicious ingredients. Waffles topped with cream that Emily will get up early in the morning to get for her. Food enhanced with care, made better with love.

Why don’t you make those nice things for yourself, she’s asked on multiple occasions, to which Emily’s always shrugged. It’s just me. I can have almost anything.

(Emily deserves the best. Sue will make sure she has it)

There are flowers on the table, an assortment of daffodils and lilies arranged on a vase. Right in between two shiny plates laid out with napkins folded carefully beside them. Sue slides into one of the chairs quietly, rests her elbows on the table and waits for Emily to finally turn around.

There is a panicked scream when she does. Sue doesn’t want to be that girlfriend, but this is definitely going on the list of stories she’ll tell their future kids when they’ve grown.

(Another day she would worry about how the term — Their kids — moves around in her chest comfortably like a sip of hot cocoa. Today, exactly one year to the day Emily told her she liked her, she shrugs it off)

“You weren’t supposed to wake up for another half an hour at least.”

Sue hums. “You did tire me out last night, that is true.”

“Sue!” Emily says, scandalized, face rapidly turning red. “I — that’s highly — okay wait, first things first....”

She walks over to the table, and bends to kiss Sue.

“Happy anniversary.”

Sue closes her eyes, kisses both her cheeks in response. “Happy anniversary, my love.”

Emily grins back, then stands again. “Either way,” she says, as she ladles soup onto a bowl, and gathers multiple plates on a tray to subsequently bring to the table, “brunch! Courtesy of your beautiful girlfriend who finally managed to figure out how to make the perfect chicken pot pie without burning down the house, or worse, giving you salmonella.”

Sue inspects what lies in front of her. “Babe, this looks amazing.”

Emily looks proud, as she sits on the other chair. “And that’s not all, okay? This is just the start. Today evening I have gotten us both tickets to—”

“Move in with me.”

When Emily blinks, Sue startles. The words that had just come out of her mouth definitely weren’t well-thought-out, but now she was thinking about it and it seemed like all she ever wanted in life. To go to sleep with Emily, and wake her up in time for her morning classes, to be able to see her all the time, and not have to watch her go.

“That wasn’t my gift, by the way,” she adds, speaking fast, thinking of the limited-edition original copies of a book she’d driven five hours to the next town to get. “But it’s what I want. Us. Living together. I love you. We should.... uh, live together so — uh, okay Emily make me stop talking please.”

Emily shuts her up with a kiss. When they separate, she stays close to Sue, looking right into her eyes with that soft, soft expression.

“Are you sure?” she asks.

Sue takes in a deep breath. Nods. “Yeah.”

Emily considers that for a moment. Then says with a teasing smile — “I thought this violated your relationship rules.”

“What ae you—”

“No kissing before the second date. No celebrating six-month anniversaries because that’s for dummies. No moving in before at least two years of dating—”

“And if you remember correctly,” Sue cuts in, smoothly, “I kissed you two days before our first date. And serenaded you with a Taylor Swift song at the café on our six-month anniversary.”

“You did do that,” Emily says, quietly.

“And as long as we’re on the subject, I hate staying up past 11, or listening to sad girl music in the car, or watching that horrendous show about those two annoying men fake-dating,” Sue tells her, “but — it is my greatest honor that I get to do that for you. And with you. Emily, if you haven’t figured it out already, you’re kinda the exception to every single one of my rules.”

Sue reads Emily’s answer in the kiss she receives next.

*****

The middle, the middle, everything boils down to the middle. It’s what Sue sometimes hears Emily muttering to herself in the middle of the night when she has an assignment due the next day. Sue will blink, look over to the desk where Emily is planted with her nightlight on, hands in her hair. Sometimes Sue will keep blinking slowly, taking in the sight of Emily typing until she falls asleep. Sometimes Emily will notice that she’s up, walk over to the bed, and hum snippets of songs until she’s drifting off again.

And for all the beauty of the beginning, of first kisses and first dates and first times, there’s something to be said about the fifteenth time Emily plays her something on the ukulele, warning her beforehand that her voice might crack. Or the sixtieth burger she runs across the campus to hand over to Emily when she knows she’s got back-to-back classes scheduled. About the hundredth time she falls into bed, and scooches over, eyes closed, until Emily’s wriggling body is aligned against hers. There’s peace in knowing that a first time will inevitably lead to a second time, and then countless others.

(There’s peace in knowing the middle lasts the longest)

*****

She knows she’s in trouble. Has known she’s in trouble the minute she came out of the store and discovered that there was a pileup on the highway. And then when Lavinia called her panicking because their house-warming slash house party was getting out of control because of a lack of beer and a general overabundance of Austin. And then when her phone died in the middle of her conversation with Emily.

(So much trouble)

She’s exhausted by the time she makes it back to her apartment (their apartment , she corrects herself, smiling at the thought) and makes her way up the stairs, hearing the volume of the music increase with every step. Opens the door and is assailed with extremes — the tiny sparkling mirror ball someone’s managed to hook up to the ceiling, the dancing crowd in their living room, and a very loud and weirdly on-point Austin making guitar noises on the karaoke microphone.

“Lavinia!” Sue calls out in relief, when she catches sight of her. “Where’s Emily?”

Lavinia excuses herself from a group of frat boys hanging onto her every word and walks over. “Sue! Emily!”

“Yeah, I know! Tell me where she is!”

Sue points towards the ceiling, and in the same smooth motion, grabs the crate of beer from her hands.

Sue’s out of there before the first cry of “Beer” permeates the air. She climbs another two floors, and then the metallic ladder to find Emily sitting there, wrapped in her blanket, glaring up at her.

“You promised,” she says, flatly.

Sue drops onto her knees and takes Emily’s cold hands in hers. “I know.”

“No, you,” Emily repeats, then pauses, looking like she’s struggling, “you promised you were gonna be here, okay? I agreed to the housewarming thing only because you told me there wouldn’t be many people and you’d stay with me the whole time—”

“—baby....”

“No, don’t baby me. Let me finish.” Emily waits until Sue nods. “And then you went off to the store.”

“We ran out of beer,” Sue says, feeling sheepish.

“I know — I know that, okay?” Emily says. “I know there’s a reason, and probably a valid one but I’m mad, okay? You promised me something and then bailed. That’s not cool.”

Sue adjusts so she’s properly sitting down right in front of Emily. “I’m sorry,” she says, and means it. “It was inexcusable.”

Emily sighs, and seems to relax a little. “Okay. Thank you for saying that.”

Sue nods. “Some party, huh?” she says, after a while.

Emily smiles a little, then. “Did you see Austin? He was performing the High School Musical songs when I left.”

She laughs. “When I came in, I think he was doing the guitar riff to Bohemian Rhapsody.”

“Hey,” Emily says, after they’re done giggling at that. “I never asked. What took you so long? I thought you just went to get beer.”

“Uh,” Sue says, “I’d rather not tell you.”

“What? Why not?”

“Because I don’t wanna charm my way out of you being mad at me.”

“Oh,” Emily draws the sound out, teasingly. “It can’t possibly be that charming.”

If she wanted to play it this way, then okay.

“I stopped at an animal shelter on the way home. There’s a young cat there I thought we could adopt. Consider her a housewarming present.”

“Oh,” Emily says, then in an undertone. “Damn it.”

“Charmed?”

“Ugh, fuck, okay,” Emily admits, then pulls at their joined hands till Sue gets on top of her lap. “I hate you. I love you, but I hate you.”

Sue kisses her in return, settles in more comfortably.

“Tell me about her?” Emily asks, softly, in the quiet.

“Well, she chased the light reflected off my watch round and round so it’s safe to say she’s not the brightest.”

“I love her already,” Emily assures her.

*****

On her eve of her 25th birthday, Sue walks into her apartment and finds Emily, Lavinia and Austin panicking over how to fit the last half of her last name onto limited space on a handmade banner. She says hi to Juggers and Iguana, their two cats, then picks up their two-month-old puppy Rooney, all before one of the three already present humans in the room realizes she’s there.

“Sue, I’m so sorry,” Emily says, walking over to her and looking at her with a slightly desperate look in her eyes. “We tried baking cake, but it’s half burnt, but we can’t decide what to get and all we have are balloons but then Austin’s going crazy trying to keep Juggers from bursting them, because guess what? The cat is the devil—”

“—babe—”

“—no, I tried to make it a good birthday, I really did!”

She puts her hands on either side of Emily’s face, which forces her to quiet down. Then she looks over at the others.

“Have you guys been here the entire time I was taking classes?”

They nod.

She feels a little overwhelmed. “Guys, I — thank you so much,” she says, then takes stock of the situation. “Can you order pizza? We’ll ring in my birthday with pizza tonight.”

Lavinia side-hugs her on their way out to the couch, and then they’re alone in the kitchen. She kisses Emily on the forehead, then on both cheeks, trying to drive away the frown.

“What?”

“I just wanted you to have a good birthday,” Emily says, despondent.

“You’re here, aren’t you?” Sue says. “And so are our friends, who sat and worked this hard for hours trying to make me happy. And we’ll have pizza! We like pizza.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“No, you idiot” Sue explains, fondly. “I mean it. We’ll have burned cake, and we’ll fight over the pizza, and even if the animals are outnumbered, we’ll probably lose to them. And then we’ll probably watch a movie, and somehow all fall asleep on the carpet because Austin always claims the whole couch. Either way, it’ll be a good birthday, because I’m happy. And you know why I’m happy?”

Emily’s still pouting.

“Emily, why am I happy?”

“Because we’re together,” Emily completes, in a small voice, and then finally, finally smiles.

(It’s the messiest birthday Sue has ever had. Also the best)

*****

Here’s the thing about endings: everyone who writes stories knows they don’t really exist.

A famous author once said that they weren’t really the end of the story, just where you chose to stop it. Well, Sue agrees. Which is why this story in her head never ends. The imaginary typewriter in her head will keep typing long after, filling pages with anniversaries and birthdays and emergency dog adoptions. Maybe the next page talks about the day Sue breaks her arm, and Emily proposes to her with an onion ring she gets out of the hospital vending machine. Or the day Lavinia loses Rooney, walks around the entire block with Austin to find him and finally discovers he’s hanging out at the old café they used to work at.

So. Yes. This is where she decides to leave it. Finish it. There will be more stories to write later.

The end.

(Wink wink. Nudge nudge.)

#dickinson #emisue #fanfiction #emily dickinson #dickinson fanfiction #alright - so this is a modern emisue domestic fic about them being happy and in love or whatever bullshit people in love do #and technically it's a sequel to my first dickinson fic - although i don't thikn it's necessary to read that first to understand this #i've been working on this a while - so i hope you guys like it #also i made anohter playlist to vibe - think i'll put it in a reblog just in case anyone wants to check that out #and yeah #that's it i guess #happy reading!

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rosaliepostsstuff · 3 years

Text

Chapter 1 - Of quidditch, detentions and birthdays

series masterlist

tag list for this series: @weasleysbees all George fics: @hufflepuff5972

if you’d like to be added, send a DM or an ask

warnings: swearing, mentions of wounds, slight mention of food, alcohol drinking

word count: 1823

a/n: hope it’s a nice opening that will keep you interested and give you the feel of the whole series; we couldn’t have a fic taking place during ootp without a classic detention with umbridge sorry

I’d love to know what you think about it!

—————①—————

Quidditch. You were decent on a broomstick, but the catching and throwing part has never been your strong suit. The summer sun was blazing hot, not helping you focus on the game. Suddenly Ron took a shot at one of the makeshift posts, the quaffle was speeding in your direction and you panicked slightly – lost your balance on the broomstick and dangled upside down. As you grasped the stick for dear life, the ball hit you square in the forehead, knocking you out.

“Ha-ha-ha,” you mocked George who was wheezing with laughter beside you. “That was years ago. Besides, it’s called the sloth-grip roll, you’re just not on that level yet” “No-no it was brilliant – you saved the game, you just weren’t there to see it anymore,” he tried to regain his composure.

You sighed and shook your head with a small smile. He gave you a wide grin and draped his arm around your shoulder pulling you closer to his side.

You were watching the try-outs together, not really paying attention until it was Ron’s turn. In the distance, you could see Fred juggling beaters’ bats behind Angelina’s back. “D’you think he’ll get in?” you asked curiously. He shrugged and made one of his faces, so you jabbed him on the side with a finger.

“Ron’s good, isn’t he? He should get in…” you worried. “Yeah, yeah, he’s alright. You’ve seen all those other slacks, he’s got a good chance,” he reassured you.

You crossed your arms on your chest and rested your head on his side. “I hope so. It means a lot to him.”

—————①—————

“Oh but that is absolutely ridiculous!” you exasperated, “It’s fucking torture..!” you pointed at Harry’s hand.

You had been chatting with Hermione, Ron and Harry in the courtyard, late afternoon, and noticed the wound on his hand, then made them explain everything in detail. It made you furious.

“First they try to make us dumb, then re-shape us - using violence?!” you whisper-yelled, then noticed three’s terrified expressions.

“Eh hem” you heard behind your back. “Oh for fucks sake…” you mouthed silently and slouched your shoulders, sighing in defeat. “Miss Y/L/N, is it?” She knew your name well, although up until this point you tried not to step out of line, from the very first lesson with Umbridge you showed your dissatisfaction with the new regime rules. Much to Fred and George’s amusement as you usually tried to avoid conflict whenever possible.

With a stoic expression, you turned on your heel to face her. “Yes, professor?” “You have to agree this kind of language does not suit a young witch like yourself. It is in your best interest that we work on your attitude a bit as well. I’ll see you in my office after dinner, dear,” she finished with that sickening smile and walked off.

Defeated, you approached George and Fred at the table and sat down in silence. They glanced at you curiously. “Why the long face, sweet cheeks?” Fred asked, making you snicker and a small smile broke out on your face. “I-“ you elongated, “had an encounter with Umbridge.” “Oof..” grimaced George. “Yikes, you looked like you were about to maul her last class. Too bad I wasn’t there to see it this time around, what’d you do?” Fred propped his chin on his palm, abandoning the food. “She appeared behind my back in the middle of my tirade about her,” another set of oofs and acknowledging nods, “a strong-worded one…” “Oh this is brilliant, why weren’t we there…” Fred expressed with amusement.

George found the situation quite funny as well but was less expressive about it because he felt bad for you just a bit more than his twin. “I-I... I’m sure you can imagine,” you tried to drop the topic, getting busy with the plate in front of you. They didn’t know about her method of discipline and you weren’t keen on letting them know. “Tsk- whatever, don’t tell your best friends,” he pouted, then brought the conversation to their newest developments with the Skiving Snackboxes.

‘I will respect my superiors’ was written out underneath a bandage on your left hand. You’ve been successfully hiding it for almost a week, telling George you cut yourself during potions.

You felt a sharp pain and winced as he grabbed your hand to speed you up on your way to hang out by the lake. “Oh, sorry, Cherry!” he apologized immediately and stroked your hand delicately with concern, “I forgot…” You smiled at him reassuringly, “It’s alright.” “Does it still hurt so much..?” he frowned slightly, confused, “It should’ve started healing by now…”

It would’ve if you hadn’t spent every evening in the toad’s office.

You shrugged dismissively and started walking again, George following. “I don’t think that’s good, Y/N. Maybe you should go to Pomfrey..?” “Noo, it’s fine, I’m sure it’ll heal in no time,” – just a couple more days of detention, you thought. “Well, let me see it, at least,” he said softly and you felt faint. Not only would he find out about the black quill and freak out, but you also hid it from him, deliberately, lied even.

“Y/N” he repeated in a more serious tone. “George, it’s fine, really” you still tried to shrug it off, knowing well it was a lost cause. He sensed something was off. He stopped walking, expecting you to do the same. When you looked at him, he reached out his hand for you to show him the bandage and you obliged.

You held your breath as he unwrapped the dressing. You only dared to look up at him after a few long seconds of silence.

His eyes were still trained on the words, jaw clenched and he started caressing the skin around the wound with his thumb.

He then looked at you and you spoke without words.

You were sorry for not telling him.

He was disappointed but concerned about you.

You wanted to reassure him you were holding up okay.

And he was furious with Umbridge.

“Ferula,” he cast and put his wand away as your hand got wrapped up in clean bandages.

“Please, don’t do anything stupid now…” you worried, “I don’t need revenge.” He smirked a bit, but remained rather serious, “You’ve known me for too long…”

He let go of your hand and resumed walking, putting his hands in his pockets. “I mean it, Georgie. It will have changed nothing and it’s no good if she just makes you write those stupid lines too.” You sighed, “Promise me you’ll be more careful around her. And Fred too.” “Brave of you to assume I can control him,” he snickered, making you smile. “but I can try if that’ll make you happy.” “Thank you,” you said with a big grin, wrapping your arm around his. “Speeaaking of making you happy,” he paused for emphasis, looking up into the sky, “your birthday’s coming up. You didn’t make any plans, did you?” “Mmm, depends what you’re offering.”

—————①—————

Your birthday was in the middle of the week this year, so you planned to have a proper party over the weekend. And the evening of the actual birthday, George booked for himself.

It was late, you took a shower and as per instructions – changed into comfy PJs. Excited, you walked down the steps and into the common room.

There were only a few last stragglers left in there, buried in rolls of parchment, probably writing last-minute essays.

No George in sight.

