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ailec-12 · 3 years

Note

Prompt: AU, bored and exploring Malfoy Manor at a social function, young Sirius Black finds an old diary belonging to T.M. Riddle.

Thanks so much for this prompt, Anon! To be honest, at first I had no idea what to do with it, but it would seem Tom’s diary possessed me as well, because once I started, I couldn’t stop. I’ve enjoyed writing teen Sirius a lot, so I hope you’ll also like it.

Shout-out to @mariagvogel for making this one shot better with her comments. It can also be read on AO3.

Sirius hated them all —every fucking member of his family. Nothing could really top his hatred for his mother, who insisted on dragging him to those pure-blood parties no matter how much her eldest son embarrassed her. He was wandering around, sneering at the portraits that lined up the walls of the Malfoy mansion.

Those events were always supremely boring, but Sirius had never felt so utterly alone. Regulus was socialising with their cousins like the good Black son he was. Yet, the only cousin that really mattered, Andromeda, was not present and no one talked about her. Her face still decorated the Black family tapestry, but Sirius did not think it would last long. It was a very odd feeling. When Andromeda talked about cutting ties with her family, they used to laugh about going out in style. He had not seen his cousin in months, though, and, if she had concocted any plans with her Muggle-born boyfriend, she had not breathed a single word about it to Sirius.

The dark corridor he was crossing at the moment threatened to be as dull as the guests downstairs. At least he had managed to slip unnoticed from the party. He could not have shown his distaste as freely there. A somewhat distant crack startled him out of his thoughts. He froze on the spot. That must be Dobby. Although Sirius could not say he liked the house-elf —who was always too overexcited—, he pitied anyone who had to live under the thumb of a prat like Lucius Malfoy. Dobby was also far nicer than Kreacher. Even so, if he saw Sirius snooping around, he would be forced to tell his masters. Sirius would rather avoid angering his mother so soon when there was still a long evening ahead of them.

Thinking on his feet, he walked quickly to the end of the corridor, where a door hid the stairs to the attic. Andromeda and Cissy had discovered that one dragging a very young Sirius with them. He could no longer remember the exact reason, but they had been hiding. It felt like a very far memory.

Sirius closed the door carefully behind him and waited until he heard the second crack that meant Dobby had left. The party seemed not to exist in the absolute stillness of the stairs and Sirius let out a long-suffering sigh. Glancing up, he decided to head for the attic. It was a good hiding place if nothing else.

The room looked dirtier and more abandoned than Sirius remembered. It actually reminded him of their attic at home, full of useless and forgotten pure-blood memorabilia. He stepped around the worn-out furniture, dodging the odd-shaped items scattered in some parts. He could not help thinking that, if the rest of his friends were with him, poking around Malfoy’s stuff would have sounded much more exciting. Alone, however, Sirius did not truly feel like exploring.

Looking round in order to find at least something to distract him from the fact that there was no one to share his findings with, his eyes fell on a small bookcase. The dust made his eyes itch when he got closer and most books did not even have a title on the spine. He gazed at them blankly for a moment longer, trying to decide whether picking them up was worth the effort. His interest was suddenly piqued when he saw a small rectangular item wrapped in fading brown fabric. That time, he took it with no hesitation, revealing a black leather book. It was rather thin and the year on the cover —1942— let him know it was not a recently purchased item. As he opened it, he was disappointed to find there was nothing on the blank pages except for a name on top of the first one: T. M. Riddle.

Sirius let it fall, huffing. An empty diary whose owner did not even have the right surname for the house. He did not really care if it had been someone who had married into the family or if some Malfoy had stolen it. Somehow, Sirius was not able to picture someone staying for a sleepover and leaving their diary behind.

Bored, he sat down on the floor, near the diary. He could already see the others’ faces when he returned downstairs having ruined his new, shiny robes. The mere thought brought a smirk to his face and lifted his spirits lightly. He picked the diary back up. Perhaps no one would ever see it, but Sirius wanted to leave his mark in case someone else found the old thing.

He searched through the drawers and found a couple of broken quills, but no ink. He cursed out loud, remembering the Muggle drawing kit that Moony had gifted him last Christmas. He would carry a pen everywhere if he was not certain his mother would enjoy burning it while Sirius was still carrying it.

Nevertheless, he found a small piece of charcoal and did not hesitate to open the diary at the first page. In big capital letters, just under the name, he wrote, FUCK PURE-BLOODS —SB. He had to admit it looked lamer than it had sounded in his head, so he was trying to come up with another epithet when the words faded away. Blinking, he stared down at the yellowish pages. If it was a means of communication like the two-way mirror he used with Prongs, he might be screwed.

The diary answered right away.

Interesting choice of words to write on someone else’s diary. And who might you be?

Sirius looked at the words for a few seconds. It had been quite a prompt answer for an object that had seemed abandoned just a moment ago.

I’m not telling you my name, he decided to write at last. He was not that much of an idiot.

As you wish. Mine is Tom.

Again, the reply was quick. Sirius bit his lip, rolling the charcoal between his fingers.

Are you friends with the Malfoys?

I might be, came Tom’s enigmatic answer. They must not have taken great care of my diary if you have got your hands on it, though.

The calligraphy was elegant, although not as flowery as Sirius’s. For all his faults, the Malfoys were not as exclusive as the Blacks. Tom’s elusive comments sparked the boy’s imagination and he was already picturing Riddle as the offspring of a marriage between a Malfoy and someone of not such a high standing.

Focusing back on the pages, which had returned to their original state, he decided to try his luck.

Do you write to them often?

I can’t say I do.

Sirius could almost hear the playful tone behind those words.

What would you do if I took you with me?

Write to you, what else?

Sirius’s smirk grew bigger as he closed the diary and threw away the charcoal.

II.

In the end, getting away from the gathering had indeed been worth it. His parents had not been able to do much in public, since they knew sending him home would actually have been a reward. By the time they had got back, both of them had been too inebriated to punish him properly. Sirius had got away with just his hurt pride at having had to apologise to the Malfoys plus a quick stinging hex before being sent to bed. Still, his leg hurt like hell from the surprisingly well-aimed spell.

He was lying on his bed, groaning into his pillow and with absolutely no intention of sleeping. He would like to contact James through the mirror —he did not think anyone would hear him despite the absolute silence—, but he did not want to come across as needy. He could wait until tomorrow to whine and tell his friends all his woes.

Turning around, he sat up and examined his leg. He concluded it would be better not to risk asking Kreacher for a pain potion, since it would lead to his mother hearing about it. In a couple of hours, it would no longer sting. Making what felt like an enormous effort, he stood up and started disrobing. It was only then that he remembered Tom. Still half dressed, he hurried to get ink and quill and got comfortable in his bed. It was pretty late, so he told himself he might have to wait until the morning for an answer.

Are you there?

Of course.

Sirius smiled at the immediate reply.

I —don’t— regret to inform you that you are no longer with the Malfoys.

His grin grew bigger as he felt clever. He would keep talking to Tom if it was going to help him forget about his misery for a while.

You sound like more interesting company anyway. I take it that you had fun and the event is over?

Sirius scoffed loudly.

I don’t think a single one in that bloody bunch of old snobs know what having fun is like.

You may be right, but why would you want fun when you already have power?

Reading those words gave him chills and sobered him up. Perhaps it was because Tom’s phrasing urged him to agree at first. He frowned and put down the diary to physically distance himself from that feeling. Almost right away, though, he picked it up again.

Do you believe that blood supremacy crap?

He felt something akin to disappointment and had to rein in the impulse to throw a cruder accusation.

What I believe does not matter. It is a fact they have power, is it not?

Sirius liked that answer even less and he felt his frown deepen. He stared as the ink faded, considering what he should retort. Apparently, Tom found his words sooner.

You benefit from that power, don’t you, S?

An inexplicable, overwhelming anger rose in the boy’s throat and he was scribbling furiously before he was aware of it.