Next to the couch in front of the fire, you saw blankets and pillows spread out, and some snacks on the coffee table. Walking up closer you noticed a little note in George’s hand-writing:

Do not touch or you’ll regret it

You chuckled under your breath and the round door opened, revealing George with two mugs in hands. He was also wearing some pyjama pants and a comfy jumper.

“Heeey!” he greeted with a wide grin. “Good evening” you replied with a smile and a little nod. “That all you?” you gestured at the table as he set down the mugs. “Unless you want to count Fred’s snickering as help,” he complained sitting down and you did the same.

“Oooh, hot chocolate..!” you exclaimed leaning over the mug in front of you.

George reached behind him and revealed a bottle of firewhisky and you chuckled. “For a bit of kick.” He opened the bottle, then hovered it over your mug and glanced at you, asking for permission and you nodded.

He poured a little bit into both mugs.

“Happy seventeen!” he toasted and you clinked delicately, not to spill the hot liquid, then gave it a taste, letting its warmth pour through your bodies.

“How was your day, Cherry?” he asked, getting comfy on the pillows and wrapping both his hands around the warm mug.

You didn’t see him much that day, with the exception of meals, as you took many more N.E.W.T. classes than him.

“Alright. Went by quickly. Snape wished me a happy birthday.” “Oooh” “Yeah, I don’t know if he was being sarcastic or not. Knowing him, he could be, even with birthday wishes… how about you?” you took another sip of the hot chocolate. “Mmm... We might be getting closer to figuring out how to stop the nosebleeds,” he opened a box of biscuits, “but we need to read up on it a bit more before testing it.”

“That’s not the end of my surprises,” he said after you finished the conversation about nosebleed nougats, standing up for a moment to retrieve a small packaging he then presented to you with a giddy smile. You placed it in your lap and let your hands ghost over the ribbon, “I was about to say you didn’t have to, but then I remembered you’re a rich business owner now.” you teased him, earning a small laugh. He bit his lip and waited for you to continue.

It was a book, the newest tome of a series you and George would geek out about together. It had just come out.

Screeching out of joy you tackled him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“You managed to get it already?!” you questioned. “Yup. Blood, sweat and tears it cost me, but I’ve got it,” he said proudly. “Thank you, Georgie” you gave him one last squeeze and pulled away to admire the book once more. “You’re welcome, love. D’you wanna start reading it tonight?” he asked with clear excitement in his voice. You nodded and opened the book on the first page right away.

You stayed up late that night, taking turns in reading out loud for as long as you were able to fight off the tiredness. Eventually, it was just the two of you, immersed in your favourite fantasy adventure, the soft crackling of the fire serving as a background.

You couldn’t have asked for a better seventeenth birthday.

#george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley imagine #george weasley fanfiction #hp imagine

104 notes · View notes

kopikokun · 4 years

Text

Spilled Drinks & Study Sessions༄ mark l.

↳ When you’re forced into a study session with your next door neighbour Mark, who also happens to be your academic rival in school, things go south very quickly.

pairing; mark lee x reader

genre; fluff, slight angst, enemies to lovers (more like friends, but anyway)

wordcount; 2503 words

author’s note; how the hell do you guys write e2l and make the transition so smooth? bro i could never. also, the header pic is different than what i normally do :/ it’s kinda eh, but i liked the picture so i had to do something with all that empty space

Request 26: Mark + “Oh, are you ticklish?” (73) + “Why are you naked?” (109)

— 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧. | 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬.

The animosity between you and Mark is intense and painstakingly obvious to everyone around you. Well, everyone besides your parents, you suppose.

“Can you stop being so loud? You’re distracting me,” you grumble, angrily flipping through your homework.

“Well, I’m sorry for breathing.” Mark rolls his eyes at you. “Would you rather I stop entirely instead and drop dead right here, right now?”

“At least it would be quieter if you did.” You press your pen down harder, taking your rage out on your poor, innocent worksheet. If you’re going to blame anyone for the excruciating torture your homework is enduring, you’d blame Mark. Even if it technically isn’t his fault, you’d still pin the blame on him.

“What’re you gonna do with my body? You wouldn’t be able to lift me, I mean, you couldn’t even open that can of Coke.”

Your cheeks grow warm, mentally replaying the image of a grinning Mark as he effortlessly opened your can of Coke, the soft hiss of its fizz taunting you. Mark had puffed up his chest triumphantly like he was some kind of hero. For crying out loud, he had only opened a can of Coke, not saved his country. It still bruised your pride though, having to ask for help from Mark, your sworn rival since middle school. Childish, you know, but you’re certain that Mark thinks of you as such too.

“Whatever,” you fumble for a name to call him, “nerd.” Mark snickers at you. “My fingers were just slippery.” He arches a brow, challenging you, and you scowl. “I wouldn’t be able to lift you because you’re heavy, fatass. Not because I’m weak.” You twirl a lock of your hair around your finger. “And look who’s talking, Mr. I-Can’t-Open-Doors.”

Mark flushes crimson as he silently fumes. “That was because I was pushing the pull door!”

“That’s even worse, Mark,” you tease, unable to suppress a smile. “Dumbass,” you mumble below your breath, enjoying the way Mark seethes.

“You’re calling me a dumbass? If I remember correctly, I was the one who placed above you last term.” Mark haughtily flips a page in his workbook. “Which I think is why your parents want me to tutor you.”

You throw a measly eraser shaving at Mark in rebuttal. “You know that’s not why I’m here!” Another shaving is thrown at Mark’s head, yet he doesn’t even look up at you. “In fact, your parents probably wanted me here so I could babysit you!”

Neither you or Mark are right. Your parents just chucked you together because they thought that after all those years of living beside one another and having weekly dinners together, you two would be absolutely wonderful buddies, and you can’t fault them for assuming such a thing.

Logically speaking, you and Mark are supposed to be the bestest of friends. As much as you dislike the word, it seems as if fate has decided that you two are meant for each other. Gross.

In almost every situation possible, you and dear Markie boy over here have been unwillingly strung together—from group projects, to assigned seats, you two just can’t get a break from one another.

Your parents had innocently thought that having a little study session while they went out for a double date with Mark’s parents would be beneficial for you two. Perhaps even fun. Fun, your ass.

All those years spent with Mark hasn’t made you friends, no, it’s made you rivals.

Yeah, so not sworn enemies, but what’s life without a little exaggeration?

You’ve always been a bright kid, some would even go as far to say that you’re ‘gifted’, but you think ‘persevering’ is a better word to describe it. You weren’t just born naturally intelligent or outstandingly athletic, no, you’ve had to work hard, insanely hard, for that. It hadn’t been handed to you all nicely wrapped with a little bow to match, just for you to tear it open and take. You’ve had to tolerate and undergo several sleepless nights, and many agonising hours of training.

Up until middle school you were top of your class in all aspects. You were idolised (well, as idolised as you could be for a middle schooler anyway), loved and acknowledged. It had been blissful.

That was until, little Mark with that stupidly cute gleam in his eyes came along, skipping over to you in those worn-out track pants and smiling toothily as he introduced himself as your brand new next door neighbour.

You have to admit, initially, you and him were close friends. You’d walk home together, sneak out to go to the convenience store together, share snacks together, the list goes on. You’d even given Mark your very first kiss, right on the cusp on your twelfth birthday. He didn’t know that it was your first kiss though, and he’ll never know. You’d rather be shot at point blank range than give up such private intel.

But when one day, in seventh grade, when Mark had begun closing in on you in rankings, outrunning you at the park and gradually being everyone’s new favourite, you found yourself isolated. Even one of your friends, a girl with straight long hair that fell past her waist, started hanging out with Mark more than with you.

And when you invited her to your thirteenth birthday, the first thing she’d asked was, “Is Mark going to be there?”

And at that same party, you saw her, kissing the boy you had been crushing on for the past year. And it looked like Mark really enjoyed kissing her too. More than he did with you.

From that point on, you began to distance yourself from Mark. It was gradual, slow, but you knew Mark could tell. When he finally surpassed you academically too, you started harbouring a resentment towards him, and the rivalry between you two started.

You were somewhat hoping he’d confront you, at least wonder why your attitude towards him had seemed to change in the blink of an eye, but he hadn’t. And that stung.

Obviously rumours had circulated in middle school about what was going on between you two. Kids, no, people love to talk. And talk they did.

It had been widely known that you and Mark used to be inseparable at one point in time, and it was jarring seeing how differently you two were acting around each other.

Mark and that friend of yours had broken up some time after that, and evidently she was pissed. It seemed as if she had begun spreading gossip about you, claiming that you had been some sort of psycho ex-girlfriend and that you had threatened Mark to break up with her, essentially, she was villainising you.

When high school finally rolled around, Mark’s ex had moved by then—you weren’t sure where and you didn’t care to know. The rumours eventually died down with her absence, and you thought that maybe, just maybe, you and Mark could finally make amends, bury the hatchet, as one would say. But that never happened.

Looking back, you’re a bit amused at what an eventful and dramatic childhood you had. All those scandals at just thirteen? What a boss bitch. Present you would not be able to stomach that.

You take a peek at Mark. He’s attractive. Of course he is. He had been a cute kid, no doubt, but as he’s aged, he’s matured into his good looking features. He’s not the rugged and manly kind of good looking, he’s got more of a sweet boyish look to him, and in your opinion, it adds to his charm.

“What are you staring at?”

Shit, you’ve been caught. No, caught? It’s not like you were doing something you shouldn’t have. “Nothing.” You reach forward to take a sip from the infamous Coke can. It’s lukewarm, but you gulp it down regardless, trying to appear unfazed.

“Were you checking me out?”

Disaster strikes just as those words leave Mark’s lips. The putrid sensation of warm coke leaves your mouth entirely, not because you’ve begrudgingly swallowed it all, but because you’ve spit it out from the sheer shock of Mark’s question.

“Hey! What the fuck?” Mark stands from his chair across from you and its legs scrape against the floor with a sound that makes your skin crawl.

You cough and sputter, gasping for air. Once you’ve gotten past that tight feeling in your throat, you wipe the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand. A few droplets of the sugary drink dribble onto your shirt. But fortunately, well for you at least, you’re not as drenched in spit-laced Coke as Mark is.

“Shit!” You lift your gaze to look at Mark, who’s surprised, to say the least.

Mark takes a breath to say something, the words on the tip of his tongue, but he clamps his mouth shut, opting to groan in annoyance instead. “Jesus, why’d you even do that?”

Your face burns in embarrassment. No way you’re going to admit to him that you were checking him out. Sort of. “I don’t know, it just went down the wrong channel, I guess.”

Mark’s lips form a thin line of dissatisfaction. “Yeah, okay, whatever.” He cringes as his shirt sticks to him. “ I’m gonna go change.”

He runs a hand through his hair, face upturned in frustration as he stomps up the stairs, his footsteps echoing throughout the living room. Your eyes follow his figure until he turns a left into his room.

You sigh. If you were home alone, you would have screamed in humiliation. The can of Coke on the table mocks you. You resist the urge to pick it up and hurl it into Mark’s neighbour’s backyard—well, your backyard.

A sliver of positivity presents itself in the form of you and Mark’s mostly unscathed worksheets. There are a few stray droplets here and there, but it’s barely noticeable. It would’ve been much worse for both Mark and you if you had drenched those as well. In fact, your homework wouldn’t be drenched in just saliva and Coke, but also in tears at that point.

You curse the can in your grasp, its aluminium smooth against your skin, before you dump it in the bin. Good riddance, bitch.

I should apologise. You can suck up your pride for that. No, this isn’t even about petty things like pride anymore. That shouldn’t matter. I should apologise, you think to yourself firmly.

Alright. Apologising. Sorry. You inhale deeply, gathering your senses and calming your jittery nerves. Why are you even nervous? It’s not like you’re professing your undying love to him. Chill the fuck out.

As you’re standing before Mark’s single, wooden door (which looks extremely daunting for some reason), it doesn’t dawn on you that perhaps you should knock first.

If it had, then perhaps you wouldn’t be staring at a shirtless Mark, your hand still wrapped around his doorknob and your mouth hung agape.

“Oh my God, Mark!” You cover your eyes, the door shutting behind you with a creak. You’re a bit ashamed at how fast your cheeks are overtaken by a hot, prickling feeling. “Why are you naked?”

Mark, though just as startled as you are, has the common sense to reach blindly for the stained shirt he just took off, holding it in front of him. “What do you mean why am I naked? Why are you here?”

You take a few steps back, your back pressed up against the door. “I- I came up here to say I’m sorry. You know, for uh, just now?”

Your hands slowly fall to your sides as you burn holes into Mark’s carpeted floor with your eyes instead.

“Oh, uh, o-okay. Apology accepted, I guess.” Mark’s voice cracks and he clears his throat. “Let me just uhm—”

You can hear his drawer sliding open and the faint rustle of fabric. All the while you keep your gaze glued to the floor, feeling your cheeks grow warmer by the second. Oh my God, you’re acting like a little girl who’s just held a boy’s hand for the first time.

This isn’t the first time you’ve seen a guy naked—for fuck’s sake, Mark’s not even naked. He’s all covered up where he should be. Why is the sight of just his bare body from the waist up making your mind go blank and your palms grow sweaty? It’s not like you have feelings for him anymore. No, you don't.

“You can uh, you can look up now.”

You steel yourself, looking up to face Mark. Why did you have to steel yourself? It’s not like he’d have taken even more clothes off once you looked up again. You feel like slamming your head into the wall.

You fiddle with your fingers, searching for something to say to try and ease the tension. “Uh, sorry. For spilling that Coke all over you, I mean.” You scratch the nape of your neck. “And for you know, walking in on you changing.”

“Why didn’t you leave?”

Your shoulders slump. “Huh?”

Mark chuckles confidently, like he’s unabashed. His cheeks are ablaze with colour, though. “I mean, why didn’t you just back out of the room when you walked in on me changing? Why’d you just stand there?”

You blink at him. Why didn’t you just leave? “I- I froze up, okay? Don’t bully me!” Your ears are burning.

“Yeah, okay, okay.” Mark raises his hands by his sides, that entertained smile never leaving his lips. “Let’s go back down, okay? I still need to finish my work.”

You chew on your inner cheek. “Yeah, whatever,” you try to find a creative name to call him.

“Yeah, I know. Nerd.” Mark raises his brows at you, still with that amused grin. You wish you could smack it right off his stupidly handsome face.

You huff, turning on your heel and practically booking it to the stairs. Mark catches up to you in no time with long, languid strides. Stupid long ass legs.

“Hey, wait up, loser,” he says, a hint of delight in his voice. He pokes your side and you jump, shoving his hand away and mustering a weak glare at him. “Oh, are you ticklish?”

You gnaw on your bottom lip. “No, I’m not, fatass!” Despite your harsh tone, your cheeks deceive you, blossoming with warmth yet again.

Mark smiles genuinely this time, although there’s no sarcastic edge to it whatsoever. “You getting shy?”

“No, I’m not.”

“Hey, don’t be upset!” The next thing Mark says is nearly incomprehensible, but you hear it. Oh, you definitely do.

“You look cute.”

Your head swivels to look back at Mark, and you realise that he hadn’t meant for you to hear that.

The faintest of smiles teases your lips, before you turn away, denying him the satisfaction of seeing you break out into a grin. “Yeah, whatever, Mark.”

Now, it’s Mark’s turn to be enveloped in heat as a red tint spreads across his cheeks.

311 notes · View notes

hockeyboysiguess · 4 years

Text

Year One

a/n: coming up with this idea completely threw me off working the other day and i have no regrets. this has a little bit of everything in it. you like friends to lover? it’s in here. you like very large hockey players with tiny children? it’s in here. you like very soft smuttiness? it’s in here. you like cutesy dates? they’re in here. there’s a little bit of something for everyone in this one, so I hope you find a part you like!

warnings: swearing, mild smutty-sort of action, drinking, and a ton of cavity causing sweetness.

January

This party was definitely going to require another drink. It’s not that you weren’t having fun; it’s that all of your friends were having quite a lot of fun. You snuck away from your drunkest friend and headed to the kitchen to refill your cup. You sighed when you glanced over the counter holding your variously terrible options.

“Okay, what combination looks like it would taste the least like paint thinner,” you mumbled to yourself.

“Definitely the Strawberry Lemonade Svedka and the grape Fanta. It sounds weird but it turned out pretty good honestly.”

You turned toward the voice and you smiled a little to yourself. He was positively gorgeous. Strong shoulders, muscled tattooed arms, sharp jawline covered in stubble, and a smile that drew you in. He came over towards you and you noticed how much he dwarfed you and it made your mind wander.

“Is it?” you asked with a raise of your eyebrow.

“Look, your other possible combinations are objectively terrible. Like who buys birthday cake vodka?” he asked, his face scrunching at the idea. “I know it’s a birthday party but, yeah, no.”

You laughed and he smiled softly at you.

“I’m Pierre-Luc,” he told you.

“That’s kind of long,” you added after telling him your name. “Got any nicknames available?”

He laughed and scrunched his nose up as he looked at you, “I play hockey actually so I’ve got lots of things for you to chose from if you want.”

You grabbed the flavored vodka and the grape soda per his recommendations and poured them into your cup. You tried it and nodded softly. It wasn’t anywhere near as bad as you had imagined it would be. You grabbed the edge of the counter and hauled yourself up, letting your feet dangle against the cabinets.