Fuck you. My name is Sirius.

He slammed the diary shut and threw it in his trunk.

III.

I’m a fucking tosser.

It was the first thing he wrote in two weeks and the black letters were blurry.

Do tell.

Tom’s response came at once as usual, but it felt oddly impersonal. It was just what Sirius needed, because the last thing he wanted was a friendly ear. He was determined to avoid thinking about the next letter he would have to write to Prongs.

I was going to spend half the summer at a friend’s, but I crossed my mother and ruined everything. I’m not going anywhere now.

A little splash smeared the ink before it disappeared completely. He wiped his eyes furiously while he waited for Tom to say something.

Oh, boo-hoo. Why would you act out if you needed her permission?

Didn’t plan on it, you twat. Just happened. You’d also scream at her if you’d met her, he added before a reply could come.

I think not. I’ve been told I’m a great actor.

Pretentious prick, Sirius shot back. He was feeling calmer, though, and not truly annoyed.

Tom offered no reaction to that, but Sirius did not want to finish their conversation so soon. It was a very welcome distraction from the pain and humiliation that usually followed an argument with his mother.

I don’t know how I’m to survive an entire summer locked up in this house.

Have you tried to escape?

I’m only 14. The Ministry will find me as soon as I try to do magic.

Of course, living as a Muggle is out of question.

Sirius frowned, not liking one bit the mockery he could feel behind the words.

It is when I have neither Muggle clothes nor Muggle money, he retorted.

And your friend? Wouldn’t he take you in?

James would, he was certain of it. However, that would require detailing exactly how bad things were at home. It was not worth it, Sirius told himself as he had a thousand times before. It was only three more years until he could do magic and then no one, not even his mother, could stop him —after all, his fourteenth birthday was just a few months away.

My family would not allow it, he wrote instead.

Are you important or something?

Again that derisive feeling. Sirius could not explain why he felt the other’s intentions so distinctly.

Or something, he agreed noncommittally. He was about to add something else when a knock on his door startled him.

Swallowing with difficulty, he reminded himself that only one person in their household would knock before entering. Not that his dear brother waited for an answer. Sirius had barely had time to close the diary when the door opened. At least, Regulus was not in the habit of barging in.

“What do you want?” Sirius snapped right away, feeling anger consuming everything within him once again.

Any tentativeness disappeared from his brother’s demeanour and his young face hardened. He closed the door after coming in, but did not step closer.

“Don’t take it out on me. I did nothing.”

“Yeah, I think that might be the problem. You never do anything. The perfect son,” snarled Sirius, in a well-rehearsed course of action.

“What d’you expect to get when you insult the whole family? Couldn’t you just go along with it for once and say what she wants to hear?”

Regulus was frustrated, but his controlled manner paled in comparison to the ire running through his older brother, who jumped off the chair, not caring about the noise.

“I’ll never stand by while she badmouths my friends,” he said, barely restraining from shouting. “But of course you don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about. You’d need to have some friends for that.”

The jab hit Regulus as hard as Sirius had intended and his pain was plainly visible on his face. He refused to regret having caused it.

“I just came to see if you were all right, you imbecile.”

Regulus practically spat the words before turning around and taking hold of the doorknob.

“Hurry up and move along, then. I’m fine.”

Regulus opened the door and stared back one last time. His mouth was a hard line and his eyes glistened. He looked too old for his age.

“You’re a liar.”

IV.

Have you ever been trapped with no option to escape?

It was the middle of the night of a perfectly ordinary day, but Sirius could not sleep. Luckily, it seemed that neither could Tom.

Most people have at one point or another, came the answer, swift and vague as ever.

His friends were taking too long to reply to his letters and Prongs had forgotten the two-way mirror at home when he had packed for his holidays. Talking to Tom felt just as good, though.

More letters appeared in the centre of the page while he was lost in thought.

What matters is your ability to break free when the time is right.

What is ailing you this time? I can tell you didn’t steal an enchanted diary to complain about your house-elf’s cooking.

Their correspondence was getting more familiar and Tom did not hesitate to cut his ramblings short. Sirius decided not to beat around the bush, either.

Do you come from a pure-blood family?

I have old blood running through my veins, yes.

Sirius had never felt so grateful for Tom’s pretentious nature. He had a feeling the other would understand.

They burnt my cousin Andromeda’s face off the family tapestry. She has married a Muggle-born, so they say she’s tarnished our blood.

And you fear to suffer the same fate?

I’d fear to stay in this house forever, but

He hesitated. Sometimes, he felt as if he were offering up too much information, although nothing he had said so far was truly a secret.

she is my favourite cousin.

The words faded away slowly, as if the diary were absorbing Sirius’s strong feelings behind them, too.

I think she’s forgotten me, he wrote in a rush, feeling extremely self-conscious.

That time, Tom seemed to take an eternity to answer.

Pure-bloods are good at holding power, but their short-sightedness will be the death of them.

The words took Sirius aback and he did not think about his next response.

I thought you fancied that blood crap.

I told you. What I may believe or feel is not important. Ignoring the talent of those who do not fit the ideal perfectly will hardly do us any favours.

Sirius blinked, uneasy at how reasonable Tom sounded. He needed to think, so he wrote goodbye and returned the diary to its safe place. After a while, he realised he could contact Andromeda once he was back at school.

VI.

Sirius skimmed through Prongs’s last letter. He still needed to get back to Moony and Wormtail as well. However, no matter how hard he tried, he could not shake off the feeling that his friends were far too predictable. James told him all about his brilliant family holidays, whereas Remus was as bored and lonely as Sirius. And he really could not bring himself to care about Peter’s latest crush.

On top of his apathy, he was worn out all the time. The bright side of it was that he was usually too tired to pick a fight with his parents. He spent most of his time locked in his bedroom, listening to Muggle music or just staring up at the dark ceiling —or writing to Tom. Sirius could not consider him a friend since the bloke had not revealed much information about himself. Yet, during their exchanges, Sirius did not feel quite so sad or angry, just sort of entertained.

There was only a week and a half until the beginning of the new school year. The rest of the Marauders would not be surprised if Sirius told them he had been too lazy to reply to their last batch of letters. Thus, he picked up the diary, willing to forget about the world for a while.

VII.

You didn’t write yesterday.

Sirius felt a pang of culpability upon seeing the message. In fact, he had felt guilty ever since school had started. Normally, he waited until his friends had gone to sleep to take out the diary and write on it, sheltered by his drawn drapes. At first, he had looked forward to that nightly encounter, even if it made him feel like he was lying to his friends. During the day, Moony and Prongs were set on finding out what was wrong with him. Nothing Sirius told them stopped their nagging. He could admit he was bloody irritable around everyone those days, but it did not truly warrant their insistence. At least with Tom he had not needed to worry about reining in his temper so as to avoid worried looks.

Nevertheless, eventually, even Moony had let the matter of his bad mood drop. It had led to a more relaxed atmosphere in their friend group and, for the first time since their return, the previous night Sirius had gone to bed knackered and happy and, especially not feeling like he needed to seek out someone else’s company. Frankly, he had not thought Tom would care, but now the guilt rose back up and it was not because he was hiding something from his friends.

I was busy.

It was a lame excuse, but Sirius told himself he did not need to explain his reasons to a perfect stranger.

Hanging out with Hagrid again?

Distaste dripped from the ink of every one of those words.

No, planning a prank for a greasy git. He won’t know what hit him. Sirius’s smirk vanished before it fully formed. He frowned, still thinking about Tom’s comment. What have you got against Hagrid, anyway? He is all right.

That is because you do not know what he is capable of.

Sirius rolled his eyes at the condescending reply. He had known Hagrid for over three years and, while the man had his quirks, he was one of the nicest people Sirius had ever met.

Another sentence appeared as the first one was absorbed by the page.

Want me to show you?