“Hit me with ‘em and I’ll pick the best one you should exclusively use from here on out,” you said confidently, not sure if that confidence was you or the alcohol talking.

“Pretty sure one nickname picked out by a girl is going to get me chirped to no end,” Pierre-Luc sighed, but it was playful. His free hand rubbed the back of his neck as he spoke, giving you a glimpse of the tattoos on the underside of his arm.

“But I’m a hot girl,” you took a sip of your drink as he raised an eyebrow at you, a smirk forming on his face. “Oh don’t even. You’ve stared at my boobs at least six times since I met you three minutes ago. You’re averaging at least two looks a minute.”

A wide smile broke out across his face as he raised his hands in the air, feigning innocence. You took a sip of your drink as you watched him, as clearly as he could manage, rake his eyes up and down your body, pausing as various points that particularly interested him. You were relishing in the attention and he certainly didn’t mind giving it.

“Guilty as charged,” he said, his smile shifting from humorous to cocky. “So, I think you were about to judge the shit out of my name some more?”

It would have made for a fun night if not for someone running into the kitchen as soon as he finished his sentence.

“Hey, you’re came here with that Kelsey right?” the guy said, pointing at you. “Because she just threw up like, everywhere in the bathroom and-”

“And gotta go handle that,” you mumbled, sliding off the counter begrudgingly. “Uh, I guess I’ll see you around?”

It came out more like a question than you’d meant it to, and Pierre-Luc nodded as he stepped aside and cleared the way for you.

“Yeah, no, definitely. I’ll see you around.”

February

Pierre-Luc had been easy to find on Instagram after the party. It was nice to confirm that your drunk mind was not remembering him hotter than he was, but you didn’t want to make the first move so you stopped yourself short of hitting the follow button on his page. If he wanted to talk to you, he’d come to you, you decided. However, that was almost four weeks ago. It was February now and you let it go, chalking it another temporary drunk connection and moving on. This is until you agreed to go ice skating a the local outdoor rink with Kelsey and a few other friends. He was already there when you arrived.

Everyone exchanged pleasantries and names. Kelsey was introducing you to the people you didn’t know yet, but you barely remembered anyone because you were anxious to talk to Pierre-Luc again. You tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention. He spun around to face you. A soft smile pulled up the corners of his mouth when he saw you and you instantly realized you hadn’t practicing saying anything beyond hello.

“Hey.”

Well, now you were flying unplanned and anxious, a dangerous combination that put the threat level of saying something that was way too much extremely high.

“Hi there,” he replied, his smile growing as he spoke. “How are you?”

Thank god he’d apparently thought at least one step further than you because it gave you something to respond to and something to ask him in return. He answered that he was busy since it was hockey season and all.

“And yet, you’re here to skate on your day off?” you asked him.

He shrugged and laughed a little, “Can’t get away from it, I guess. I don’t mind. I love skating.”

“Might have to hit you up for a few pointers because I’m definitely super rusty and let’s be honest, there really isn’t much skill under the rust,” you joked with him.

“I can help,” Pierre-Luc cut in instantly, just a tad too eagerly, so he tried to smooth it over with a classic, “I mean, if you want me to.”

“I need all the help I can get,” you huffed as you sat down on the bench to start lacing up your skates.

You struggled to tighten the laces, giving them a pull with all your might as Pierre-Luc laced up both of his skates with practiced ease. You watched him tie off his second skate before you’d managed to get halfway through your first. Whatever he was doing was not at all applicable to you.

“That’s definitely half of your problem right there,” he teased you as he sat down next to you. “Your skates are way too loose.”

“Well, strong hockey man, then fix it,” you sighed, letting the laces fall from your hands.

“Not sure we’re gonna stick with that nickname,” he laughed.

He stood up only to kneel down in front of you. Your mind practically ran to the imagine of his head between your legs for something else and you had to shove the thought aside as he picked up the laces to properly tie your skates. Where you struggled, he had no issues at all. Did you pretend your left skate was looser than your right after he asked you if it did? Yes. Was the left skate looser? You didn’t even have enough experience to really answer the question, but you really liked watching his muscles tense as he pulled the laces tighter.

“Thanks, Luc,” you said as he stood up, finally satisfied with his workmanship.

“We’re going with Luc, eh? Pretty bland nickname choice.” He offered you his hand to help pull you to your feet. “You gonna be able to walk to the rink there, shaky?”

“Sometimes the most obvious choice is the best choice,” you replied, “and yes, I’m fine. Thanks for your abundant concern.”

You couldn’t see him, but you could feel Luc’s hand hovering near the small of your back in case you did fall even though you were sure you wouldn’t. You stepped out on the ice, your feet sliding a bit out from under you with the transition, but you managed to stay on your feet. You heard Luc slide onto the ice after you. He pivoted until he was in front of you, skating backwards in order to get face to face with you. You weren’t exactly looking at him though. Your eyes were trained on your skates.

“If you cut me off, I will fall over,” you warned him. You were entirely too focused on staying upright to pay much attention to him. “I learned how to go forward and sort of turn. Stopping was never in my skill set.”

“Sounds like you need a lesson from a master,” Luc joked, earning a glare from you. “Come on. It’s not that hard. I’ll show you. Trust me?”

March

“Jesus,” you muttered to yourself as some of your beer spilled on your hand. Luc had slammed some guy from the other team into the boards in front of you. “Are hockey games always this violent?”

“Have you really never been to a game before this?” Kelsey asked. “Well, free tickets right against the glass from your hot hockey player boyfriend is a hell of a way to be introduced to a live hockey game.

You shook your now beer-covered hand off and scrunched your nose up at Kelsey before telling her, “He’s not my boyfriend and you know that. We just talk.”

“Oh come on, the way he looks at you!”

She practically shouted that sentence. One of her biggest flaws as a friend after her inability to keep down more than four drinks was that she could not control the volume of her voice under any circumstance. At least this time, the venue meant she wasn’t entirely too loud for the crowd.

“You know he’s not, Kels,” you told her after taking a sip of your beer. “I don’t even know if he would want that. Literally all we do is talk and Snapchat.”

“Shirtless snaps post-practice?” she asked you, a hopeful look in her eyes. You shook your head, so she tried again, “Lots of red heart and or red heart eyes emojis?”

“Kels, stop,” you laughed. “I think it was just a thing at the party when we were drunk. It’s fine. Not everything has to be a thing. We can just be friends. I’m good with that.”

“Whatever.”

She waved you off, but at least the conversation was over. You weren’t trying to get your hopes up with Luc. You saw the way every girl in every room he went into looked at him and he was a really great guy to top it all off, but you’d been in this sort of situation before. You knew better than to try to wear your heart on your sleeve here.

That didn’t stop your heart from pounding in your chest when you saw him post-game. The Blue Jackets had won 4-3, so Luc’s smile was on full display as he found you after the post-game interviews. His suit fit him so well, darting in perfectly at his waist, making him look impossibly broader somehow. The first few buttons on his white dress shirt were undone and his tie was loosely hanging around his neck.

Kelsey had gotten in your head. Now the only thing you could think about as you looked at him was how badly you wanted to grab the collar of his shirt and pull his mouth down to meet yours.

“Ready to head out?” he asked you. He motioned down the hallway and you followed his lead, heading towards the blue double doors ahead. “I believe you promised me that I could pick the movie tonight if we won?”

“A promise is a promise,” you sighed, “even though you’re going to pick something god awful.”

He smiled wider at you before asking, “Did you enjoy the game?”

“Yeah, actually. I had a great time. Kelsey ditched five minutes before the end. That guy she met at the bar last weekend wanted to grab drinks or something. i try not to ask too many questions I don’t want to know the answers to,” you told him. “Thanks for inviting me, Luc.”

“Thanks for coming,” he replied as you stepped through the doors and into the cool air on your way to his car.

It was cold for March. Not all that cold for Columbus in March, but cold for most people’s definition of March. You still had your coat on, but thankfully it wasn’t quite gloves and hat and scarf weather anymore. You could see Luc’s breath faintly as you walked toward his car, but at least he world wasn’t quite as frosty as it had been last month on the outdoor rink with him. Something told you that your feelings for him were soon going to be inevitable, but for now his friendship was what you needed.

April

Luc’s empty beer glass slammed down on the bar next to you. He’d emptied it faster than you thought he even could.

“Fuck, I hate losing,” he hissed through his teeth. “Fucking game seven.”

You almost opened your mouth to say that at least they’d made it to the playoffs unlike sixteen other teams, but the first round exit was clearly hitting him hard. Instead, you made eye contact with the bartender, bringing him over towards you and Luc. Luckily, this particular bartender had been eyeing you since you walked in and it was definitely possible you were using it to get faster service. At least you were tipping him well.

“Yeah, can you just keep those coming for my friend here?” you asked nicely, putting on your best smile for him as you patted Luc on the back.

“Sure,” he said, smiling back you brightly. “And what would you like next?”

“Can I try the new sour you guys just made?” you asked, still keeping that smile dialed up as he poured Luc’s next beer and then handed it to him.

“Of course. I’ll be right back with that.”

The bartender slid past you a few moments layer, dropping your drink off with a thousand-watt smile, before moving on to the next customer. Luc looked at you with a soft smirk on his face and a slightly judgmental look in his eyes. He shook his head at you and clicked his tongue at you a few times as he brought his fresh beer to his lips for a few massive gulps from the glass.

“That’s not nice what you’d doing to that man,” he told you.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You took a sip of your drink to try and hide the shameful look on your face. “Just drink your beer and be happy.”

Luc laughed, the first time you’d heard a genuine laugh since the loss the other night before telling you, “It’s really not fair when you do that since you have zero intention of giving him your number.”

“You don’t know how I feel,” you retorted, even though Luc was correct.

“Oh, please. I know I’m right.” Luc set down his beer as he leaned in close to you. “He’s not your type.”

“And how do you know what my type is?”

You cocked a brow at him as you took a sip of your drink. Luc nodded softly as one of his large hands fidgeted with his glass. His cheeks, forever your indicator of his nerves, turned a light shade of pink.

“I mean, I’m pretty sure I’m your type.” His voice was steady and strong but, his hand was sliding against the slick glass between his palms and his cheeks were pink verging on red. “Something at the party was telling me if Kelsey hadn’t puked everywhere maybe the night might have ended differently?”

It was a question, but he already knew the answer to it. You tilted your head to the side though, deciding to play along.

“What do you mean, Luc?”

Your voice was soft and just a little curious, trying to force him into telling you exactly what he meant by that. Your heart was pounding as all you could think was maybe he was feeling what you had started to feel. Luc’s eyes turned to you. He was studying your face, trying to find some sign of what you were feeling. His eyes landed on your lips and your breath hitched in your throat.

“Fuck it.”

Luc leaned in quickly and you titled you head up so he could kiss you easily. He smiled down at you as one of his hands cupped one side of your face. He knew you wanted this too. His lips were inches from yours now and you could only smell his cologne and hear your heart beating in your ears as you were being enveloped by him.

“PL!”

Someone shouting made him yank away from you before his lips could meet yours. He dropped his hand from your face and his jaw tensed as he turned to look at Jonesy who you discovered was the culprit who ruined this moment

“Oh shit,” Jonesy said between closed teeth. “Uh, my bad, man. But Boone is super fucked up and I need some help getting him home and you’re the only one still here.”

Luc sighed and ran a hand over his face as he pull himself back to reality. He knocked back the last dregs of beer in this glass before he leaned back and grabbed his wallet out of his pocket. He thumbed through until he pulled out cash and handed it to you.

“Can you close my tab? Also, can you text me when you and Kelsey get home safe?” He dropped some cash on the bar next to you. “That should cover my tab and yours and a ride home.

Normally, you would’ve pushed the cash back into his hands, but the look in his eyes was telling you should take it because he wasn’t going to take no for an answer tonight.

“Yeah, yeah, no problem.”

Luc slid off the stool to his feet and went to head in Jonesy’s direction. He paused and turned on his heels to come back to you.

“Would you like go out with me sometime? Like a real date?”

May

“I did not think I’d be as bad at this as I am,” you sighed as you tried again to putt the ball into the hole on the course.

Luc managed to get two under par on the same hole and you were about ready to throw your stick in the pond with frustration. You didn’t know you could be as bad at something as you apparently were at mini golf.

“Relax,” Luc’s large hands gripped your shoulders, applying pressure in an effort to make you calm down that only made you more tense. “Maybe this just isn’t your thing?”

“It’s very clear this isn’t my thing, Luc,” you informed him as you hit your club against the toe of your sneaker. “I hate things I’m not good at.”

“Oh, competitive are we?” He took the first stroke on this hole, getting dangerously close to a hole-in-one and you knew you were about to, like every other hole, get absolutely destroyed. The score card had been accidentally dropped into the pong by hole seven and you clearly didn’t know how it happened. “Too bad I’m more competitive than you.”

“Did you just try to start an argument over which one of us was more competitive?” You tried to verbally snipe back at him as you hit the ball, but you nearly hit it clean out the source and settle for losing this round entirely. “Must be a low moment for you to have to brag about being more competitive than a girl half your size while playing mini golf.”

He reached for you, one of his large hands finding one of your hips and pulling you into him. You felt so comfortable against his chest that he reminded you of a certain feeling you couldn’t quite place, kind of like being at home. Luc kissed the top of your head, bring you back to reality.

“You missed,” you told him as you looked up at him, meeting his soft eyes with yours.

He gave you a confused look before it was replaced with a look of understanding and he verbally added, “Oh, I owe you from the bar a few weeks ago. I see.”

“You were about to do something, I think anyway, and then you had. totake Boone home and then you shipped your own ass off to Quebec,” you fake whined, pressing your palms against his chest, which somehow felt better under your hands than you could have imagined.

“Hey, hey, I apologize,” he smiled down at you, “and I came back for you, right? That’s gotta count for something. Even if I’m destroying you at mini golf.”

“Couldn’t have just taken me to dinner?” you joked, your smile coating each word you spoke with a playful edge.

“Too boring for a girl this far out of my league,” Luc replied. He reached a hand up to tuck your hair behind your ear, letting the strands tangle in his fingers before he spoke again, “I’m going to try and kiss you again now, just so you’re aware. And no one is going to interrupt me this time.”

The entire world disappeared the moment his lips found yours for the first time. This moment was created and inhabited solely by the two of you. No one else could break in even if they tried. His mouth moved against yours and you felt like you were on fire. Everywhere his hands ghosted over felt like he lit it ablaze, leaving a trail of need and destruction in his wake. You were putty in his hands and he loved it so much. You wanted him and he was more than happy to meet you in the middle on a surprising cool May afternoon on a mini golf course just outside of Columbus, Ohio. You never thought that’s where the rest of your life would begin, but you couldn’t deny that it had.

June

How Luc already had sunburn tingeing the tops of his ears and the tip of his nose less than twenty minutes into being outside was beyond your understanding and you had to tease him for being one of the palest people you’d ever seen. Maybe asking him to come the an outdoor arts festival and not bringing sunscreen for him was a mistake.

“How?” you asked, gesturing to his nose.

“This is me,” he smiled at you. “Take me or leave me, sunburn and all.”

“I think I’ll keep you?”

You said it like a question, but a smile broke out across your face before you’d even finished your sentence. A matching one formed on Luc’s face and he reached for you. His large hands set on your waist, pulling you into him as his mouth captured yours.

“Hey, get a room!”

You weren’t sure which one of his teammates shouted it at you, but neither of your cared. Luc smiled against your lips and you couldn’t help but smile back, ruining the kiss but not the moment.

“Why do we go places with them?” you fake whined a little, your hands pressing softly on his chest as your spoke.

“Because they don’t get out without us,” Luc muttered softly to you. “It’s charity.”

You leaned your head back and laughed. Luc’s hands moved to the small of your back, his long fingers lacing together to support you as his laughter joined yours. You leaned forward again so your eyes could meet his.

“We should probably catch up to them,” Luc told you before his lips found yours again. “They’ll wander into some booth and a little old lady is going to convince them to buy all of her arts and crafts or something.”

Luc knew he teammates well because that’s exactly the situation you found the other boys in. This particular little old lady was apparently into making three-dimensional crotched cats. She was showing Zach a particular one she’d made that apparently resembled her calico cat she had as a small child and how she only offered it to customers who reminded her of her long lost childhood love. You took a deep breath and headed into the booth to begin a very painful rescue mission.

You didn’t realize until you managed to escape, after buying eight of her creations, that Luc had disappeared. You grabbed your phone out of your purse to see if he’d texted you where he’d gone.

“Hey, did you see where PL went?” you asked Jonesy. He took a sip of his wine slushee he’d picked up half a block ago that was already mostly empty and shook his head no. You turned toward Josh and raised an eyebrow. “Josh?”

“Nope. He’s your responsibility anyway,” Josh replied.

You looked around on your tip-toes, trying to see if you could spot his tall frame anywhere, but you were definitely too short for the task at hand. You let out a frustrated sigh and rocked back on your heels. Seconds later, a strong arm wrapped around your mid-section, pulling you into a familiar broad chest.

“Hey,” Luc whisper in your ear. “Sorry, I thought I’d be back before you managed to break them out of jail.”

“I work fast,” you replied as you rubbed along his muscled forearm currently positioned across your stomach.

You heard something rustling behind you and Luc’s other arm wrapped around you to present you with why he’d gone missing.

“Flowers!” you practically squealed, drawing a soft laugh from Luc and some chuckles from the other boys as you grabbed the flowers with both hands and pulled them into your chest. “Thank you.”

“Hey, hey.” Luc’s hands grabbed your hips and tugged, spinning you to face him. “You didn’t even let me finish before you took them so I hope your answer is yes or I’m going to have to take those back.”

You gripped the flowers protectively against your chest carefully so you didn’t crush any of the delicate petals. No guy you were seeing had ever actually bought you flowers before and Luc had remembered you telling him that on your first date, trying to figure out the right moment to fulfill your fantasy.

“Mine,” you pouted, trying to look as cute as possible so he felt bad about threatening to take them away. “What’s the question?”

“Will you be my girlfriend?”

He bit the side of his lip, a smile pulling up the corners of his mouth, as he waiting for your answer. It was one of the easiest yeses of your life.

July

“Cannonball!”

You weren’t sure who had jumped into the pool, just that they’d created a big enough splash that had caused water to spray up on you and Luc. Luc’s arms were wrapped around your bare stomach. His hands had been on you the entire afternoon so far and he was showing no signs of stopping soon. Some girl nearby was freaking out about how her swimsuit had gotten wet from the splash as apparently it wasn’t designed to actually get wet.

“Thank god I’ve got you,” Luc mumbled in your ear, one arm lifting off you to bring his beer to his mouth for a quick swig. “Who the hell buys a swimsuit that can’t get wet and wears it to a pool party?”

You threw your head back against his shoulder as you laughed, the drink he’d mixed for you sloshing in your cup at your movements. Luc kissed the side of your head and gave your stomach a little squeeze.

“God, you two are so cute it’s disgusting,” Jonesy told you.

“You wish you had this hot-”

Water splashing on the two of you again cut Luc off before he could finish his drunk, loose lipped sentence. You squealed a little since this splash had pretty much soaked you both.

“Wanna go inside and dry off?” Luc whispered in your ear.

You smiled, your tongue darting between your teeth as he chuckled in your ear. You quickly started to dowm the rest of your drink, nodding in response to him as you drank. You barely had a chance to finish before Luc was grabbing one of your hands and pulling you towards the house. He was trying to be subtle about it and sneak away, but he was 6’3” and still incredibly pale despite summer being in full swing, so you know several people took notice. Neither of you cared.

Luc found an empty guest bedroom and pulled you in quickly, his eagerness guiding his movements. He shut the door by pushing you up against it as his mouth met yours. Your hands grabbed at his broad shoulders as his mouth pressed hungrily against yours. He grabbed right onto your waist and lifted you off the ground. You wrapped your legs around his waist for support as his tongue worked against yours.

“Fuck, baby, you look so good,” Luc mumbled as he moved from your mouth to your neck.

You let yourself drop just a little deeper into his arms so you could find the friction you both desperately wanted. Your core ground against the hardness in his shorts and he groaned against your skin.

“Shit,” he breathed out against your skin. “Trying to kill me already?”

“We do not have time for your slow and steady teasing shit right now,” you replied breathless as one of his hands slowly started tugging at the tie of your bikini top around the back of your neck.

“You’re normally,” he took the edge of one of the cups of your bikini top in between his teeth and pulled it aside to reveal your hard nipple, “much more into it.”

His mouth was on your stiff nipple before you could respond and a moan left your open mouth instead of the words you tried to say.

“Fuck, Luc,” you said breathlessly. “Stop fucking around and fuck me already.”

August

You were fiddling with the strap of your purse across your lap. Your right foot was tapping nervously against the floorboard of Luc’s car.

“What if they don’t like me?” you finally asked him. He’d been trying to get you to tell him how you felt the entire drive over to his parents’ house outside of Montreal. “I mean, I know you’re gonna tell me they will-”

“Because they will,” he cut in. “I know they will.”

“But,” you continued firmly, “what if they don’t?”

“Baby, I promise you that they’re going to love you.” Luc reached across the console and grabbed on to your hands folded around your purse strap. “I wouldn’t lie to you about this, okay? You have absolutely nothing to worry about. I’ve told them all about you and they are really excited to meet this girl who has completely swept me off my feet.”

You smiled with closed lips at his words. Your nerves were still more prominent than any comfort he tried to offer you. You let out a long breath as you tried to pull yourself together a bit. Luc had been itching to get you up to Montreal since the summer started so you could meet his family before the first game of the season and with camp on the horizon next month, August was the only time that made sense. However, two months of preparation was nowhere near long enough to calm your nerves, but you weren’t sure if there was an amount that would have gotten the job done.

“It’s just,” you sighed again, “I know how important they are to you and if I fuck this up, what’s going to happen?”

“You’re pretty much physically incapable of fucking this up,” Luc laughed, giving you a sweet smile. “Look, if they don’t like you, you can punch me in the face for lying to you, okay?”

You shook your head and tried to fight the wide smile he was pulling from you, but you couldn’t. Luc leaned in and placed a quick kiss on your lips.

“Alright, get out of the car while you’re still smiling,” he ordered you. “Let’s go.”

Four hours later as you sat back in Luc’s passenger seat on the way back to his apartment, you couldn’t remember why you’d been so nervous in the first place. His dad had decided you were good five minutes in and within the first hour, he’d moved you up to great status. His mom was harder to read, but you knew you’d cracked her when Luc prompted a conversation about baking and she took an interest in your family apple pie recipe which involved not one but two kinds of liquor in it.

“You know they love you, right?” Luc told you. “They made sure to tell me when you went to the bathroom.”

You smiled and reached over to pat his knee. You weren’t going to tell him you’d heard every word his parents had said to him.

“Luc, she’s great,” his mom had said to him. “Really, she’s welcome here anytime. She’s wonderful.”

“Looks like you learned a think or two from me about getting a women very far out of your league to date you,” his dad had joked.

“And she was worried you guys wouldn’t like her,” Luc laughed to them.

“We could never dislike someone who made you this happy,” his mom replied.

“She really does,” Luc sighed. You could hear the smile in his voice as he spoke about you. “She’s just, she’s everything, you know? Including so many things I didn’t realize I wanted. She’s beyond anything I’d ever thought about. I’ve just never met someone that makes me want to be a better person that she does and that’s way too much information. Mom, are you crying?”

“You just, god, you’re so grown up. Look at you!”

When the moment shifted, you had headed back to the bathroom just to give them a little more time. Luc’s voice when he spoke about you was on a loop in your head and it played like a broken record the entire car ride back to his apartment. He was so genuinely happy when he talked about you. It was the kind of joy that infected the people around you, pulling them in even though they didn’t quite understand it. Your mom had told you that you sounded the same way the first time you told her about him. You let your mind linger on what they could mean as you fell asleep wrapped up in his arms that night. You couldn’t quite figure it out, but you knew it meant he was important to you and you were important to him.

September

The stress of camp and the approaching season had made you both crack at the same time on a cool September evening. You’d both said things you didn’t mean, hurling words designed specifically to hit each other’s weak spots. You’d walked out after a particularly sensitive verbal jab from him and he didn’t come after you, two major issues stacked together. He’d picked you up after you finished work today, so you didn’t have your car, a series of events you were currently regretting as you wandered aimlessly around his neighborhood. You’d passed the point of clearing your head and now you were just painfully aware of the fact that you left your jacket on Luc’s couch and it was colder than you’d thought it was.

You pulled out your phone and opened up Uber. Unfortunately, the nearest ride to you was over fifteen minutes away. Stupid Thursdays in the middle of the night in Columbus. You kicked a nearby rock with the toe of your sneaker as you sighed. Naturally, you had to fuck you the best thing in your life. It’s what you’d always done.

“Oh thank fucking god.”

You looked up in time to see Luc running up to you, arms outstretched. He wrapped you up in his arms and you stiffened. He pressed his face into your hair to envelop you in him, ignoring how you were unsure what to do in the moment.

“Fuck, you just left. I was so worried,” he mumbled into your hair.

You hadn’t even thought through your anger enough to realize that going out in the middle of the night by yourself might not have been the smartest idea. You slowly wrapped your arms around his waist.

“I know I was a shit head, but please promise me you won’t just walk out like that again.” Concern coating each word as it left his lips. “I was so fucking worried. I’m so fucking sorry, baby girl.”

"I’m sorry, Luc,” you mumbled against his chest.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he whispered back. “We’re both just stressed right now and I know I took it out on you and I shouldn’t have. You deserve a hell of a lot better than me taking the stress of the season coming out on you.”

“No, no.” You pulled back from him a bit so he could hear you clearly and you continued, “It’s okay to be stressed about the season starting. I took my stress about it out on you. I just, this sounds so stupid, I know, but I just worry that when we can’t spend as much time together that you’re not going to like me as much and something is going to happen because we won’t be together as much and I just really, really, really don’t want that to happen.”

You knew you were rambling, letting your nervousness come out all at once. You were losing track of what was actually coming out of your mouth and what was just flying through your head at this point. You noticed Luc’s brows furrow as he listened to you. He was shaking his head softly from left to right as you spoke. He must have had enough of listening to your rambling nonsense because his lips crashed into yours as his hands cupped your face in an attempt to get you to focus your energy somewhere else.

He pulled back from you an inch, “That,” then brought his lips back to your briefly, “is,” kiss, “not,” another kiss, ��going,” another, “to,” again, “happen.” He kept his mouth on yours this time, his tongue sliding against yours for a few moments before he pulled back again. “What else could I possibly want when what I’ve already got is so much better than I ever imagined anyone could be?”

You pushed him back against a nearby fence as you crushed your lips to his. Your mouth moved against his as his hands grabbed any part of you he could, moving from your face to your waist, grabbing your ass briefly, palming your breasts, anywhere he could think to touch.

“We should go home,” you breathed out as he moved his mouth to your neck.

“Oh yeah? Taking me home now, are you?” he mumbled against the sensitive skin of your neck.

His words with dripping in innuendo. Normally, you would’ve rolled your eyes at him and shoved him away jokingly, but there was a look in his eyes when they met yours again that went straight to your core and made your skin feel like it was on fire. So, you let him take you home.

October

"Luc!” you screamed. Your hands flew to his hair to try and get some stability as he started to lose his balance. “Luc!”

“I’m going to drop you if you don’t stop fucking wiggling,” he told you.

You glared down at him, not that he could see from your position on his shoulders. You squeezed your thighs in a little, applying gentle pressure on his neck to showcase your displeasure at how difficult he was making this process.

“Choking is my job and not where there’s all these little kids around,” Luc sang softly at you. “Did you get it yet?”

You stretched your arm out as far as you could and still needed to lean forward just a tad to get your hand to rap around the perfect apple you’d spotted from the ground.

“I got it!” you told him excitedly.

Luc laughed at your excitement. It was just an apple, but it was an apple that could’ve sat proudly on a kindergarten teacher’s desk and now it was your apple. He gently sank to his knees so you could get off his shoulder without causing too much risk of injury to either of you. It was a pretty high fall from his shoulders after all.

“You’re so useful.” You pat Luc’s cheek as a thank you with your eyes never leaving your apple.

“I feel like I’ve been replaced by a goddamn apple,” he said, annoyance permeating his voice. One of his heavy arms slung around your shoulders to pull you into his side. You sort of fell into him since there were already so many apples littering the ground of the orchard that you tripped a little, but he easily supported you. “Do you want to put your apple in the bucket or are you going to hold it the entire time?”

You glared up at him, drawing a laugh from him. You knew he thought you were too cute to ever succeed at looking threatening. You still maintained your glare as you gently placed the apple in the bucket with all of the others you’d already grabbed. Having a tall man to go apple picking with was giving you far more apple options than you normally had.

“These apples are indirectly for your mother, so consider the effort for your mother rather than for me,” you told him.

She was coming to town to watch the game this weekend and Luc had a day off prior to her arrival, so you decided that getting some fresh apples and making her your family apple pie recipe would be a nice gesture since she was so interested when you visited her back in August.

“You know she’d still like you even if you didn’t bake this pie and you’d just let me have my way with you all day.” Luc had whispered the last part in your ear, being careful that all of the children running through the orchard didn’t hear that.

You rolled your eyes at him, but let him pull you into his chest more as he kissed the top of your head.

“Um, excuse me, mister?”

You and Luke both turned to see a young girl, maybe five or six, standing a few feet away from you. Her mom was right behind her, watching the interaction carefully. Luc took his arm from around you so he could sink down, getting as close to eye level with her as he could.

“Hi,” he smiled softly at her. “My name’s Pierre-Luc. What’s your name?”

“Annie,” she said, a bright, toothy smile breaking out across her face. “You’re really tall, Mister Luc. Could you help me get an apple?”

“You know, I actually just did that for my girlfriend,” he informed her, gesturing to you as he spoke. “I think I got one more lift in me though, if that’s okay with your mom.” He looked over to the girl’s mom, who enthusiastically nodded at him.

“Honey, can you show the nice boy which apple you want?”

She pushed the little girl towards Luc and she immediately grabbed one of his hands and took off running, pulling him with her down the orchard. Her mom came to stand next to you as they came to a stop shortly, just a few trees over from where they started.

“Seems like you’ve got yourself a good one there,” the mom said softly to you. “I don’t know any guy close to his age that good with kids.”

You watched as Luc carefully placed his hands on his waist and lifted her up towards the apple of her dreams and you couldn’t help but smile. You’d seen him with the Savard children before and how good he was with them, but this one felt a little more real, a little more like this was something you could see in your future.

“He’s a good egg,” you told the mom. “I’m really lucky.”

“He’s cute too,” she said with a playful nudge of your arm. “Don’t let that one get away from you.”

“Mommy! Mommy!” little Annie screamed as she ran back to her mom, a bright red apple in her hands. “Look what I got!”

“You did? Look at that beauty!” she replied.

“Thank you so much,” she told Luc. “You absolutely made her day. Thank you again.”

“It’s no problem at all,” Luc assured her. “If she finds another one you can’t reach, come find me and I’m happy to help.”

You were pretty sure the mother thanked him at least seven more times before they headed off into a deeper part of the orchard. You looked over at Luc with a wide smile on your face and shook your head softly.

“What?” he asked you as he titled his head to the side as he tried to figure out how you were feeling.

“Just debating if you’re a Disney prince or something in your spare time is all,” you replied.

He blushed in response and smiling impossibly wider and you were a goner. Relationship were always terrifying to you, having to put that much of yourself into someone and trust they’ll treat like like you deserve to be treated. The potential directions relationships could go were vast like the ocean. You’d typically gone out to sea in the past with looming storm and had never stayed to far from the shore. With Luc, you’d slowly paddled out to sea, trusting a storm wouldn’t come and overturn your boat. Now, you were in so deep you couldn’t see shore anywhere around you anymore and for some reason, it didn’t scare you in the slightest.

November

“Baby, can you pass me the salt, please?” Luc asked you, hand outstretched toward you.

“Salt!” you shouted as you put it in his outstretched hand.

“Thank you. The pepper too?” he asked. You knew the ask was coming, so you were already prepared and slapped it into his waiting hand.

“You two are so precious.”

You hadn’t realized your mom had entered the kitchen until she spoke, making you and Luc jump a little. Luc had just enough time off right round Thanksgiving and your family was close enough to Columbus that you were able to make the day trip to spend it with them. Your mom had insisted you bring Luc along. She said she was going to make your good Canadian boy “American fat” for his first American family Thanksgiving. You knew better so by the transitive property Luc knew better than to try and resist your mom’s will, so you were both in the kitchen early on Thanksgiving morning helping make dinner.

“Uh, thanks, mom,” you told her.

Your eyes locked with Luc’s before you returned to chopping the celery for the stuffing you were making. He gave you a sweet smile before going back to stirring his pot. Your mom, the forever hoverer, headed over to observe Luc’s cooking, meaning she grabbed a spoon on her way there to taste his work in progress. When you’d first told her about him, you mentioned he knew how to cook and she didn’t believe a guy that young, that attractive, who plays that heteronormative-enforcing of a sport could cook. Based on her expression when she tasted the gravy, she realized how wrong she’d been.

“Oh my god, that’s incredible, sweetie,” she told him, a look of pure shock still present on her face.

“Thank you,” he replied as his cheeks tinging with pink in mild embarrassment.

Your mom patted him on the shoulder and threw her spoon in the dishwasher, knowing you’d get on her case if she’d come in and just left something for you to clean later, before she headed back into the living room where the football game was on.

“Thanks for coming.” You were pretty sure you’d said it to Luc at least a hundred times since you drove down last night. You couldn’t express how much it meant for him to take some of the very little rest time he had during the season and spend it with your family, one of the least restful things you could think of. “I mean it, PL. I really appreciate it.”

“You don’t have to keep thanking me,” he told you, his eyes never leaving the recipe book in his hands. “You know I’ll do anything for you because I lo- really care about you.”

You paused for a second and your breath caught in your chest. Had he almost just told you he loved you? Did you feel the same way? Did you just hear what you wanted to hear? Did you even want to hear him say that to you?

You shoved the thoughts aside, deciding that rambling thought process was better saved for another time, and walked over to him. He must have heard your feet as you shuffled over to him because his arm closest to you was already up and outstretched and he’d shifted to holding the recipe book with one hand. You accepted the invitation and wrapped both of your arms around his waist, sighed contently when you were pressed against his warm body.