He read the question a few times, trying to understand what it could possibly mean. Tom had never implied they could send anything other than messages through the diary.

“Can’t you– What are you doing?”

It was barely a whisper, but he had already jumped when Moony drew the curtains back and so, he ended up spilling ink all over himself and the diary. His wand was knocked off as well, falling to the floor with its tip still lit up. Sirius barely spared a glance at his friend as he attempted to get away from the mess.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered.

“I’m so sorry,” Remus apologised right away. Turning around for a moment, he retrieved his own wand from his bedside table. “I’ll clean it up.”

With a circular movement, he managed to summon the ink and get it back into the bottle. The diary was intact, not a black trace on it, although Sirius suspected not all the ink had been collected by Moony’s magic.

“Thanks,” he grumbled, because his friend was looking at him with soft eyes full of uncertainty.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I just couldn’t sleep and saw the light from your wand.”

“It’s okay. I couldn’t sleep, either.” Sirius huffed, unable to stand the awkwardness any longer. “Sit down, for Merlin’s sake. Unlike others, I don’t bite.”

He received a brief, albeit quite powerful glare as expected, which in return brought a grin to his face as he closed the diary and put it in a drawer for the time being.

“Was that… a diary?”

Moony’s incredulity was obvious, so Sirius forced himself to let out a dismissive snort.

“Just brainstorming our next pranks. Prongs and I still have to take revenge on that Seventh Year Ravenclaw prick for laughing at us when Snivellus and Evans dumped us in the lake.”

“To be fair—”

“I don’t want to be fair, Moony. I want to laugh at Mr Brainy.”

Remus rolled his eyes, but a long yawn interrupted whatever he was going to add. Right on cue, Sirius also yawned.

“I think I’ll go back to bed now. You should try to get some sleep, too.”

“I will,” promised Sirius, smiling fondly at his always responsible friend.

He drew the drapes and snuggled up under the blankets, having forgotten all about Tom and Hagrid.

VIII.

Guess who is not going home for Christmas?

Sirius was feeling light as a feather and needed to share his enthusiasm.

Did you get your face burnt off the family tree as well?

Not yet, he replied, beaming in the semi-darkness. His penmanship was messier than usual, because his brain was going too fast for his hand to keep up. I’m going to spend the break with Prongs. His parents have invited me to go with them to ski. The entire hols! he added, trying to convey his utter delight, for he felt like exploding every time he thought about the letter he had just received.

My mother will be furious, he kept on, not waiting for an answer. She will have to explain her disgraceful heir has once again chosen blood traitors over the family.

You do realise that, by cutting ties with them, you are only making things harder for yourself, don’t you?

As if I cared. I’m not going to put up with their pompous arses one minute longer than I need to.

Well, perhaps there is something better that you can do at school if you stay.

“What?” Sirius almost yelled, turning it into a whisper at the last moment.

I’m not staying, he wrote quickly.

Why did Tom feel the need to sour his mood like that? He had said he was not upset by the lack of daily updates on Sirius’s part, but he may have lied.

You never let me show you that memory about Hagrid. I could show you things about Hogwarts, places no other person knows about but me.

Sirius felt his hair stand on end. No one should sound so alluring through a written message. Without another thought, he slammed the diary shut and pushed it off his lap. He was suddenly afraid of how much he had longed to accept Tom’s offer.

As if a veil had just been lifted, he realised the diary was an object taken from a family with close links to dark magic and even darker social circles. He had been tired all summer and his bad temper had persisted after getting away from his family. He had only started to feel better once he had stopped writing to Tom every day.

He nearly tossed the diary out of the window, but he stopped when he took it in his hands. Surely, he was overreacting. He had been talking to Tom for months and, even though the other gave him the creeps from time to time, he had felt no dark influences trying to control him. Prongs always said he was paranoid about everything that had to do with dark magic and he reluctantly had to admit his friend may be right.

Tom must be even lonelier than he was to keep him company after all that time, for Sirius would not describe his life as fascinating. He was happier than he had ever been at Hogwarts, certainly, but Tom had put up with his continuous complaints about his family the entire summer. Perhaps it was only fair that he felt ignored since school had begun, because Sirius had indeed been writing less and less frequently as days passed. He felt like a terrible friend —even if they were not such—, so he picked up the quill again, dipped it in the ink and wrote,

Why do you like talking with me?

I thought you were braver. I thought you’d dare uncover Hogwarts’ deepest secrets.

The ink faded away slowly as Sirius found himself unable to tear his gaze away. New words appeared before he could think of an answer.

Let me show you, insisted Tom. It all started when

Sirius slammed the diary shut for the second time that day, although on that occasion his decision was fuelled by blind rage. The urge to know was still there, whispering in his ear that he should continue reading, continue writing. However, another feeling flooded him and he distinguished the sting of something else besides his hurt pride. He was under no delusions that they were friends, but he had hoped —believed— that the other’s interest meant he shared his feeling of comfortable attachment. Sirius had enjoyed being able to say anything without fear of being judged or pitied, but right then, he only felt manipulated.

Truthfully, he had very much longed to know the answer when he had asked why. Instead, Tom had insisted on talking about his own damn secrets and mysteries. In fact, Tom had elegantly sidestepped every personal question and had always sounded more invested in reading about Sirius’s troubles than any good news he brought up.

The hurt cleared his thoughts in the most painful way possible. At that very moment, he could not care less whether he was indeed paranoid or losing his mind. He had itched to know whatever Tom had been about to tell, but curiosity had played no role in it. The pull had been far less innocent than that and, once he could recognise it, he realised it had been there for a while. However, he had never expected that darkness would feel so sweet and intoxicating —so inoffensive.

Damn, he truly was a bloody idiot.

IX.

Sirius had bravely fought the temptation to write on the diary again to curse its very existence and, so far, he had won. Still, he had buried the blasted thing at the bottom of his trunk and only taken it out on their last day before the holidays. He was currently waiting for his brother outside the Great Hall, while the students who had already finished their dinner passed by while animatedly chatting about their upcoming plans.

At last, he saw the familiar pale face and hurried towards the small group of Slytherins.

“Hey, Regulus!”

His brother glared at him, but murmured something to his companions and they promptly left towards the dungeons. Sirius could not help frowning at their backs —if the tables had been turned and it was him asking to be alone with a Slytherin, he would have expected a little resistance from his friends. Focusing his attention back on the younger boy, he saw the scowl was still very much present.

“What do you want?”

Sirius swallowed the urge to snap back, irked by Regulus’s defensiveness.

“I’m not going back home these hols, so I need you to make sure this gets back to the Malfoys.”

He handed out the diary, wrapped in the brown fabric, but his brother made no move to take it. Instead, he asked,

“You aren’t coming home?”

All of a sudden, Sirius felt his mouth dry at the vulnerability clearly present in the question.

“Um, I’m… I’m not.” He ran a hand through his hair. “It’s not that bad, though, is it? Mother will be in a foul mood when she finds out, sure, but I won’t be there to aggravate you all every day.”

His light tone was weak and did not get a reaction from Regulus beyond a renewed glower.

“So what, you want me to deliver one of your funny pranks to Malfoy now that he no longer attends Hogwarts?”

“Don’t be daft, I’d never let you take the blame and steal my spotlight.” Regulus refused to say anything and so, a tense silence ensued. Out of the corner of his eye, Sirius noticed they had drawn the attention of some students. He pushed the diary against his brother’s crossed arms. “It’s something I took from them at the beginning of the summer. I’m not interested in it anymore.”

Finally, Regulus took it and started to unwrap it. Sirius hurried to still his hands. Physical contact between the brothers had become rare nowadays, but neither seemed to realise.

“Nuh-uh. Everyone’s always going on and on about how you’re so much smarter than I am, so show a bit of brains. It’s one of those diaries you can’t stop writing on. Took me a bit to figure it out.”

It was not all the truth, but he did not know what the diary was exactly and hoped it was enough to deter Regulus from giving in to his own curiosity.

His brother was still looking back at him with plenty of mistrust in his clear eyes, but he would not keep an item like that —Sirius was sure of it.

“You can give it to Cousin Cissy,” he joked, breaking the silence once more. “I’m sure she’ll be delighted to have a reason to call on the Malfoys and insult the white sheep of the family at the same time.”

He wanted to add something else, either wish Regulus good luck or happy Christmas. In the end, the right words never came to him and his brother walked away after uttering a curt, ‘Goodbye, Sirius.’

It turned out that getting rid of that diary was the best decision he had made in a while. James’s parents had also invited Remus and Peter to their winter house for a week —carefully chosen by the boys so that Moony would not have to deal with any furry problems.

Not even Walburga’s Howler managed to shatter his happiness. It had arrived one morning, while they were all having breakfast. Sirius had prayed for the ground to open up and swallow him whole when he had seen Euphemia’s and Fleamont’s faces as they heard the usual string of slurs and threats —fortunately, Prongs was used to those Howlers by then. For a very long moment, Sirius had also feared what they would think of him after learning he was a thief.

In fact, he had barely dared look up when an ominous silence had returned to their table. However, it had soon been broken by a new string of voices, only that time there was a mix of indignation and reassurance and it was all in his favour. Sirius’s eyes had been suspiciously wet when his friend had clapped him on the back and he had had to talk the adults out of seeing Walburga Black before they went back to school.

Even if he did not manage to find an excuse to stay at Hogwarts during the next break, he would not have to face her in months. It was a very freeing, hopeful thought. He knew that his little stunt would bring other, more serious consequences eventually, but he was not very worried about whatever hell his mother had promised. Hell could not scare him when he already knew what it was like to live in it.

#Harry Potter fanfiction #HP #Sirius Black #Young Sirius Black #Marauders #Prompt #My fics #100 Followers Celebration #*

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yodawgiherd · 5 years

Text

Night out

Rating: T

>>>Read on AO3<<<

I know this chapter is kind of short, but I promise that I will post the continuation of it soon, already got it all figured out. ;)

Enjoy!

Out of all sounds, he could come home to, woman’s scream would not exactly be Eren’s first pick. Confused about the source of the ruckus, he took off his coat and entered the living room, trying to locate and possibly defuse the situation before any furniture suffers the consequences of Mikasa’s wrath. She didn’t get heated often, but when she did, the strength with which she could throw, or smash things was terrifying. He saw her now, sitting on the couch in front of the tv, staring at the screen with murderous intent in her eyes. The cause of her anger could be seen now, as the large screen was carelessly brandishing the “you lose” words, proof of her defeat in the Tekken round she apparently just finished. Slowly, as if he was approaching a dangerous animal, Eren shuffled closer, sitting down next to her and clearing his throat.

“Lost a game huh?”, he asked, prompting her to laugh.

“A game? No. I’ve been losing for the last hour.”, she let out a defeated sigh, putting the controller on the floor and leaning back into the soft couch, “Dropped two ranks already.”

Yikes. From his own experience, Eren knew that losing sucks, especially a number of consecutive games where you get demolished and the opponent hits you with a big fat “EZ” after the match anyway. Dickheads. To comfort his crestfallen girlfriend, he put his arm around her shoulder letting her snuggle closer and leech off his body heat, as she always did. The shirt she was wearing was too big, as it was apparently formerly his, the neckline plunging low and exposing one of her shoulders, and that in combination with the fact that she for some reason wasn’t wearing pants couldn’t offer much warmth in the first place.

“You okay?”

Mikasa shook her head, still too devastated by her losses. And as the caring boyfriend he was, Eren could not let that stand.

“How can I cheer you up baby? Do you want something?”

That offer was finally met with some response, as she looked up, her pouty face looking right into his own, concerned one.

“I’m hungry.”, she stated, “Can we go eat somewhere?”

“Sure, do you know what you want?”

A bit of mischief sneaked into her features, and she shook her head.

“Not really, just someplace nice.”

Ah yes, the eternal question that occurs in every relationship. Where are we going to eat tonight? And it doesn’t matter that she says anything is fine because you know that everything you do, no matter what you pick, your choice will be thoroughly judged by a strict committee of one. And if found wanting, the consequences for the incompetence might be dire ones. Luckily for him, Eren had an ace up his sleeve, gained from an over-a-coffee conversation with Erwin, who pointed out an “amazing, modern and innovative” restaurant that opened recently, with the only drawback being that “it’s quite expensive there.” As money was not really a problem, Eren deemed it proper to use that ace now, while being confronted with the choice of today’s dining establishment, hoping that Mikasa will approve.

“A new place, huh?”, the offer itself at least intrigued er, as she was now chewing on her bottom lip with a thoughtful expression, manifested by her fine raven eyebrows being knitted together, “Did Erwin say what’s special about it?”

“Well, it’s a high-class society meeting place. If we’re lucky, we may run into a mayor there.”

The thought of that amused her.

“High-class? And since when are we high class?”

“We aren’t, but if we put on some fine-looking disguises, I bet that we can sneak in.”

As Mikasa was quite a sucker for adventure, that finally did it for her, and the place Eren picked was judged worthy enough of her presence for the evening. However, as he said, it was kind of a higher-class place, which meant that they actually had to get off the couch and go chance into something more representative. They would probably just stop her at the door if she tried going in her boyfriend’s stolen shirt and panties. Couldn’t forget that she wasn’t even wearing a bra, as she preferred to be free while staying home, both because it felt better and because it teased Eren. Win-win situation, really.

While being forced by society to wear a dress would annoy the teenage Mikasa, the current one didn’t mind it that much anymore. Especially lately with the modeling job, she found herself enjoying the feeling of wearing some elegant stuff, the very thing she used to despise. Maturity is a bitch. Lost in thoughts, she picked a dress and retreated to the bathroom to put some makeup on, again, an activity she was never big fan of, but spending so much time in the hands of professionals lately, she did pick up a thing or two and was secretly quite eager to put them to the test. First, she did her nails, black of course, as if that was ever a question, before moving on to the main part of the test, her own face. With a light hand, she added a few touches here and there, nothing too heavy, bringing out the best features of it. To add a bit of personal flair to it, and also because she knew that Eren liked it, she painted her lips with the usual black color, following it up with a bit heavier eyeshade. While the goth style of makeup was not as popular anymore, as she was told at the agency, Mikasa liked the aesthetic and didn’t see a reason to stop using it just because the majority did. Nothing wrong with being yourself. The dress she picked was dark, obviously and combined with black stiletto heels on her feet Mikasa was ready to go, being stylish while also staying true to herself, an ideal combination.

Leaving the bathroom, she could see that Eren was also dressed in a fitting suit, sitting on the bed and fumbling with his tie. He did look up when she entered, however, following her with his eyes as she crossed the distance to where she kept her modest collection of jewelry.

“You look amazing.”, he commented, making Mikasa smirk as she was putting her earring on.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” looking over her shoulder, she winked at him, “and it will be even better once u finish fixing your tie.”

With a chuckle, he returned to the task at hand, giving her time to pick a choker that went well with the dress, put on the metal cross from Levi and finally decorate her fingers with a few choice rings, fewer and not so massive that she used to wear during her hardcore goth period, but surely a bit more than other ladies would wear. Finished and ready to go, she was a bit surprised to see that Eren still hasn’t beaten his tie problem, frowning down at the unyielding cloth.

“Need a hand?”, she asked, doing her best not to sound too mocking. Just a little bit.

“My pride is telling me no.”, he sighed, “But fuck it. Yes, If you would be so kind, I would appreciate the help.”

Both to get closer and to fluster him a bit, she straddled Eren’s waist, leaning in close to inspect the mess he made. With deft fingers, Mikasa managed to undo the failure of a knot and retie it in the correct way, while he was left to just frown at her dexterity. And he was supposed to be the one with the magic touch. Right.