“I really care about you too, Luc,” you told him, “and I really appreciate you coming with me. Can’t thank you enough for coming.”

“If you thank me one more time, I’m going to return a Christmas gift,” Luc sang softly to you, his eyes transfixed on the recipe. “Do you think it matters if I- oh fuck it, I’m just gonna throw it all in and see what happens.”

December

“Okay, you have to do this.” Luc threw the icing bag down on the kitchen table causing white icing to squirt everywhere. You were grateful you’d picked up a cheap table cloth just to do this like your mom always had. “My hands are too big for this.”

You laughed and grabbed the gummy wreath and the icing bag from in front of him. You carefully coated the back in icing and put a little extra on the door of your gingerbread house to make sure it would stick before placing it gently on the door.

“See, big man hands can’t do that,” Luc told you knowingly, making you laugh.

“Think you can handle putting the Cinnamon Toast Crunch on the roof like shingles?” you asked him, offering up the box of cereal in his direction.

“You are a creative genius with gingerbread, you know.” Luc took the cereal box from you. “You should quit your day job and become a gingerbread house designer.”

“Are you going to financially support me in the off-season? Seems like a very seasonal job without a ton of revenue opportunities,” you popped a candy Christmas light in your mouth, “but a lot of free goodies seem to be included.”

“Of course,” Luc replied without missing a beat.

His concentration was mostly on gently placing each individual cereal piece on the roof in careful, slightly overlapping lines to create a decorative roof. His tongue poked out between his teeth as he lined up a piece right on the edge of the roof and you snorted a little at the sight.

“Don’t laugh at me. I’m trying to support your vision here,” Luc told you in a jokingly serious tone.

“Your support is incredibly valuable to me.” You rolled an icing covered ice cream cone in green sprinkles to create a green tree for by the front door of the house before continuing, “This project wouldn’t be where it is without your endless support.”

“Mm,” was all he could say as he was back to the opposite edge of the roof again.

He cursed under his breath as his phone started to ring on the counter. He was covering in royal icing of various shades and sprinkles.

“Baby, could you get that? It’s probably my mom,” Luc asked you.

You got up and grabbed his phone off the counter. He was right. It was his mom. They’d just gotten to the airport they were connecting through to get to Columbus and just wanted to give Luc an update. You relayed the message and told her you were looking forward to dinner later with them, but you have an important construction project you needed to finish first so she wouldn’t launch into a conversation the length of their layover.

“She’s mad she doesn’t get you Christmas,” Luc told you as you sat back down. “My mom,” he added when he saw your confused face before elaborating further, “She understands why, but she says you’re part of the family, so she’s mad you’re not actually going to be here for Christmas.”

“My mom feels the same way,” you replied. “Not sure it’s you or your cooking she’s really missing though. Maybe next year we’ll bring everyone together here in Columbus? We’re going to need a bigger place though if we’re going to host that many people.”

“We’re going to need a bigger place for next year, eh?”

Luc emphasized the words “we” and “next year.” You hadn’t even realized you’d said that and now you realized that you’d suggested you were going to be together a year from now and that you would be okay with your parents meeting his at that point. You just jumped from casual banter to an incredibly serious future conversation.

“Well, I just- I don’t know. Forget it,” was all you could come up with as a response and you started fidgeting with the container of sprinkles in front of you as a distraction.

“I’d love all of that.”

You turned your head to face him, your eyes searching his face for any sign of discomfort at the idea his part. All you could see was him looking at you the way he always had, since the first day you met him almost a year ago now.

“I want you out of your shitty ass apartment with Kelsey. I want to see you on Christmas next year. I want to watch our dads try and interact.” You both laughed at that thought and then Luc continued, “I want you here with me all the time because I love you.”

Your mind had been racing last month when he’d almost said those words, not sure exactly how you felt. In this moment where the words had actually come out, a wave of calm came over you. This didn’t scare you at all like you had thought it would. This feeling had been building since the first time you met him and you hadn’t been able to place it until he said those words out loud for the first time. You knew you loved him.

“I love you too, Luc.”

#pierre luc dubois #pierre-luc dubois imagine #pierre-luc dubois #pierre luc dubois imagine #nhl imagine #nhl fanfic #nhl fic #nhl fanfiction #nhl writing #hockey imagine #hockey writing #hockey fanfiction

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thedistantdusk · 4 years

Text

Private

Thanks to @floreatcastellumposts for Brit-picking and @el-eye-zee-aye for organizing the Harry/Ginny Discord birthday challenge! This was a lot of fun! T for language/mild sexual humor.

On AO3

________________________

Being the significant other of the most desirable wizard in Britain doesn’t come without drawbacks. Ginny knew that from the off. Even the earliest days of their raw, rekindled relationship were marked with requests for interviews, a trend that continued throughout the summer of 1998. When she returned to Hogwarts that September, reporters took it upon themselves to sneak onto the platform, capture her and Harry’s final, departing snog… and then reprint it, absolutely everywhere. Without their consent.

Her decision to pursue professional quidditch after Hogwarts made the situation both better and worse. On one hand, the publicity became less random. Less speculative. As soon as she signed with the Harpies, her privacy was protected — at least to some degree. Press events were soon planned and targeted instead of the sporadic, anxiety-inducing sneaks attacks to which she’d become accustomed.

The trade-off, of course, is that when press events do happen, they’re dreadful.

Utterly, completely dreadful.

Ginny sits in the enormous purple armchair and bites the inside of her cheek. She hates interviews like these… ones of the aforementioned dreadful variety. This one is with Sandra Richardson of Witch Weekly, a woman known for her propensity towards twisting words and taking statements out of context. But it’s part of the job, Ginny reminds herself for the thousandth time that morning. She must sit through six of these per year, each before a match. She must be generally pleasant and polite. She must represent her team well.

And above all else, she must not lose her temper. Right.

“Don’t be nervous, dear,” croons a dripping, saccharine voice. Oh. Ginny swallows. Sandra Richardson, here for the interview.

Sandra places the tray on the table between them and shoots Ginny a wink as she begins pouring tea for each of them. A younger, more naive Ginny might have trusted Sandra from her appearance alone. Her gold jewelry and buttoned blouse make her seem more matronly than predatory. But just as she plops down in her armchair, brushing a lock of her coiffed blonde hair from her forehead, Ginny catches a look in her eyes that she’s all too familiar with.

Ambition… red-hot, glowing ambition. The type she’ll chase with everything she has.

Yes. Ginny sits up a bit straighter. The interview hasn’t started, but she already sees it for what it is. The whole thing now reminds of scoldings in Umbridge’s office.

“Sugar?” Sandra gestures towards a polka-dotted dish in front of them.

Ginny forces a smile. “No thanks.” Merlin knows she won’t be drinking it. This is what they do, these reporters; they lull you into a false sense of security with their tea and their biscuits and their grins. Once upon a time, Ginny was thick enough to fall for that — for the manipulation disguised as courtesy. Now, she’s a bit wiser.

“Interesting,” says Sandra, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh?” Ginny can’t fathom why, but she has a feeling she’s about to find out anyway.

Sandra slowly sips her tea before she lifts her quill and notebook. “Are you abstaining from sugar for… any particular health reason?” she asks, her lips curled in a coy smirk.

Ginny gets the unnerving sensation that the interview started long ago. She refuses to give Sandra the satisfaction of a true reply.

“Nope,” she replies brightly, clasping her hands in her lap. “Just not my prefere—

“—Mm,” interrupts Sandra. “Because I hear that sugar and caffeine often trigger morning sickness. Did you know that, Ginny?”

Ginny’s forced smile remains in place. In truth, she’d expected something like this. Their wedding is soon — very soon. People have been pestering them about their reproductive plans for months. Sandra certainly isn’t above the masses.

“I didn’t,” Ginny says smoothly. “But let’s discuss quidditch. It’s why I’m here, after all!” She shoots Sandra a knowing wink and hopes that conveys when she can’t say: mind your fucking business, you cow.

Unfortunately, Sandra doesn’t take the hint. “It’s now 6th August, Ginny. Officially in between the birthdays of you and your Chosen One.”

“Well spotted,” Ginny notes, still grinning. “Who needs calendars when we have you?”

There’s a beat.

For just a second, Ginny thinks she’s gone too far… but she soon realizes that with Sandra, there’s no such thing as a boundary.

“We’ve all swooned over those photos of him holding your niece — oh, what’s her name…” Sandra taps her teeth, pretending like she doesn’t know the answer; Ginny’s blood rises to a low simmer. “Victoria?”

“Victoire,” Ginny grits. Little gets her back up faster than bringing oblivious children into things. Especially when they’re used for manipulation tactics.

“Oh yes, that’s right,” Sandra croons. “Victoire!” She places a hand over her heart as if reliving a poignant memory… as if she’s had any bloody involvement in Vic’s life. “She’s such a gorgeous baby, isn’t she?”

Ginny forces a laugh. “You’d know, I reckon, since you’ve seen her! Now.” She clears her throat. “I’ve a game in two weeks against the Falcons. Let’s discuss—”

“In time,” Sandra says, waving a manicured hand. To her left, a fluttering of movement catches Ginny’s eye. Shit. The white feathered end of a Quick Quotes Quill furiously darts through the air as the tip scribbles on a notepad. When did Sandra take that out? She thought for certain that Hermione banned them…

“But for now, let’s focus a bit on you, eh?” Sandra presses, her cloud of blonde hair brushing against her shoulders as she cocks her head. “I’m sure readers would be titillated to hear about how your fiance has been in quarantine for over a month. What’s that been like?”

Ginny snorts. Oh, for the love of -- that’s what she’s getting at?! The complete non-story of Harry being quarantined?

“That’s… not very exciting,” Ginny replies. Because it isn’t. With a bored voice, she begins the thousandth recollection of exactly how and why her fiance hasn’t been able to leave the house for two weeks. “Harry was raised by muggles and wasn’t exposed to Dragon Pox as a child. With the latest outbreak in London, the Auror Department wanted to keep him home until they’re finished with the latest preventative potion.” Ginny picks at a piece of lint on the velvet couch. “It’s quite dull.”

Just like this interview.

The remainder of the sentence remains unspoken in the air, but Ginny hears it resonating in her head so loudly she almost jumps.

Sandra just gives her a knowing smirk; Ginny feels a rush of relief that the woman isn’t a Legilimens. “I don’t know. Sounds like fun, having a man all wrapped up for you, 24/7?”

Ha! This time, Ginny really does laugh. Seriously, what is the media obsession with constant sex? She’s about to launch into an explanation about how it’s thoroughly possible to be too bored to shag, but Sandra cuts her off with an even more horrendous question.

“Remind me,” says Sandra, leaning in close. “How old were your in-laws when their Chosen One was born?”

Oh, for the love of—

Ginny bats her eyelashes fiercely. “I’m sure you know,” she says through gritted teeth, “since you’re asking this question. But seeing as how we can’t bloody ask them, I don’t find it appropriate to—“

“Lily Potter was nineteen when she fell pregnant,” Sandra says through a stage whisper. She claps her hands together as if she finds this a truly revealing statement. As if anyone isn’t capable of reading the bloody gravestones and doing the math.

Ginny clears her throat. “Good to know. So the Harpies only have one more match this year, and—“

“You’re 19,” Sandra adds, continuing the conversation she’s only been having with herself. “The rumors around London are that the quarantine is bogus. Has Harry already quit his job to be a stay at home dad? He’d love to have his own Chosen Ones, Miss Weasley.”

In retrospect, Ginny will realize that this comment is the final fucking straw. She could handle the false flattery. She could see through the batted eyelashes and the singsong lulling into complacency. But she cannot — will not — stand for this complete cow spreading rumors about Harry.

But instead of handling any of it maturely, she rises to her feet, glares at Sandra, and provides a retort so lewd, so scathing, that it rocks the tabloids for months.

And with a triumphant quirk of her eyebrow, Ginny turns on the spot and disapparates, leaving Sandra’s dropped jaw to tremble as the Quick Quotes Quill continues scribbling so fast it scratches the parchment.

Even before her feet touch down, she regrets the whole ordeal.

She doesn’t regret telling Sandra off, mind — but with a wince, Ginny accepts that yes, she does regret how she did it. She regrets that she’s just given the cow enough ammunition to paint her as a true villain. She regrets that she involved Harry and—

Harry.

Ginny shudders. Harry, who values his privacy above everything else. Harry, who won’t discuss anything about her in interviews, but still gets this adorably lovesick grin whenever her name comes up. Harry, who loves her. And trusted her.

Fuck.

Ginny pinches the bridge of her nose, her stomach sinking, and wonders how in hell she’s going to talk her way out of this one.

Unfortunately, she doesn’t have long to ponder how she’ll break the news. In the blink of an eye, Harry’s coming around the corner. Poor bloke. It’s not like he’s got much else to do but await her return. This whole quarantine experience is uncomfortably reminiscent of Sirius' last months of life. She can't ignore the ghostly memory of Dumbledore’s gentle chiding that energetic young men (and women, she supposes) don’t do well cooped up, cut off from the outside world...

“Hey!” says the man in question, flashing her a smile. “That was a quick one! Thought I heard you, but you’re—“

“I fucked up.”

Her whisper echoes in the flat. She stares at her trainers, her face burning.

She blinks up as Harry shifts in place; his smile is nowhere to be seen, replaced with the look she knows and hates. Harry’s jaw is set, his eyes narrowed in concern. He’s doing the whole I’m-strong-for-you-but-I’m-afraid.

“Erm. Ok?” he asks, gesturing towards the couch. “Would you like to...?”

“I’ve said something during the interview I shouldn’t,” Ginny adds, biting the inside of her cheek. “Something I definitely, definitely shouldn’t.”

There’s another pause. Ginny worries, just for a second, that she’s scared him or that he’s somehow already heard.

But she should’ve known him better. Because in a split-second, Harry both senses exactly what she needs... and acts on it.

He wraps her in his arms and rests his chin on the crown of her head. He presses her face to his chest and guides them both to the couch and makes soothing murmurs and brushes the hair away from her jaw.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he says gently. “I’m sure it’s not as bad as you claim, but—”

“It is,” Ginny whispers, miserable.

Harry shrugs. “Well, I can’t possibly know until you tell me, so—”

“She— she mentioned your mother.”

Harry’s chest stiffens as he draws a sharp breath; she gets the impression he’s trying very hard to wait until she’s done to interject with words of support.

“She... Sandra... she mentioned that I’m nearly 19, your mother was 19 when she fell pregnant, and—”

Harry cuts her off with a snort. “And does she think that was on purpose? I mean I’m happy I’m here, but yeah...” He shifts her in his arms, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I don’t seem entirely intentional, given the circumstances.”

“Well, babies have a tendency of showing up like that,” Ginny replies dryly. “Sandra did raise a good point about making sure we’re... being careful.” She grazes a fingernail up his arm and relishes when his skin erupts in gooseflesh.

For a fleeting, victorious second, Ginny thinks she’s distracted him. She thinks she’s achieved her ultimate goal of turning his attention to the 24/7 sex they’re alleged to be having.

But she should know better, really, that Harry would ever be fooled when it comes to her.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Harry rumbles, his voice gentle but firm. “Not like I’ve got anywhere else to go, after all. We can sit here for the next few weeks if—”

“She asked when we’re having kids. And not just in passing,” Ginny adds, raising a pointer finger. “No, Harry, she pushed. Over and over. She suggested I was already pregnant, she brought up your mother, she asked when I’d function as the vessel for the Chosen One’s offspring…” She trails off with a sigh. “So. Finally, I snapped.”

He takes her still-extended pointer finger and gently pushes it into a fist. “What did you tell her?” he asks, kissing her knuckles. “Because from what I’m hearing, it sounds like she deserves it. Honestly I’m surprised you didn’t—”

“Isaidwhenyoustopfinishingonmytits!”

There’s another pause. “Erm, sorry, what was that? I didn’t quite—”

“I said,” Ginny repeats, her voice strained, “that we’ll have a baby when you stop finishing on my tits!”

Fuck.

She groans, sliding her hands over her face. Recapping this is somehow worse than living it the first time. Speaking it to Harry changes the stakes. It turns the situation from hypothetical to absolute. It solidifies that she fucked up... she really, really fucked up.

And she’s so lost in humiliation, so buzzing with horror, that it takes her a second to realize that Harry isn’t buzzing for the same reasons. Although he’s certainly shaking, isn’t he?

A second later, she dares to peer at him through her fingers. To her delight, Harry’s not furious — he’s laughing!

And when they make eye contact, his silent shaking transforms into full-body laughter. The type that sends tears to his eyes. The type that’s infectious, contagious. The type that makes her want to laugh, too.

“So I take it you’re not… angry?”

Harry wipes his eyes. “Ginny,” he says weakly, “I’m laughing so hard I can’t breathe! Did you actually think I’d be angry over that?” He snorts, pressing her against his chest again. “No. For once and for all, no. She crossed a line, and she got what was coming.”

“But you hate attention,” Ginny moans into his shoulder. “You hate big displays and personal things being public and—”

“But I love you,” he says softly, kissing her temple. He gives a dry chuckle that sends tingled through her body. “And to be honest, you wouldn’t be you if you didn’t go off on people. Especially when they deserve it.”