“So, ready to go?”

With her, he was ready for anything. Grinning, Eren nodded.

“Let’s go.”

The restaurant was truly a higher-class place, manifested by the fact that someone came to park their car, which reminded Mikasa of the time they spent at Tybur’s residence, the ball and everything that followed. That was fun. This time not forgetting to help her out of the car, Eren took gentle hold of her hand as they were ushered in by a well-dressed greeter, having apparently passed the clothing check. Maybe it was Erwin’s doing, or just that they were both quite known in the town, with Eren being the star surgeon and Mikasa’s rising fame in both the worlds of professional sport and modeling, but they were immediately led to a table and attended by a waiter, who wanted to know what the pair will want to drink. Mikasa, who spent half of her life drinking cheap beer or box wine didn’t even recognize any of the names on the wine list, so she hid her face behind it instead, letting Eren handle the mess to the best of his ability. However, he was no expert in the field either, but pointing at something that was named the least funny resulted in having a bottle brought to them, and after that the devilish waiter finally gave them a break, retreating and giving them time to pick their food.

“Ah yes, this is an excellent vintage,”, mimicking to the best of his ability the thing he saw on TV from time to time, Eren poured himself a little, circling it in the glass while nodding to himself, overall looking so snob that Mikasa had a hard time not laughing. Winking at her, he took a sip.

“Is it good?”, she asked when he fell silent.

“Well,”, he cleared his throat, “the flavor is quite fruity, and you can smell the earth from the…”

Mikasa kicked him under the table, giggling into her hand.

“Stop that! I don’t want to laugh this much!”

Returning her smirk, Eren shrugged, finally dropping the act.

“Look, Miki, it's surely wine, and it doesn’t taste bad. That’s about everything I can tell you.”

It really wasn’t half bad, and they made it about halfway into the bottle while looking at the menu, doing their best to pronounce some of the more exotic names and failing miserably, much to their amusement. The fits of laughter drew a few judging looks from the other patrons, but no one came to hush them. After placing their orders, kinda really having no idea what they just asked for, Mikasa took another sip of that arguably good wine, watching Eren over the rim of the glass.

“Babe, I have to ask you something.”

“What’s that?”

“I was doing a photoshoot recently, with the theme of like romantic and stuff, and I and a few other girls got to talking…”

“You are a gossip girl now?”, Eren’s eyebrows shot up, “Never took you for one.”

Just for a good measure, she kicked him under the table again and continued as if he didn’t say anything.

“We talked about our first kiss, and that reminded me, I never asked you who your first kiss was.”

“My first kiss?”, Eren repeated after her, “You want to know who it was?”

It was hard not to roll her eyes at him sometimes, but she made it.

“Obviously.”

“Well, if you want to hear that story, you have to share yours first. Who did you kiss first?”

Must have been the wine, but Mikasa felt her lips curl upwards into a flirtatious smile.

“It might surprise you, but It wasn’t with you.”

Leaning forward on the table, Eren’s green eyes met hers, and he smiled right back.

“Do go on.”

Judging that it was fair, him asking for her confession before giving his own, Mikasa drained her glass and set it back, throat wet enough to tell her story.”

“So…”

#eremika #aot #fanfic #snk

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artlessictoan · 5 years

Note

Hi. Could I request some butch!yodo/fem!chou (i know you had that one before but I can't imagine anything else for those two)? Maybe in that rivaling music shops AU from that other time you did requests? Thank you very much!

nonski.. i literally screeched when i saw this tHANK YOU (here’sthe other req referenced in the ask!)

(requests open)

(ao3 mirror)

---

She carefully examined her reflection in the shop window,brushing some stray hairs back into place, adjusting her miniskirt to show offa little more leg, before pushing open the poster-laden door and steppingthrough it with the practised confidence of a supermodel.

As embarrassing as it was to practice her strut in themirror at home, she had to admit, the effect was well worth it.

The door creaked slightly as it closed behind her andChouchou was immediately hit with the increasingly familiar scent of sweat,leather and – weirdly, for a store dedicated to all things grungy and hardcore –sandalwood. She had been told by Sarada, that Yodo always lit incense as soonas she got in, while they were getting ready to open the shop.

It was discovering little things like that that kept hercoming back, time after time, in the hopes that maybe she’ll find yet anotherexcuse to fall just a little more in love with the tiny ball of chaos,verve and idiocy that was Yodo.

As usual, the shop was empty. She glanced around, idlywondering how the hell they were still in business when, in all the times she’dvisited, she’d never seen more than three people browsing the aisles at once. Yodoinsisted that metalheads, while not overly abundant in the general population,were extremely dedicated to their genre, however Sarada had explained that Yodocame from a wealthy family and had a doting adoptive father who was very generouswith his money and would do anything for his children.

Just another surprising discovery and another butterfly inher stomach.

When a thorough search of the shop floor revealed no Yodo, shecasually hopped over the counter and poked her head in the storeroom.

A smirk immediately spread across her face. The short blondehad her back to her and apparently hadn’t even realised that anyone was there,judging by the bright wires trailing down from her ears; Chouchou could hearthe muffled drumming the earbuds were emitting from across the room.

She stepped closer. “You know, it would be really easy forsomeone to rob you right now,” Chouchou said.

Yodo didn’t respond, just kept sorting through CDs andnodding her head along to whatever she was listening to. Raising an eyebrow,Chouchou snapped her fingers experimentally. Yodo mumble-sang a fewincomprehensible words and started tapping her foot.

Oh, she’s just asking for it!

Hovering just behind her target – who was still utterlyengrossed in the bass thudding through her earphones – and before she couldthink better of it, she lightly pressed a finger to the middle of her spine andran it all the way up to her neck.

“HAH!” Chouchou barely registered the surprisingly gruffshout, before Yodo spun on her heel, fist already swinging.

Incredibly, she managed to land her hard, bony knucklesright on Chouchou’s elbow.

“AGHHH FUCK! WHAT THE-” Yodo ripped out her earphones “-Chouchou?What the fuck are ya doing? I nearly beat the shit outta you! Fuck, my fist.”

Gripping her arm like it was about to fall off, she had tofight through the shudders racking her entire body before she could reply, “Howdid you hit me right on the funny bone? Fuck.” They were both still swearingand groaning, clutching their respective aching body parts tightly.

Chouchou sucked in a sharp breath as the last of the shakes fadedto nothing. Elbow still hurt though. “Ok, learned my lesson, never doing thatagain,” she said, laughing through the pain.

“What were you even expecting to happen?” Yodo asked, ajustifiably annoyed look on her face.

“I dunno, was kinda hoping I might get a cute little squealout of you or something-” which she still desperately wanted to hear, but waswilling to accept that she would have to find a different tactic in the future;maybe she was ticklish? “-I’m sorry, I promise I won’t sneak up on you anymore,but you do realise that your shop is open, right? Maybe you should turn downthe volume enough that you can hear when the door opens.”

Cheeks puffing up like a hamster, Yodo replaced the earbuds,picked up the box of CDs she had been sorting and pushed past her, shoutingbehind her as she disappeared through the door, “Y’know I don’t come into yourshop and criticise your work habits.”

Trailing behind her, Chouchou leaned against the counter andwatched her friend return to her task, occasionally glancing at the empty store.

“You should at least turn down the volume a little, my earsare hurting in sympathy.”

“God, you’re worse than my dad,” she mumbled, thoughher hand did drift down to her phone and the loud, heavy beat faded to a faint,tinny noise. It was mostly drowned out by the clacking of plastic cases as Yodomoved albums into incomprehensible piles. Chouchou stared at the band names tryingto find some link – or even a single familiar name at all – but came up blank.

She picked up the top CD in the pile closest to her and casuallybegan reading through the track list. “So, what’re you listening to?” she asked.