She sighs, pulling back. She has to see his face to confirm. To reassure herself. As she’d suspected, Harry’s just giving her a wry smirk. His green eyes are flooded with warmth as he peers back at her. Even after all this time, he still looks at her like he can’t believe she’s there. Like he can’t believe she’s his. His smirk grows to a full-on grin, and Ginny bites her lip; she thinks he’s about to provide some sappy, lovesick rebuttal.

Instead, he replies with something that’s simultaneously the absolute best — and the absolute worst.

“Besides,” Harry says casually. “Joke’s on them. We both know I’d never have the self-control or coordination to finish on your tits.”

With that, she laughs... really, truly laughs. She relaxes against his side, letting the soothing rhythm of his voice wash over her. He laces his fingers through hers. He plays with the strands of her hands.

And by the end of the night, she’s thankful for exactly two things: her fiancé in quarantine, and the contraception that will keep them from enacting Sandra’s plan for a long, long time.

#harry/ginny fanfic #harry/ginny discord #ginny's birthday #harry/ginny

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polpoka · 3 years

Text

Birthdays

Shippings-Bapen/Pensen

Rating- K+

(Fluff)

Part 1

Basen wasn’t the type to celebrate his birthdays. It wasn’t that he regretted being born or anything, he just didn’t think it was any different from any day.

‘It wasn’t that special,’ he personally thought.

However, his lover didn’t think so.

“What! You- you don’t celebrate your birthdays!?”

Basen looked at him, confused.

“Yes? What about it?”

Pen looked shocked and got up from his partner’s lap.

“So many things!? What do you mean, ‘what about it’. A birthday is meant to be celebrated. How are you alright with just not doing anything special? What about gifts?”

“Gifts? I don’t need gifts. My family already does a lot for me.”

“Eh? B-but it’s your birthday!”

“So?”

“When is your birthday, anyway?”

“In a week. Why?”

Pen’s jaw dropped.

“ A week. And you tell me now.”

Basen just stared at him.

“You never asked.”

Basen was getting under Pen’s skin.

“...But you know mine.”

Basen however, had no clue as to what was happening.

“You told me yours.”

Pen huffed.

“You were supposed to tell me too, you know?”

“Was I?”

“You really-”

Pen sighed, sometimes Basen really got on his nerves, even though that was what Pen loved about him.

“I’ll be getting you a gift for your birthday. So, do you have anything you want currently?”

“Nothing in particular.”

Pen frowned at the lukewarm response.

“Fine. I’ll get you something I can guarantee you’ll like.”

“ Don’t get me a pen. Hyung already bought me one from Capital when he was visiting.”

“Tch.”

Pen grumbled.

That was the one thing Pen had guaranteed that Basen would love. He got up from the couch and looked the other man in the eye.

“I’ll see you in a week then.”

Basen looked a little confused.

“Why? You could still visit me. I rarely get to see you anyway.”

“I’ll be busy selecting a good gift and planning a party in a week.”

“A party is unnecessary.”

Pen ignored the last statement and walked out of the room, grabbing his coat in the process.

“That idiot,” he grumbled, before remembering his first meeting with his brother.

“Just like his brother.”

***

He walked through to the roads to take a closer look at the shops. Thankfully, he had the liberty to do so, since his secret bodyguards would be insuring his protection.

‘Being under disguise isn’t that bad.’

He then spotted something that caught his eye. A monocle.

He could imagine the younger man wearing the monocle and having a permanent scowl on his face.

Pen chuckled. ‘He would look hilarious in that, but it suits him. Weird.’

He hummed as he walked down the street, eying various titbits, varying from magical equipment to clothes to flowers.

Nothing seemed to suit Basen, and though there were numerous times he was tempted to buy something and get it over with, he remembered his words and sighed, bringing him back to his goal.

“What would he like?” Pen mumbled.

“Excuse me, sir, would you like some help?”

He turned to see a very professional-looking attendant.

“Yes, I would like to see something for a seventeen-year old boy. His measurements are xxx.”

“Is it for the young lord?”

‘This woman really does have a keen eye.’

“Yes.”

The woman however, despite her stoic face, was trying not to show how nervous she was.

‘This man...He’s the prince of the Breck Kingdom, isn’t he? That face is something I’d recognize anywhere, especially since we specialize in nobility. What is he doing here?’

“Please sit here and look at these.” She led him to a room which had the prototypes of the outfits, for the demographic, and handed him a list of the outfits.

Pen looked through the list of outfits and finally, after half a day, found something that would suit Basen.

It was a gorgeous coat which he was sure would look good on Basen. The shade of brown used, had a richer color,and a lovely germanium was used as the fabric underneath, the exact color as Pen’s hair. It had no embroidery and would definitely appeal to the younger man.

He smiled at the wonderful choice.

He walked out of the store, happy at the fact he had managed to finish one of the many tedious jobs to come.

***

He headed back to the residence that the Henituse estate had prepared for him to proceed with the plan, but Pen was a little too tired and, honestly just wanted to rest. He collapsed on his bed after his arrival at the designated room, and just as his eyes were about to close, he heard a knock.

He grumbled, and reluctantly parted from his comfortable bed to open the door and see who it was.

Pen frowned.

"Well, well, well, look who it is."

Basen looked down at his lover's feet, a little flustered and still confused at the response he got.

Pen noticed this. He really wanted to smirk at his victory at proving his point, but still kept a stoic face.

"Didn't I ask you to not visit me for the time I'm here?"

"B-but I didn't know that you'd be so stubborn on that point! It's just a birthday,"

Basen protested.

"Just a birthday? It was the day you were born. It should be celebrated."

Pen sighed. His rational side tried to reason with his emotional side. He knew that Basen was a different person, but he couldn't just let it go.

'Why does he not celebrate? It's his birthday. It's a day to be celebrated. Why doesn't he get it!?'

Basen was getting frustrated. He didn't understand what the problem was, yet he was being bombarded with these comments on his life, which he believed to be completely fine. Basen knew he wasn't an emotional person. He knew that he wasn't able to understand what his partner was feeling, and so did his partner know that he couldn’t.

He just couldn't help raising his voice;

"Just tell me what's wrong already! I don't get it! I don't get these things if you don't tell me, you know that!"

Pen's eyebrows loosened and he became stiff. Though, it wasn't often Basen raised his voice, Pen never liked it when he did. He paused for a minute, took a deep breath and got his thoughts on order.

"Come in."

Basen frowned, but went through with it, taking a seat where he thought it would be appropriate to sit as a guest.

Pen walked to the tea brewer in the room,

"I'll get the tea."

"No need. I won’t be staying here for long anyway."

Pen halted and went over to take a seat right in front of Basen. They both let their eyes search the other for a while to study what they were feeling, Pen felt sorry for driving his other half, as he called him so lovingly, to such a limit. His guilt started to overtake his anger.

"I'm sorry. It was my fault."

Unfortunately, Basen was irritated, which made his vision clouded. This wasn't something that he felt that often, but the situation was just so irksome.

He looked at him in disbelief and disgust.

Pen flinched at the gaze.

"It IS your fault. Prince, we established that. Moving on," he sighed,"I think I needed some time to myself, since you're going to act like that." He snapped, as he gestured towards the door.

Pen knew instinctively that Basen was losing his temper. The feeling was icky and seeped through his organs and through his bones, slowly creeping into his heart.

'No.' He started to wave his hands in panic and also partly because of the fear of the other man's rejection.

"Please-"

"See you later, Pen. Do not follow me.Well, you won’t. Since, you don’t want to meet me anyway."

He was cut off with those icy words, his name said with such disdain, he felt as if Basen was using his name as an insult in itself.

***

Basen got up from the couch and walked out of the room. He was hurt. Even though this was such a small thing, his mind couldn't register the way Pen had treated him. He had completely trampled over his emotions and way of doing things. He needed to be away from his lover for some time, to at least cool off.

It wasn't that these kinds of arguments weren't normal and a daily occurrence, they did bicker occasionally, but this time it had gone too far. Never had he expected Pen to follow his way of life, nor did he think Pen would want him to do so. Pen was a person who was not that accepting, Basen knew that, but still he believed that some things were different about them and those had to be accepted.

He walked down the staircase to find a maid or a butler.Instead, he saw a familiar face, yet found it unusual to see at home.

"Hyung!"

He walked quickly to close in on the distance between them.

The older man looked down at him with a cold expression.

"Basen," his cool voice responded.

"Will you be staying for long?"

"No. I'll be leaving after dinner.”

“Alright. I'll just let you know that Mother would like to see you.” Basen wasn’t surprised, since he was used to this.

He walked past Cale, who noticed that his younger brother who he wasn’t that close with, was odd. since he did promise Og! Cale to take care of his younger brother, he asked him about what happened, but not that much not to encroach on his privacy.

“You look depressed. Did something happen?”

Basen stiffened, but nodded and walked out of the residence.

Cale felt a bit concerned, even though he didn’t show it on his face.

***

Basen went into his room, all his energy had been sapped and he brewed himself some tea and took a seat on his bed. He gradually sipped on it, emptying the cup, taking his time. He huffed the steam coming out of the cup. He needed to calm his nerves. The tea he was drinking, Earl Grey, was also introduced to him by Pen. He unconsciously found himself smiling and remembering the times Pen had got him the tea, not to forget, the first time he had got it for him.

‘He was so excited,’ he thought, he looked at his reflection in the tea and frowned remembering the events that had just taken place. He felt the tea in his mouth go bitter.

“I need rest.”

He mumbled.

He quickly gulped down the entire cup and kept the cup on his side table, before falling over in his bed. He could feel a headache coming over him. He exhaled sharply.

“I’m tired. That’s all it is.” He mumbled, trying to ignore the thoughts running rampant in his mind.

His eyelids drooped, shutting his thoughts along with his eyes.

#tcf #tcf basen #basen henituse #pensen #bapen #trash of the count's family #prince pen #tcf pen #basen x pen #pen x basen

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seyaryminamoto · 3 years

Note

What is something Sokka only ever did and does with and for Azula? I'm not talking about his love but an act. The hairdoing question was because I like the first time he does Azulas hair lots It is a particular thing and the imagination him only doing Azulas hair is individual. I did not ask because of jealousy rather of particularity. I can't find anything he only did does for with Azula

... Right. So, in about 200 chapters worth of story, you haven’t seen anything Sokka has exclusively done for Azula? I... do advise you read more closely. But if you don’t want to...

Represents her as her personal fighter, at first because of their deal, after their relationship blooms he does it because he’s 100% devoted to her in every way that counts. To him, their bond is one of a kind and he does his best to grow stronger so he can continue to fight with and for her, so she may be granted all the respect she deserves. He outright rejects being sponsored by anyone but her, and even when they had no choice but to have Zuko sponsoring him (chapter 56), Sokka said it wasn’t the same because he wanted HER. So her role as her sponsor is one of a kind for him, and he absolutely would never have that kind of bond with anyone else.

Protects her with his body whenever they’re falling off places, something Azula has remarked on more than once. He takes the worst of the impact every time, shielding her however he can. To this day, I’m pretty sure he hasn’t done that with anyone else? (chapter 38, chapter 77).

He opened up to her when he was troubled (chapter 50), sharing some of his innermost turmoil and suffering, letting her help him when he usually would rather not burden anyone else with what plagues him. Further proof of how deeply he trusts her, enough to start putting aside his bad habit of bottling up his troubles for her.

Refused an opportunity to go home AND reconnect with the first person he truly felt comfortable with in the FIre Nation (Piandao), choosing to stay by Azula’s side instead and protect her from people who would most likely harm her (chapter 54).

Nearly killed two gladiators whose sponsors were attempting to marry Azula against her will (chapter 70, chapter 169).

Put aside every shred of his dignity and accepted all punishments Azula forced on him, enduring everything because he thought he deserved it for wronging her (the ENTIRE Rough Rhinos arc).

Gave her the better portions of food during their accidental trip through the forest (again, Rough Rhinos arc) AND saves food for her (chapter 124), meaning, prioritizing her needs over his own. We all KNOW how much Sokka loves food, Azula more than anyone, and the implications of him not eating so she could have more were pretty clear regarding how much she means to him, as far as I can tell.

Cooked for her, sometimes to catastrophic results, but he still tried :’D (chapter 131, chapter 151 to a fault).

Writes haiku for her, and it’s SPECIFICALLY STATED that he only manages to complete proper poems whenever he’s writing about her, as everything else he writes he leaves incomplete or adds too many syllables (chapter 38, chapter 104).

Controls his strongest impulses very often when it comes to physical affection throughout Part 1 (namely in Ember Island and Giving In arcs), always privileging her needs above his own. He’s willing to stop before outright penetrative sex in chapter 97, for Azula’s benefit, and only goes for it when she directly asks him to. Her comfort and happiness are the priority, not his own.

Embarrasses himself willingly just to make her laugh (I’m sure there are many possible examples of this, but right now I can’t find them, but I found one instance of it in chapter 130, at least).

Challenged a nobleman (Kuan) for behaving disrespectfully towards Azula, by dismissing her interests and choices, yet Sokka restrained himself when Azula demanded it of him (chapter 36) and accepted the punishment Kuan forced on him without further protest or causing any more trouble for Azula.

Looked after her when she was sick, no matter if she was really mad at him at the time (White Lotus Attack arc).

Cheered her up after the first ball in the Festivals, after listening to her personal plight with Admiral Zhao (chapter 94)

Offered to teach basic swordsmanship to a kid so that the kid’s father would be on good terms with Azula, helping her craft stronger political allies (chapter 133).

Defends Azula constantly before anyone who may try to undermine or insult her (outright punched Zuko for saying thoughtless things about his sister in chapter 64, lashed out at Iroh for talking shit about her in chapter 95, attacked Rhone as soon as he spoke against Azula in 114 and threatened him in 160).

Comforts her often whenever she’s troubled, especially in matters pertaining her parents and the unpleasant strife they’ve caused her, both in the past and in current times (Ember Island arc, The Fire Nation Festivals arc, The Fire Lord’s Shadow arc). He’s also not judgmental, doesn’t tell her what to think, he mainly listens and helps her deal with her conflicted feelings.

Gladly agrees to change their original deal so he can stay with Azula for good instead of returning to his family, as he intended (chapter 107, Whaletail Island arc).

CRAFTED A BETROTHAL NECKLACE FOR HER??? :’) (chapter 131)

MARRIED HER. TWICE (Return to Shu Jing arc). I mean... really. The very logic of marriage says it’s something absolutely special you don’t do with just ANYONE? And they certainly live by that logic, completely. That something so obviously unique to his relationship with her happened so recently and yet you still sent this ask is... weird to me. Very weird.

In a slightly more intimate note: Sokka has never slept through the night with anyone but Azula. He has never woken up with someone beside him other than Azula. She’s literally the only one he’s ever done that with, and the only one he ever wants to do it with. Started in chapter 64, has happened many, many times since.

Endeavors to become a better painter because she inspired him to keep trying. They’ll start making collaborative art together starting in chapter 201 :’) and in 221 they will make a veeeery special artwork that’s basically their masterpiece.

Climbed a volcano to find a flower to give to her as a token of everlasting love? (chapter 125) :’D

Nearly died at the hands of Jeong Jeong’s schemes all be it to stay loyal to Azula (also chapter 125).

Got her a Fire Lily in the Festivals, something no one else had ever done for her, cultural connotations of it demand I single this out because it’s a big deal in the Fire Nation, he’s never done that for anyone else and never will (chapter 146).

Constantly asks for her lychee wine, her favorite drink, whenever they go places. The fact that Azula’s heart seems to grow twenty sizes every time he goes out of his way to find her perfect drink should be pretty telling...?

Overworked himself to make her dragon’s perfect armor as a birthday gift for her (Azula’s birthday arc), then still managed to win a fight for her sake despite his body was in bad shape.

Told her being without her feels like sleepwalking through life, waiting until she’s around again so he can wake up and feel like himself once more (chapter 86).

Offered his services and support in helping in the fulfillment Azula’s dream of offering women in the Fire Nation bigger opportunities and roles to make a difference in the world, by training the Enforcers in swordsmanship (Whaletail Island arc).

Accompanied Azula throughout her investigation in The Fire Lord’s Shadow arc, offering her all the support he could in that endeavor, day and night if need be, no matter how dangerous things got he was always there with her.

Trusted Azula so much he allowed her to BEND THROUGH HIM :’) I can guarantee that there’s no way anyone else can do that with Sokka other than Azula.

Sneaks out of his house, or his cabin, to spend nights with her whenever they can afford to, seen all throughout Part 2.

Changed his entire worldview to understand hers, just as she changed hers to understand his. Developed genuine empathy with someone who should have been his enemy, and saw through her to understand her humanity, something NO ONE BUT HIM had done before, and something he’s certainly not willing to do for many people he started out hating, or that he hated at any point in time (literally seen all through the story).

So... 33 items not enough yet, I wonder? Then stick around. The last arcs of Part 2 pack more than a few punches and many unique Sokkla interactions and situations that MIGHT just serve for you to finally see that their bond is actually one of a kind? Despite I’m pretty sure the story that already has been published proves it completely already... but I guess you may have gone too long witthout reading it in full detail? Eh, whatever the reason may be, you can see for yourself there’s a ton of unique things Sokka and Azula have only done with each other.

#anon #long post #sorry #gladiator #just #*tosses this into the void*#and I'm dead sure #I forgot a ton of things #just by nature their bond is one of a kind #so excuse me if I'm too harsh #but #I can't see how this question is necessary at all

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spartanguard · 4 years

Text

pushing buttons

Summary: Killian is hurt, and the only one around to help him out is his beautiful neighbor—that he's never talked to before. Looks like that's about to change. (Based on this prompt, shared by @clockadile: "I was talking to my friend and she was telling me about how her coworker had injured his arm and had to wear a sling, but also was required to wear a button up shirt for work. So every morning he had to go knock on his neighbour’s door and she would help him button the shirt."

rated M | 7.3k words | AO3

A/N: HAPPIEST OF BIRTHDAYS TO @xpumpkindumplingx!!!! SHE’S A LOVELY AMAZING SWEET RED VELVET CUPCAKE AND YOU SHOULD ALL GO SEND HER LOVE!!! I've literally been working on this story for over a year and it seemed like her birthday was the appropriate occasion to force me to finish it. I’m sure someone else has written it but, oh well. Enjoy!

This wasn’t how he ever planned on introducing himself to his cute neighbor. Killian figured he’d make some witty, flirtatious line, they’d share a bit of banter, and maybe she’d agree to go out on a date. However it worked for other people.

But no, Killian’s life could never be that simple, could it? Because apparently, his best friend just had to tackle him extra hard in their weekly game of football (proper football—not that American nonsense they loved over here). Which apparently led to a dislocated shoulder and a hairline fracture in his arm (whatever the bone was that supported the bicep; he was a navigational expert, not a doctor). And consequently was putting him in a sling for a fair number of weeks.

Good thing he was already missing the hand on that arm, eh?

But, as he discovered, things like buttoning his work shirts and securing the sling were more than a bit difficult one-handed. Obviously, he was used to dressing himself by now, but he usually had the assistance of his prosthesis, or at least his blunted wrist. He was a bit SOL at the moment, though.

After checking to see if the coast was clear before he stepped out half dressed, he knocked on the door across the hall, where said best friend (though he was questioning that title at the moment) lived; the least Robin could do was help him out. Until he remembered that Robin closed the bar last night and would be dead to the world for the next several hours.

He glanced at the next door, home to a rather lascivious but otherwise friendly old lady, who he knew for a fact was running breakfast rush at the diner downstairs.

That left only one other door: Swan. At least, he thought that was the name he saw on her packages; it suited her well enough that he didn’t care if it was wrong. They’d done little more than exchange smiles in the hall, but that was clearly about to change; desperate times and desperate measures and all that.

Swallowing his pride—and maybe adjusting his posture a bit—he stepped up to her door and knocked.

It took hardly a second for her to open, and there she was: blonde hair pulled up in a messy bun, wearing a baggy sweatshirt and leggings with a coffee mug in hand and a bit of sleep still caught in her eyes. But—so beautiful. His breath hitched in his throat.

“Hello—ohhh…” she started to greet, but then her voice trailed off and jaw hung open when she took in his state of dress. Crap; maybe making an introduction with his shirt half open was a bad idea.

He felt his cheeks flushing pink in embarrassment and the instinct to scratch behind his ear, his telltale nervous tick, was itching. “Hi, uh,” he stammered, his gaze flicking to the floor. “I apologize for bothering you so early, but I’m in a bit of a pickle and could use some assistance, if you’re okay with that.”

“Well, I don’t like pickles but I can probably help,” she offered, setting her mug down on some unseen surface inside and stepping forward. “What do you need?”

He swallowed at the heightened proximity. “I need a bit of help getting this sling on, and then buttoning my shirt, if you wouldn’t terribly mind.”

“Oh, sure!” she blurted out, faster than either of them expected, judging by the surprised look on her face after. “I mean, yeah, just tell me what you need.”

“Of course, love—thank you so much,” he gushed, not realizing until he’d already said the term of endearment. She narrowed her eyes a bit at that but it didn’t seem to stop her.

He started to slip his left arm into the sleeve of the sling and was going to tell her how to attach the strap, but then her eyes went wide and she gasped. “Oh my god, what happened?”

He followed her worried gaze to his empty left wrist. Oh, right—she’s probably never seen him without his prosthetic hand.

“Oh, no—this is old,” he assured her, nodding at it. “It’s my shoulder that’s messed up at the moment.”

“You’ve seriously had that many injuries on one side?” she asked as she stepped closer to grab the straps. “That’s more than coincidence—that’s bad luck.”

“Aye, I suppose. Good thing I’m right-handed.”

“Definitely,” she smiled back as she slipped the strap over his head and started to tighten it. “How’s this?”

“Perfect,” he answered—and it was: the right amount of snug and comfortable. “How’d you know to get it right?”

“I work in bail bonds,” she answered, turning her attention to the buttons on his shirt. “Injuries like that are part of the trade. Everyone at my firm has a pretty good grasp of first aid.”

The back of her fingers brushed against the skin of his stomach, making him breathe in sharply at the contact.

“Oh no—did I hurt you?” She sounded so worried and pulled her hands back, looking back up at him with her brows raised in concern.

No, she didn’t—he just hadn’t been touched with anything like that level of care in ages. “No, not at all—you’re fine.” He resisted the instinct to add “love” to the end of that again.

“Phew, okay; just didn’t want to add to your injuries. I can’t imagine a pinched chest hair feels very good,” she explained, resuming her task.

He chuckled. “Believe me, I’ve had worse.”

“I can see that,” she teased.

She managed to button behind the sling, but he stopped her before she got too high. “That’s good.” There were still a few left undone but he didn’t want to impose on her kindness any longer—or if he could stand being in her airspace any more without doing something incredibly stupid, like kissing her.

She adjusted his collar and then stepped away. “You don’t strike me as much of a top-button guy, anyway,” she replied, smirking.

He winked. “Not in the slightest.” He was amazed, and a bit relieved, at how easy they fell into banter; what could have been an awkward situation was decidedly less so. “But seriously—thank you, so much; I’d hate to have to call off work again simply because I wasn’t presentable.”

It looked like she was about to fire back something, but quickly bit her lip to hold it back. “No worries,” she finally answered. “Anytime.”

“Are you sure about that? Because I’m in this for at least six weeks.”

“I can think of worse ways to start the day,” she shrugged.

“Might I…” Now Killian freely scratched behind his ear. “Could I avail you of your skills tomorrow?”

She smiled, but it faltered. “I have a late night at work tonight, unfortunately,” she told him. “But I’ll be free the next day.”

“It’s a date then,” he blurted out, then realized what he said. “Or, not a date—but—you know—“

“It’s a date,” she laughed. “But there’s one more thing: I don’t ‘date’ guys whose names I don’t know.”

“Oh, bloody hell,” he cursed; they had skipped that part hadn’t they? “I’m Killian; Killian Jones,” he belatedly introduced, offering his hand.

She took it. “Emma Swan.”

“Emma,” he repeated; Swan still suited her best, but he liked the way her given name felt on his lips. Which he subsequently placed on the back of her hand with a gentle kiss; probably still too forward but better than some of the alternatives.

Now she was the one blushing, pink coloring the apples of her cheeks as she shyly smiled at him. “See you soon, Killian.”

“Until then, Swan.”

She slipped back inside her apartment and gave him one last wry smile before closing the door, and he headed back to his place.

Oh, goodness—he was fucked.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

She hadn’t been lying: there were definitely worse ways for Emma to start her day.

Who was she to complain when a man that attractive shows up at her door with his shirt half off?

Okay, so it was more like half on, but it still gave her more than a decent view of his toned chest and core, the line of his collarbones, and the most attractive array of chest hair she’d ever seen as it spread across his pecs and down his stomach to other parts she wouldn’t mind seeing.

It caught her off guard, opening the door to that; usually it was the opposite—her on the outside, leaving, after a one-night stand. But none of those guys were half as beautiful as Killian, nor as charming or sweet.

Plus, what kind of person says no to an injured guy like that? Not Emma. She knew what it was like to fend for yourself and could tell he did, too; it took a lot to work up the courage to ask for help like that.

She felt bad that she wasn’t able to help him the following day, but was surprised to find she couldn’t wait for the next; that wasn’t something she’d done in a very long time.

She thought about putting on extra coffee for him that morning but thought that might be too forward for a guy who seemed nervous enough in her presence—which was a little odd, because she was pretty sure she’d seen at least a handful of late-night visitors there.

The coffee scoop was still in her hand when the knock came at the door. So much for that then; she’d just have to swing through Granny’s downstairs.

When she opened the door, there Killian was again in all his adorable sexiness. “Good morning, Emma; is this an okay time?” He was a bit more reserved than he had been the other day—that wouldn’t do at all.

Especially because she was hardcore ogling him the whole time. He had on a navy shirt today that hugged his biceps. It didn’t match his eyes quite as well as the pale blue one from his last visit but it gave a bold contrast to his gingery beard, which she noticed was a bit longer than it usually was. This must be some injury if it was impeding his ability to use his uninjured arm, too.

“Of course!” she quickly said, because she realized she’d spent a bit too much time staring. “Mind if we do it reverse of last time?”

“Uh…”

She bit her lip and winced; that didn’t come out right. (Or maybe it did.) “I meant, let’s do the shirt first, if that’s alright.”

“Oh! Yeah, that’s fine. The pain isn’t quite as bad today.” But he still bit back a tiny wince as she adjusted his shirt, so she resolved to move fast.

Carefully starting on the bottom button, she had to ask, “How did this happen in the first place?”

“Oh, just my so-called best friend coming at me like a defensive tackle in a game of real football.”

“You mean soccer?”

“Yes, that. How did you Yanks even come up with that term?”

“Fuck if I know.” And even if she did, she was too focused on not touching his skin this time to come up with the answer. She still couldn’t get that brush of soft hair and warm skin out of her mind—which had taken it and ran with it, imagining how the rest of him might feel.

And it didn’t help that he smelled amazing. He continued on a rant about his friend—who was apparently the other British guy on their floor—but all she was really aware of were what her fingers were doing and the scent of Old Spice Captain, mixed with something else—leather, maybe? Rum? (Hopefully not, with whatever pain meds he was on.) Regardless, she kind of wanted to get drunk on it.

“How’s that?” she asked when she thought she’d gotten the buttons to where he wanted—done up enough to be fairly modest but open enough to leave things to her overactive imagination.

He glanced down, and she noticed not for the first time how long his lashes were. “That’s perfect; you’re a quick study,” he smirked, looking back up, amusement crinkling the skin at the corner of his eyes and bringing his adorable dimples out to play.

“Gotta let the chest hair breathe, right?” She immediately regretted saying that and quickly busied herself with his sling.

Thankfully, he just laughed. “Aye, I suppose so. My, uh,” he stammered, scratching that spot behind his ear again. “My last girlfriend always liked the view and I suppose it just stuck.”

Emma just adjusted the strap and avoided eye contact. Crap. How was she supposed to answer that? Was she supposed to flirt back to a guy who clearly wasn’t over his ex? Or was there something else going on?

(She was trying to ignore the voice in the back of her head about him being too good to be true, like most guys were.)

“Well...I’ve gotta say, I agree with her. Smart lady,” she offered, awkwardly.

“Yeah, she was,” Killian answered solemnly. Oh—maybe there was more to this story then. But she had enough tragic backstories of her own to know not to try to prod at someone else’s. He got a bit of a vacant look in his eyes, like he was lost in memory, until he shook it off and looked back up at her, now that she was done. “Anyway, thank you so much again. Same time tomorrow?”

“It’s a date,” she answered without thinking. Because whatever his past was, and whatever the future held, she still knew she at least wanted to get to know him better.

He grinned back. “See you then.”

He’d turned to head back to his apartment, but she worked up the nerve to call after him. “Wait!” He stopped and faced her again. “How do you take your coffee?”

“Black,” he answered simply.

“Good to know,” she smiled back, and he gave another in return before nodding his final farewell.

She went back inside and busied herself with grabbing what she needed for work, but still couldn’t get him out of her mind.

Dammit, why was he injured? Can’t they just fuck?

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

So not only was Emma intoxicating to be around, she also made a fantastic cup of coffee. That was how she greeted him the next day, and every day thereafter. He had to start coming a bit earlier, because coffee usually meant chatting, and once they started, he never wanted to stop. It only took a side-eye from his boss twice to make sure he wasn’t late again, but honestly, he’d rather deal with his boss’s ire than cut off any conversation short.

It was during those discussions that he learned more about her—like that her favorite movie was The Princess Bride but she wasn’t a big reader, she liked to listen to the Black Keys, and she loved cinnamon in her hot chocolate; she had opted for that one morning a few weeks into this adventure, despite it being the middle of summer.

“Isn’t this a bit out of season?” he gently teased, hoping to garner a real smile; she seemed down today, her half-smiles not quite reaching her eyes.

She shrugged, eyes cast down. “Sometimes you just need things that bring a bit more comfort.”

“Love, what’s wrong? Did something happen?” He may have only known her for less than a month, but the thought of any trouble coming to her made his heart lurch.

She took another sip, then glanced around the hallway before opening her door. “Can you come in for a second?”

“Of course.”

He followed her and she shut the door behind him, but stayed close to it. A quick glance around the space showed that her place was much like his: sparse, with just the necessities—not many homey touches.

“Are we at the point where we can share tragic backstories?” she asked him shyly, leaning against the wall.

“I think so,” he confirmed, giving her a small smile of encouragement.

She exhaled. “Okay. Well, today...is my son’s birthday.”

His eyes grew wide and his breath hitched in his throat. “Your...you have a…?” He didn’t know what to say, especially considering it was pretty obvious that no child lived here. Oh, no—did he—?

“Had. Past tense.” His heart sank, but he didn’t want to interrupt. “I put him up for adoption. I wasn’t even 18 yet, and his dad was gone—abandoned me before he even knew. My foster mom helped me, but I knew I wasn’t ready, so I gave him up. I know that was the best thing for him, but I still...wonder. And I hope he’s okay.” She sniffled a bit, and wiped a tear from her eye.

But another one was escaping down the other cheek; he quickly set his mug down on a table by the door and reached up to brush it away. “Oh, Emma—I...I can’t imagine what that’s like. But...thank you for telling me.”

“You’re not gonna judge me?” Her voice was small and watery, and broke his heart in a whole different way.

“How could I? You made one of the hardest decisions anyone could make, and when you were a teenager no less. If anything, you’re probably one of the bravest people I know.”

There it was—that smile he’d been looking for. “That might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” she murmured.

He’d seen it before, but not as strong as it was right now—the guarded, lonely look in her eyes that all lost children had. It wasn’t something that was ever outgrown; he knew because he wore it, too. And his heart thudded in his chest again, adding to its list of acrobatics today in reaction to this brilliant woman—who was apparently even more of a kindred soul than he’d realized.

“A lass as fierce as you deserves to hear how awesome she is far more often than that,” he told her, tucking a stray bit of hair behind her ear, before scratching behind his own—because now it was his turn to share. “But, ah, I know how rare that happens in the foster system.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. My brother and I ended up there after our mum died; dad was already out of the picture. Liam tried to get custody when he aged out, but they wouldn’t let him, so he went off to the Navy. He, uh, he was killed in action.”

“Oh my God—I’m so sorry.”

He swallowed and nodded. He didn’t often talk about his past, but given what Emma had told him, it seemed to be bubbling out of him today. “I floundered a bit after that—tried the Navy, too, but it didn’t take, and then I met Milah. It was a bit of whirlwind romance but I was head over heels, and she for me. Until her husband found out.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah. I...I can’t go into the details, but he...he killed her, and he did this,” he explained, nodding at his stump. “He’s in jail for life, at least, but...yeah. So that’s my story.”

“Oh, Killian.” She didn’t try to give any platitudes, like the few other people he was close with had at first; she just wrapped her arms around him, being careful of his injuries. It took him a bit by surprise at first—he could tell she wasn’t the touchy-feely type—but he didn’t wait long to wrap his free arm around her and pull her close. Something told him this hug was as much for her comfort as his.

Try as he might not to, he couldn’t help but notice how perfect she fit in his embrace, his arm naturally settling at her waist and her head resting on his shoulder (the good one). He closed his eyes and inhaled, surrounded by her scent—cinnamon and chocolate from her cocoa, and something lightly floral and sweet that didn’t quite match her rough exterior but suited her perfectly nonetheless.

He had an even harder time ignoring the bit of his subconscious that didn’t want to let go of her, not now and possibly not ever. And there was no way for him to overlook the way his heart leapt when she practically burrowed into his neck.

Until her phone went off and they jumped apart. That actually did kind of hurt, in more ways than one.

“Sorry; I better—”

“Yeah, me too.” He could almost physically see her emotional walls going back up in the way she stiffened and retracted from him, making no effort to actually grab her phone and just using the interruption as an out. He understood why, though it stung a bit, but he’d be damned if he was the one making her uncomfortable.

“I—I have another work thing tonight, so I won’t be able to see you tomorrow; but...next day?”

“Can’t wait,” he answered, giving her his usual smile. He slipped out and almost had to run back to his place to get his work things, but cast another glance at Emma’s now-closed door as he passed.