“Oi, don’t be messin’ up my system.” She didn’t try to take itback though. “And none of your business.”

“C’mon, tell me!”

“You wouldn’t know them anyways.” For someone who wasgenerally down-to-earth, Yodo had an amazingly pretentious streak in her.

She raised a brow, but Chouchou was still grinning uncontrollablywhen she said, “Wow, music snob much?” Dropping the CD back on the appropriatestack, Chouchou turned all her attention to her new game. “Gimme a hint, rock?Metal? Punk?”

“You’re not gonna get it-”

“Just because I’m not hugely into this stuff, doesn’t mean I’mcompletely ignorant.” In fact, she had quite a good knowledge of classic rockand metal; her dad played it all the time when she was a kid and she still hada nostalgic soft spot for the genre, even if she had mostly gravitated towardpop, funk and soul as she’d gotten older. “I’m not going to stop bugging youuntil you tell me.”

Yodo gave her an unplaceable look and silently picked up apile and quickly stomped toward the ‘grindcore’ aisle.

She wasn’t about to give up that easy. Chouchou followedher, playing a very one-sided game of twenty questions as she went, pushing thelimits of her knowledge of Yodo’s favourite music. Outside of the occasionalgrunt and assertions that she was never going to find out who it was, Yodoremained unresponsive.

Well, she couldn’t be having that, the whole point ofher teasing was to get a reaction, to get her attention, with the nebulousend goal of eventually kissing her and hopefully things would just carry onfrom there.

Disaster gay she might be, but she was at least self-awareabout it.

But, until she found the courage to confess, she had anurgent mystery to solve and she’d just thought of a brilliant plan.

Asking what decade the song was from in her whiniest voice,she pulled her phone out and tapped out a quick message. Just a few secondslater, Yodo jumped and frowned down at the pocket of her tight jeans, the onesthat were ripped to the point of being non-existent. Chouchou was veryfond of those jeans.

Leaning over her shoulder, Chouchou snickered at the textYodo had just received – a simple ‘hey girl’ – and, before she could ask whatthe hell she was messaging her for when she was literally right next to her,she reached over and snatched the phone out of her hand, tugging the wire ofthe earbuds with it.

“Hey!” Yodo spun around, glaring up at her with thosebeautiful eyes, that could look anything from green, to blue, to grey,depending on the light. But, right now, they just looked… apprehensive?

That gave her pause, just for a moment, but when her friendgave no sign that she was truly angry, which she knew from experiencewas a valid concern, she decided to push her luck and grin. “Hey, you weren’ttelling me, so I’m just gonna listen for myself to find out.”

“NO!”

She held the phone high above Yodo’s head – not exactly adifficult feat, she barely reached her elbows, even when she wasn’twearing six-inch heels – and stuck her tongue out at her, before catching oneof the dangling earbuds and sticking it in her own ear, all the while, nudgingYodo’s grasping hands away.

The tone was an immediate shock, much softer and lighterthan what she’d been expecting, as was the perfectly clear, lilting voice ofthe female vocalist.

It was also very familiar and she found herself singingalong for half a second before slowly saying, “Wait… I know this song, this is…”Suddenly, it all clicked together and she was biting her lip trying not tolaugh. “Awwww, the scary punk rocker likes sugary bubble-gum pop!”

Yodo slapped a hand against her mouth and glanced around the– still empty – shop. “Not so loud!”

She raised her brows and gently peeled the hand from herlips, maybe revelling in the skin contact a little longer than appropriate. “Seriously?You’re that embarrassed?” she asked, watching in mild amusement as her friendkept looking over her shoulder, as though a horde of metalheads was going to materialisebehind them any second to mock her taste in music.

It was a little cute, in all honesty. Or maybe it was justthat Yodo was so cute that everything she did gained an air ofadorability.

“No, I just…” She bit her lip and, god, thatwas just unfair, because Chouchou really wanted to lean down and try it forherself. “You were raving ‘bout her new album the other day, figured I’d checkit out, see what the fuss was about.”

Literally clapping her hands in joy, she released the mostgirlish squeal she’d probably ever made in her life. “Oh, that’s so sweet ofyou! So, what do you think?”

“It’s-”

Chouchou unconsciously leaned forwards, eyes almost poppingout of her head as she waited in terrified anticipation for the verdict. Shedidn’t know when Yodo’s opinion had become so important to her, but she was silentlypraying that her taste in music had impressed her crush; or at the very leastthat it hadn’t made her decide that she was absolutely not cool enough to behanging out with her and could she please leave the shop before her glitterypop songs scared off any customers.

“-really good. The middle’s a bit weak, but that guitar workis surprisingly solid for a pop artist and that song Paradise Sunsets probablyhas some of the best lyrics I’ve heard all year.”

She didn’t release a sigh of relief, mostly because she wasalready spewing out a rush of words that even she herself only half understood,so rushed and tripping over her words was she. “Right? I dunno that she’llever make another song that good, but it’s definitely one of my all-time faves.”

“Yeah, I’d never really paid much attention to her before,but I did skim through some of her older stuff too, there’s some really greatstuff in there!” Those ever-changing eyes were shining with the same kind ofexcitement she always got when she spoke about discovering a new band, or whenshe sang on stage in front of a crowd of dozens, as though it were a crowd ofthousands.

Music was such a huge part of her life – Chouchou’s tooreally – and seeing how much she loved and cared about a singer she hadintroduced her too…

“You know, I can think of a few similar artists I couldrecommend you, if you’re interested.”

Yodo gave her a blank look for a second, before her cheeksdarkened and she gave a wide grin. “Sounds fun, but if you’re subjecting me to themainstream, then I’m gonna be giving you a crash course in the history of metalin return.”

Even more time spent in the company of the cutest, coolestwoman in the world, bonding over their shared passion for music? Yeah, shecould live with that.

---

#ictoan writes #yodochou #yodo #chocho akimichi #boruto #naruto #sorry it took a while to get to #work is hell when can i quit #can you tell how much joy these two give me?#Anonymous

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fanfic-inator795 · 5 years

Text

RotTMNT/Baron Jitsu Fanfiction: Dating... With Children - Chapter Two

(Also on AO3 if you want to leave a comment or kudos)

Plot: Benjamin Draxum hardly considered himself a man of high social standing. Not because he was uncouth or unworthy of it, mind you, but simply because he didn't have much of a social life. Hard to have one when he usually spent his days at work, cooped up in a lab for so long that he often had his lunches in there, and his nights at home reading or doing research for more personal projects. But perhaps meeting handsome semi-retired movie star - as well as his four young sons - could change all that...

((Chapter two, ya’ll! Thank you to everyone for their support on this story so far, and I hope you enjoy the next chapter! ^v^))

“...What’ve you got there, baby?”

Mikey smiled, and held the drawing - consisting of crayon, marker AND a bit of paint - up for his father to see. “Lots of drawings!” he replied, “Didn't wanna choose one, so I made ‘em all! Like this guy here is a super cool dragon, an’ here's his friend who’s a turtle that can skateboard, and this is a bee that's always makin’ up words and making people spell them!”

“Heh, I'm sure I know what that's inspired from,” Lou chuckled, remembering how Raph shared that his class was having a spelling bee a couple weeks ago. He sat and listened to his youngest explain each doodle, nodding and making quick comments of his own as he did so.

“And that's all I really have so far,” Mikey finished, setting the paper down, “but I think I wanna try to add a few more drawings. Maybe some stickers too, THEN it'll be perfect!”

“Alright,” Lou nodded, “But when you're finished, would you please clean off the table? Remember, we have company coming over tonight.”

“Oh yeah! Don't worry, Papa, I will!”

“Good,” Lou smiled, ruffling his curly hair and making the boy giggle, “Thank you.”

“I'm glad Dr. Draxum is coming over,” Donnie spoke up from the beanbag, looking up from his textbook, “I wanna talk to him more about science stuff. And look!” He held up his book - ‘The Building-Blocks of Life’. “I'm reading up on genetics too! And I'm pretty sure I’ll be about as smart as him on it by the time I'm finished.”

Amused, Lou raised an eyebrow. “I didn't realize they were teaching genetics in the first grade.”

“They aren't. I finished my work early and got to go to the library again.” “Ah.” Lou made another mental tally in his head. The school hadn't said anything yet, but if this kept up, he'd have to go there himself and look into possibly moving Donatello up to Raph’s grade. “Can you believe that some kids aren't even interested in looking at the big kid section of books? Or at the non-fiction section? Those are the best sections!”

“Heh, no, I can't. But then it's a good thing that you can appreciate them.” He began to stand up, but stopped when his ears picked up on something. Some quiet whispers, a couple soft footsteps… The martial artist smirked, and prepared himself.

After a couple seconds, he felt something heavy run into him, slamming him to the carpeted floor. He let out an “OOF!”, unable to help himself, while giggles filled his ears. “I got you, Pop!” Raph grinned, “You're pinned!”

“Oh, are you sure?” Lou asked, “because I think-” He twisted his body quickly, knocking a surprised Raphael off before scooping him up into his arms, making the boy squeal. “That I have YOU!” Raph squirmed in his father’s grip while Lou gave him a couple quick noogies before kissing him on the top of his head.

“Daaaad!” Raph groaned, sticking his tongue out. Lou just laughed, letting the boy go.

“Told ya you couldn't beat him, Raphie,” Leo said, grinning at the whole scene as he sat on the arm of his pop’s chair, growing legs swinging, “He's like, the best fighter in the whole world!”

“Yeah well, I still pinned you for a second, right Pop?”

“Mm-hm,” Lou nodded, “Though next time, make sure to actually pin them once you have them on the floor. Don't just sit on them, but try putting your hands and weight on their shoulders. Makes it harder for them to move, slows them down some.” After a moment, he added “But, maybe don't try to tackle our guest tonight, hm?”

“Heh, I won't.” “Good. Now why don't you and your brother wash up?” Raph and Leo both glanced down at their grass and dirt covered limbs, grimaced at them and dashed out of the room.

Still chuckling a bit to himself, Lou picked himself off the floor and headed back into the kitchen. He had already started prepping a couple dishes, but he still had plenty left to do for their meal. His smile softened a bit as he thought about their guest…

It had taken five days for Draxum to call him. In that time, Lou had tried looking him up online. Draxum’s social media was pretty standard, nothing offensive or red-flag raising but nothing too interesting either. The only other piece of the man online was a brief biography on his lab’s research site along with a photo - where he had a very serious and professional expression on his face. A far cry from the fairly casual man he had met at the art gallery.

When he did finally call, it had been late at night, just after he'd put the boys to bed and right before heading to bed himself. Lou had wondered if perhaps this was planned, as a sort of “welp, I tried calling but there was no answer, oh well” type of thing. But Lou had answered, and much to his (and certainly to Draxum’s) surprise, they had ended up talking for a couple hours.

The conversation had started out pretty slow and standard. Lou asked how his day at work was, and Draxum asked how he and the boys were doing. After a while though, things became a little more natural, and their conversation almost became more of a banter. They’d go back and forth, discussing their favorite forms of entertainment, hobbies they enjoyed, and even sharing a couple personal anecdotes. And after all that, there was no way Lou wasn't going to end the call by inviting him over.

Draxum told him he'd have to check his schedule. It only took until the next morning for Draxum to text, letting him know that he would be free the following weekend. Again, Lou couldn't help but wonder if Draxum actually had to check his schedule or if he just didn't want to appear to eager, but said nothing. Instead, he simply gave him a date, time and his home address, and let him know that he was looking forward to it.

Lou had to admit, Draxum wasn't usually his type, but he was still unique enough to catch the ex-movie star’s interest. After all, how many buff science-type bookworms did one meet in their life? Draxum was certainly intelligent, and had a bit of a dry wit but never seemed like a snob. He was a bit stiff but not boring, spoke his mind and, if Lou was really being honest, was so hot. (Again, buff bookworms. Who knew?) Plus, his kids really seemed to like him too. In Lou’s opinion, that last bit was the most important one of all. So, with all that in mind, Lou just figured: “Eh, why not?”

It was funny how often that phrase came up during the big decisions in his life - like when he had decided that he wanted to try being a father when almost everything else in his life seemed hollow, and ended up adopting four kids instead of just one.

---------

Draxum looked at his watch. 5:17. A bit early but, wasn't that better than being late? Really, it was a good sign he was there at all, given that he was still a bit surprised at himself for even accepting the invite. ...Not that spending more time with Lou was necessarily a bad idea...

He then glanced up at the house he was now in front of. Having never actually been invited to a celebrity’s home before, he hadn't quite been sure what to expect. But a medium sized, cozy looking and slightly run-down home in Brooklyn certainly was a bit of a surprise. Maybe making action movies didn't pay as well as Draxum thought.

Still, he kept these comments to himself as he went up the walkway that was littered with chalk drawings and up to the door, knocking twice. It took a couple moments for someone - one of the boys, the one with light patches of skin around his eyes who was wearing a blue tee - to open the door. “You know the password?” He asked.

Draxum’s expression twisted slightly in annoyance, but he kept his cool. “Open says me?” He guessed.

“Mm nnnnope, sorry.” With that, the door was slammed in his face. From the other side, he could hear more young voices, scolding and lightly arguing with each other. The door opened again, and one boy had become four. “I was just joking!” Leo insisted while Donnie continued to glare.

“Hi, Dr. Draxum!” Mikey greeted with a wave.

“Sorry about my dumb brother-” “Hey!” “You can come on in,” Raph added.

Draxum nodded. “Thank you,” he said, moving his arm a bit so he could reveal more of the small box he had been carrying. “If you hadn't let me in when you did, this probably would have melted.”

Leo’s eyes widened. “Wait, you brought cake?! Well you should’a said so!”

With a ghost of a smile on his face, Draxum walked inside. The living room to the Jitsu home was inviting and very much in-use, but not the cluttered and messy space that Draxum had been worried it might have been. There was a reclining chair, a love seat, two kid-sized beanbags, a coffee table with several colorful marks now permanently on it, and a flat screen tv that was playing some cartoon. There were a couple toys on the floor, though not enough that Draxum had to worry about tripping over anything, as well as a few framed pictures on the wall. One of Lou at what looked like some award ceremony, one of him with a Chinese woman (ex wife, perhaps?) and of course, one of him with his children that looked like it was taken just a couple years ago.

“Hey, Doc!” a voice called from the kitchen, bringing Draxum out of his thoughts, “How’s it going? You find the place alright?”

“Yes, there's this wonderful thing called a gps that really helps,” Draxum dryly replied.

Lou chuckled, smiling at him over his shoulder, and blinking when he saw the ice cream cake in the taller man’s hands. From the look of the packaging, he could guess that it came from a pretty high end bakery. “Oh, you didn't have to bring anything.”

“Well, you said you were making supper, I figured the least I could do was bring dessert,” Draxum told him, “Should I just put this in the fridge, then?”

“Yeah, go right ahead.” Draxum did, and then sat down at the table. He noticed that Lou was just in a loose fitting, pale yellow tee and some jeans. Immediately, he felt overdressed, even if he himself was just in a button-up long sleeve shirt and some dark khakis. Still, Draxum tried to look as ‘casual’ as possible, but clearly it wasn't working by the way Lou kept glancing back at him from the kitchen counter

“I'm glad you could make it, by the way,” Lou spoke up, trying to break the ice a little, “I'm sure you get pretty busy, being a scientist and all.”