Assuming that image wasn’t a metaphor, he couldn’t wait for the day he could truly wrap her in his arms, and maybe then some.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

So, hugging him was a bad idea. A completely terrible one. Not her worst ever—their prior conversation kind of displayed that—but recently? Yeah, that was awful.

Because she really should have known how great he would feel against her. She got a prime view of his upper body every day; she didn’t need to wrap herself around it to know he’d be firm and soft in the most perfect ways.

And she was already well aware of what he smelled like; did she really have to dive in for deeper whiff? (Or become any more aware of what the heat felt like rolling off him, warming both her body and soul?)

God bless her boss for that perfectly timed text. She did feel bad for the slight wince she caught on Killian’s face as she jumped away, and then even more for the white lie she gave about the next day—it wasn’t so much that she had a late night, but more that she knew she needed a day to cool off after that. Or to let the inevitable freak-out run its course, because who on earth tells a sob story like hers to someone they’ve barely known for a month? (Even if said person did the same.)

Killian seemed unfazed, though, so she took that as a good sign. Which she also did with the bag of pumpkin spice-flavored coffee she found outside her door the next morning, with her name scrawled on it in an unfairly beautiful script.

But, perfectly, that gave her a way to figure out where they were the following day. Things change when you bare your soul to another person, and honestly, her biggest fear was that she’d scared him off altogether.

So when that familiar, gentlemanly knock rapped on her door (how a knock could be prim and proper, she had no idea, but his was), she was ready to answer it with two mugs of her new brew.

“Who’s out of season now?” she teased, handing the cup over. Falling back on humor was something was a safeguard, but hopefully he’d still pick up on the way she was acknowledging their last conversation.

His usual early-morning sleepy smile morphed into an eyebrows-raised expression of surprise for a moment, but a dimpled smirk quickly took over.

He took the proffered mug and quipped, “Well, as a brilliant lass once told me, sometimes you just need something comforting, and I suppose there’s no wrong season on that.”

And just like that, things were okay. Why had she thought they wouldn’t be? It’s Killian, for fuck’s sake. She grinned back at him and set to work on his shirt and sling, maneuvers so well-practiced at this point she barely needed to look to make sure she was doing everything right, and they quickly fell back into their easy banter.

“I think you could give lessons in buttoning a shirt, Swan; I’ve never seen fingers more nimble.”

“Oh? Who else has been buttoning your shirts lately? Should I be jealous?”

He chuckled, deep and low—a sound that went straight to certain sensitive parts of her. “Just Robin, on the days you’re busy. But the arse can’t even keep the rows straight and nearly strangled me with the sling.”

From the other end of the hallway, a slightly muffled shout called out “I heard that, you bellend!” from Robin’s apartment. Killian turned to bark back, “You were supposed to, ya bloody wanker!”

“God, you’re so British sometimes,” she laughed and started on the sling.

“Well, you can take the man out of England, and so on. Even if it’s been 20 years.”

Things pretty much went back to normal after that, if a bit bolder on both their ends. They still chatted about anything and everything—he had some good stories about his culture shock when he first came over as a kid, shared his strongly held opinions on various rums, and she was able to figure out he had a lifelong love of Peter Pan (“but Pan himself is a prat; Hook, though—he’s an icon. And, y’know, we have something in common.” “I’m kind of surprised you don’t have a hook instead of your prosthetic.” “You haven’t seen me on Halloween, darling.”).

If her hands brushed his skin more often, she could probably chalk that up to their increased comfort with one another. If she found herself invading his personal space on a regular basis, it was easy to write that off as part of her helping him. And if she daydreamed about the freckles on his neck and where other ones might be...okay, she had no explanation for that. Actually, that one was his fault.

“So just what do you do at night?” she’d asked. “You don’t seem to need my help then.”

“Are you offering?” he tossed back, and she could see his tongue moving lasciviously behind his teeth as he smirked. She playfully slapped the uninjured shoulder as she continued to work. “Well, if you must know, it’s much easier to get all this off than it is to get it on. And as long as I don’t move around too much in my sleep, no harm, no foul.”

“So...no sleep shirt?”

“No sleep shirt,” he repeated, voice a bit lower than usual; she could feel it vibrating in his chest as she did the last button. It was a damn good thing she was staring at her work and not his eyes because she might have reinjured him at that moment.

Summer turned into early fall and Killian had just become a normal part of her mornings. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew he’d get better at some point, but it wasn’t something she ever really focused on—not when she was enjoying herself with him far more than she had anyone else in recent memory.

So it was a bit of a bomb when he dropped the news on her one morning, roughly six weeks after he’d first knocked on her door.

“Um, it looks like this might be the last time I’m bothering you,” he stammered, staring at the floor as she did up his shirt for the countless-th time. “I’ve got an appointment with the doctor later on to see how it’s healed.”

“Oh,” she answered, sounding much more sad than she thought she would. “Uh, how’s it been feeling?”

“Pretty good; still a little sore, but that might be more with disuse than anything.”

“That’s...that’s good, then.” But was it? Was it really? Killian had basically become the highlight of her days and now that was just going to...end?

“Yeah, I...guess so.” At least he sounded as unenthused at the prospect as she was.

She was tempted to offer to push him down the stairs to keep things going, but who only knew what kind of damage that would do, so she held back and kept focused on the task at hand. Which was suddenly becoming blurry; how did a shirt get blurry?

“I truly can’t thank you enough, Swan, for helping me out so generously. Getting to know you...has been the best part of this.”

“My pleasure,” she replied, not knowing what else to say and hoping he couldn’t hear how watery her voice was.

But, of course, he did. “We’ll still see each other around, right?”

“I dunno; you live really far away,” she quipped back, hiding behind her walls again. He was one of the few people to get through them and if he was backing out, she needed to start rebuilding them.

“I think I can manage getting over here from time to time,” he said, with that dumb sweet soft smile she loved and hated equally. “You’re definitely worth the journey.”

Now she was blushing and almost crying. She didn’t know that was a thing. And she knew if she tried to say anything, she’d probably just put her foot in her mouth, so she silently focused on the task at hand, almost reverent in her care.

She tightened the strap on the sling—probably for the last time—and stepped back to survey her work. But Killian caught her hand before she got too far away, and found her eyes with his intense blue gaze.

“Seriously, Emma—I couldn’t have gotten through this without you. It certainly wasn’t how I had planned on making your acquaintance, but now...I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He brought her hand to his lips, just like the first time, and placed a gentle but firm kiss on the back, never breaking eye contact. “Thank you.”

She was left no less speechless than she was back then, but she couldn’t reply as casually as she had; too much had passed between them now. Really, only one thing popped into her mind, and she acted on instinct.

Squeezing his hand tight, she rose up on her toes and found his lips with hers. Why her mind went straight to kissing, she had no idea, but there was no turning back now—especially not when he broke her grasp to pull her close, and her arms snaked around his neck.

There was none of the hesitation on his part like when they hugged despite this being a whole other magnitude of physical contact, but that didn’t register until after the fact; right now, all she could focus on was how talented his tongue was against hers and how he tasted of that delicious pumpkin spice coffee. Damn, he was good at this; what other things was he good at?

But then her fucking phone went off again, making them break apart. And then it sunk in: she kissed him. What the hell? This changed everything. (Or worse: what if it didn’t?)

“I, uh…” she stuttered, her speechlessness catching up to and now paired with breathlessness.

“That was…” He sounded equally wrecked.

“I’ve...I’ve gotta get that. I’ll see you around. Good luck today. Just...leave the mug when you finish it. Um...yeah.” She cast one lady glance at his utterly fuckstruck face before turning around and heading back inside, collapsing against the door once it was closed.

But before it shut, she’d heard him say three perfect words: “As you wish.”

What the fuck—what did she just do?

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

He didn’t dream that, did he? Did Emma just kiss him within an inch of his life?

He’d managed to blurt out the only thing that came to mind after she blabbered her way out of whatever that encounter was, but after the door shut, he had to lean against the wall next to it, lest his legs give out.

His fingers found his kiss-swollen lips and he let out a long exhale, reminding himself how out of breath he’d been left.

Bloody hell, that really happened. He’d certainly imagined it many times—and other, far more intimate things while enjoying a bit of self-love—but the real thing put all his daydreams to shame. The way she’d pressed herself against him, warm and soft; her sweet scent mixed with her savory flavor; but most of all, how he swore their hearts were beating in time for one star-crossed moment. (Yes, he was being dramatic, but that was pretty much his M.O.)

He shook his head to clear his brain; he couldn’t stand there all day being lovestruck, or else he might still be there once Emma finally went on her way. Which he typically wouldn’t consider a bad thing were it not for the way she attempted to close herself off at the end. He knew what she was doing—trying to protect herself—and he’d give her some space for the moment.

But, as he headed back to his place and out into the day, he started formulating a plan. He knew other people had walked out on Emma and that was surely what she was expecting of him—but he’d be damned if he let that be the case.

He’d barely made it in the door of his apartment that evening when he shook off his jacket, tossed the sling on the back of his sofa, and turned around to knock on that familiar door again. He still wasn’t exactly sure what he was going to do or say, but Emma hadn’t seen him for the last time.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

The first thing Emma saw when she got home that night was the mug Killian used that day still sitting on her kitchen counter, waiting to be washed and put away, where it would probably sit unused for a long while. She didn’t do the whole having-friends-over thing, so despite her small collection of mugs, she tended to just use her favorite one every day. Even if washing two was a bit extra work, she was glad to do it if it meant having Killian’s company.

She sighed for what felt like forever. He didn’t need her anymore. Regardless of how he kissed her today, that was the truth of it, unless the doctor had bad news. It would still have to come to an end eventually, though; better to rip off the bandage now.

Why she kissed him, she still didn’t know. That wasn’t like her. She was no stranger to one-night rendezvous but there was never an emotional connection with those, not like she’d developed with him. In some way, it was putting the ball in his court, she guessed. He wasn’t the kind of guy to take advantage of a situation, she knew, but life had taught her to not hold onto too much hope, despite the constant preaching of her best friend.

So when a knock came at the door, she just assumed it was the pizza she’d ordered on her way home. At least she had that to look forward to—and the bottle of wine in the cupboard.

“Thank God, I’m star—ving…” she started as she opened the door, but trailed off when she saw what was on the other side: not some scrawny delivery boy, but Killian. “Uh, hi.”

He looked just as amazing as he had that morning: slightly disheveled hair, blue plaid shirt, and those well-fitting pants that she had watched saunter away more than once. But something was missing.

“No sling,” she said, though it came a bit more like a question.

“Nope; clean bill of health.”

“That’s good then.” She wasn’t anywhere near as enthusiastic as she probably should have been. “So...what are you doing here?”

She could see the wheels turning in his brain—he was working up to something. He wet his lip with his tongue, but couldn’t seem to get the words out.

As distracting as that tick was, her nervous side started to bubble. “I mean, it’s not like you need help getting your shirt on or anything,” she quipped anxiously.

He immediately smirked and his eyebrows leapt in amusement. Oh no—she just fed him a line, didn’t she?

“No,” he drawled, taking a swaggering step forward. “But I’d be glad to have your assistance in taking it off.”

If it were anyone else, she’d call it out for the skeezy come-on it was, but not him. He knew he was being ridiculous and he wanted to see what she’d do. And it didn’t help that he couldn’t keep the sincerity out of his voice.

There was really only one way for her to reply to that. She stepped up to meet him and found the top button, the one that let that tempting thatch of hair below it breathe. For a second, she just traced it with her fingertip, then went ahead and undid it. Her heart was racing the entire time and she was pretty sure Killian stopped breathing, especially once she looked up at him to see that he was staring at her intently.

“I can think of worse ways to end the day,” she told him, echoing their first conversation.

He started to smile but she didn’t give him the chance to unleash his full grin before she grabbed his flannel collar and pulled him to her. His lips didn’t taste quite the same as they had that morning but it didn’t matter; she wanted to discover all his flavors, every day.

She tugged him inside her apartment and he kicked the door shut behind them as the kiss continued. Her fingers continued to work at his shirt, undoing her earlier handiwork, and his hand and wrist drifted to her waist.

It was a bit jarring when her back hit the edge of her kitchen island, but she just took that as a chance to switch directions. She released the last button, letting his shirt fall open, and then slipped her hands under the fabric on his shoulders as she pushed the two of them in the direction of the couch.

Her hands drifted to his trim waist as she guided them around the end of the sofa, only breaking the kiss to make sure she wasn’t pushing him into any obstructions (god, she’d be so embarrassed if she broke him again). But as soon as they were clear, she pushed him down onto the cushions and then one by one set her knees on either side of his lap to straddle him.

HIs gaze had darkened considerably, the normal sky blue turning a hazy midnight, and his hand had somehow found its way to her ass and was cupping it reverently—which shouldn’t have even been a thing, but this was Killian; that was just how he was.

They’d sufficiently reclaimed their breaths, evidently, because they surged forward to meet again, and Emma’s hand drifted back up to his collarbones. She tried to be gentle, but need was overtaking her as she pushed the soft fabric down over his shoulders to his biceps, squeezing the muscles as she went, until—

—Until he pulled back, wincing and hissing in pain. Fuck. “Oh god, are you alright? What did I do?”

“It’s fine, love,” he said reassuringly, letting his head fall back against the couch (and giving her a perfect view of those freckles on his neck that just looked so damn kissable but now was not the moment). “Just still a bit sore; take it easy on me, aye?”

“Easier said than done,” she blurted, not even thinking about it. He cocked an eyebrow in amusement and she felt her entire face flush red, and not from arousal. “God, I fucked this up, didn’t I?”

“How on earth could you have done that?”

“Because I don’t know how to do...this,” she said, gesturing between them.

“Don’t sell yourself short, Emma—you’re a marvelous kisser.” He winked (poorly) and squeezed his hand, which was still on her rear end.

“Ha,” she answered dryly. “Just...why are you even here?”

HIs face lost its humor and turned serious, but there was still a softness that made her heart melt a little bit. “Well in case you hadn’t noticed, I quite fancy you. And I couldn’t bear to never see you again.”

She looked away. “Well, it wouldn’t be never. Our mailboxes are right next to each other,” she deflected.

“I know but...I want more than that.” His hand finally left her back pocket and nudged itself under her chin, guiding her eyes back to his. “I’ve spent nearly every morning for the last six weeks with you, darling, and I’m sure you’ve picked up that I’m a creature of habit. And starting each day with you is one tradition that I’d be loath to lose.”

He’d never been more honest with her, she could tell. And it was a little overwhelming.

“What do you say, love?”

Despite her past, despite her fears and heartbreaks, and despite his, she took a deep breath, swallowed, and stared into his intense gaze. “It’s a date.”

He broke into that adorable, wide-eyed, incandescent grin that she couldn’t help but return, but it was quickly drowned by another round of kissing (much gentler on her part).

And it was also quickly determined that her bed was much softer than the couch.

They left a trail of clothes from the living room to her bedroom, but she insisted he keep the shirt on until the last minute.

They were kneeling on her bed, naked save for that bit of cotton, which she finally pushed down off the ends of his arms.

“How long have you been waiting to do that?” he asked, voice low and breath hot on her ear.

“Since the day you first showed up.”

He pulled her tight to him with his left arm and she finally got to enjoy the divine feel of his chest hair and warm skin against hers—somehow more amazing than even her imagination had come up with, both soft and coarse, teasing and abrasive; kind of a lot like him.

And then he was guiding her to laying down, and after only minor fumbling, was pressing inside her, which is when most coherent thought ended on her part. There was a lot of “fuck”, “damn”, “yes”, and “YES” going on, from both of them, as he thrust in and out and she met him move for move.

She worried he’d aggravate something again after they came (an incredible moment, really) and he collapsed alongside her, but she held onto his shoulders in some vain attempt at support, and he was clearly practiced in relying on his right arm. They did the necessary cleaning up stuff, but then fell back into bed and he pulled her close.

For the first time in ages, she spent the night in a guy’s arms and wasn’t looking for an escape route.

(Having him a few more times over the course of the night probably helped. She was already looking forward to when he was less sore and she could be on top.)

(The pizza and wine were icing on the cake, though she probably scarred the delivery boy by answering the door in just Killian’s shirt. She got to see just how nimble those fingers were when it was his turn to unbutton—and then when he used them to make her come undone as well.)

The next morning, she got out that second mug again as she brewed another batch of pumpkin spice coffee.

And proceeded to button his shirt for him, albeit sadly, now that she knew what lay underneath.

But it was okay, because she got to undo it again that night, and every night thereafter.

(The only morning she didn’t button him up was on their wedding day.)

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

thanks for reading!!! tagging some friends: @kat2609 @thesschesthair @optomisticgirl @shipsxahoy @amortentia-on-the-rocks @mryddinwilt @cocohook38 @annytecture @wingedlioness @word-bug @distant-rose @wellhellotragic @welllpthisishappening @let-it-raines @pirateherokillian @bleebug @its-imperator-furiosa @fergus80 @killianmesmalls @sherlockianwhovian @ineffablecolors @laschatzi @ive-always-been-a-pirate @nfbagelperson @stubblesandwich @killian-whump @lenfaz @phiralovesloki @athenascarlet @kmomof4 @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose @snowbellewells @idristardis @scientificapricot @searchingwardrobes

#cs ff #cs modern au #cs hurt comfort #cs smut adjacent #Happy Birthday #xpumpkindumplingx #my ff

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