“Actually, unless I hit a big breakthrough or doing work on a time sensitive project, it's pretty much a nine-to-five job most of the time,” Draxum replied, “The work stays steady, at least.” Lou nodded, and went back to his cooking. Not wanting to risk falling into uncomfortable silence once again, Draxum decided to ask something that had been on his mind since they first met. “And what do you do for a living these days, given that your last film was in, what, the early 2000s?”

Rather than being offended or caught off guard, Lou just smirked. “...You sure you're not a fan of my films?”

“Definitely not,” Draxum retorted so quickly that it made Lou laugh

“If you say so! Anyway, yeah, that was about the time I moved from LA to here. I was smart about my last few paychecks, so I pretty much live off my savings.

Draxum blinked. “...Seriously?”

“Seriously. Though, I know I can't use ALL of it - I know at least one of my kids is going to be going to college - so I do odd jobs when I need to. Make appearances at conventions, do a quick commercial or two sometimes- heh, last year I was even paid to play on a gameshow. A stagehand kept an eye on the boys as they watched me play from the audience, I won some money for a charity, and then the next day I took them to Disneyland. Used most of that paycheck to do it, too. So, I guess you could call me a bit of a sellout.” Though judging by his tone, Lou didn't seem bothered by this at all.

“I don't think anyone could really blame you for taking less time consuming work,” Draxum offered, “Still, do you ever miss making movies, as cheesy as they are?” Or rather, were.

Lou thought for a moment as he tossed the last few ingredients into the frying pan. “...Yeah,” he admitted, “I do. Though, there are plenty of things about the industry that I definitely don't miss, and besides…” His smile softened a bit. “I've got plenty of other things to occupy my time.”

Suddenly, there was a shout. Turning in surprise, Draxum looked through the doorway and watched as Donnie tackled a laughing Leon to the floor. “...Speaking of which, do you know that your kids are tackling each other?”

“Oh yeah, they do that sometimes,” Lou nodded, not even moving from the counter, “Boys will be boys and all that. They're going to roughhouse no matter what I say, and as long as they follow the rules, I usually don't need to step in.”

“Rules?”

Setting down his stirring spoon, Lou counted them off his fingers. “No holding anyone down for more than a couple seconds, no using force to get someone to play what you want to play, if someone says they don't want to wrestle then just leave them be, and no making anyone cry. They're good boys, so that last one is usually punishment enough when they accidentally break it.”

“Ah, I see,” Draxum nodded. Well, that was one way to teach kids how to control their strength and think about their actions. Still, he wondered how Lou would go about things once his sons got a little older and possibly became interested in following in their father’s martial arts footsteps.

It didn't take much longer for their supper to be finished. The kids came to the table without even needing to be called, smelling the food and eager to eat as well as being excited to talk with their guest again. While Raph and Leo told Lou all about the latest exciting climax in their cartoon, Mikey shared one of his drawings with Draxum, who could only stare at it.

“It's, uh…” He tilted his head a bit, staring at the mess of bright colors and scribbles. What on earth was it supposed to be? A natural disaster mixed with a rainbow? “...Very nice, yes.

Mikey beamed. “Really?! Which one is your favorite?”

Shoot, there was more than one drawing there? Well, that at least explained why everything was so cluttered. “Er, well…” He focused a little more on the drawing, and try to find anything that resembled something other than a blob or a tumbleweed to him. “I like this… Cat. Yes, this cat over in the corner, with the… Ice cream on it?”

Mikey looked back at the paper. “That's not a cat.” “Oh, sor-” “But that's a good idea!” The boy gave Draxum another bright smile. “I’ll draw you a kitty with ice cream later, kay?”

“Heh, very well,” Draxum nodded, relieved that he didn't offend the young artist.

“-And then, they used the magic sword, and blasted the bad guys right into the sky!” “Yeah, and the main hero guy said the BEST thing afterwards! He's soooo cool!”

“Well of course, he IS the main hero, after all” Lou chuckled, setting the last of the dishes down at the table, “Donnie, please put your book away now.”

Donnie frowned, reluctantly closing his half-finished textbook. “Fine…” As he placed it back into his ever-present backpack, Draxum managed to catch the book’s title.

“Genetics, hm?” He asked, smiling a bit. Perhaps the boy had been inspired. “Enjoying it so far?” Donnie nodded, keeping his eyes on the silverware in front of him.

The meal was fairly simple. A baked fish as the main course, with fried rice and an easy-to-make salad as the sides. Still, what it lacked in uniqueness, it more than made up for in good flavor. “I'm usually not much of a fish eater, but this is quite good,” Draxum commented, after only a couple bites.

“Mm-hm,” Lou smirked, “I'm not just a handsome actor-martial artist, after all. I know how to cook.” Draxum just rolled his eyes, mildly amused at his date’s cockiness.

“You should try eatin’ the fish and the rice at the same time,” Raph advised, “They go really good together!”

Draxum was the type to keep his food, as well as the tastes and textures, separate while he ate, but he did try the combination once just to appease the eldest Jitsu child. As he continued to eat, Draxum kept glancing over at Donatello out of the corner of his eye. The boy in purple nibbled and picked at his food, fidgeting a bit and staying silent. Certainly different from the eager and inquisitive boy Donnie had introduced himself as, so what had brought on this sudden shyness?

Was it something Draxum had said? He couldn't think of anything that could've been taken as discouragement or dismissal. So, maybe Donnie just didn't care for his field of science but didn't want to offend Draxum by saying so? No, that didn't seem right either. So then, what-?

He noticed Leo leaning over, whispering to Donnie for a moment before being nudged away. Rather than being annoyed, Leo just looked a bit concerned while his twin just looked… Embarrassed? An epiphany went off in Draxum’s mind. So THAT was why Donnie wasn't talking to him.

“Donnie,” he began, getting the boy’s attention, “I was wondering if you had any thoughts on your research so far?”

Donnie continued to squirm, squeezing his fists in his lap. “I-I mean, I'm still reading through the book so, so I'm not really an expert on it yet.” Truth be told, while he liked all sciences, he had really taken a shine to robotics and technology the most. “But talking to you ‘bout it before gave me a good head start, and I know the basics of it already and, um…”

“Yes…?”

“A-And, I…” Donnie scowled before suddenly shouting, “I have a scientific theory! A-About genetics, I mean.”

Draxum nodded, keeping composed (because, wow, even he could admit this was kind of adorable). “May I hear about it?” he asked, making sure to keep his voice neutral to avoid sounding patronizing, knowing that a child as smart as Donnie would definitely notice.

“Well… O-Our genes are inherited from our birth parents, right? So we only have a possibility of getting what they, or the rest of their people in their family, had. But, maybe there could be a way to, um, switch out genes somehow? Maybe with gene samples from other people, or with genes made by scientists, and then those new cells could develop and make whatever kind of person with whatever features they wanted.” Donnie winced a bit once he was finished, and waited for Draxum’s reaction.

The scientist hummed. “Well, that is a sound theory. Perhaps a bit difficult to test at the moment, but I can understand the basis of it, as well as see how it could be possible one day.” Donnie’s eyes widened. He stared back at Draxum, and began to grin widely, as if he had just received the best compliment ever. Draxum held back a chuckle. “Would you like to discuss this theory further?” “Yeah!”

Unsurprisingly, once Draxum began sharing the concept of gene mutation, the conversation devolved into a mix of scientific theorizing with some sci-if-esque levels of speculation (Donnie) and a debate over which animal features and mutations would be best to mix with people (the rest of the boys). Still, the discussion was no less enjoyable, to the kids or to Draxum.

And as for Lou, he just watched and listened, a warm smile on his face. This may have been their first shared meal together, but Draxum already felt like a seat at the table that had always somehow been there

----------

“...I think I just made it impossible for your kids to go to sleep tonight.”

“Eh, they've had worse sugar rushes. Trust me, this is nothing. Besides, they'll burn it all up soon enough.”

The remaining slices of the ice cream cake had already been placed back into the fridge, and because it was still somewhat light out, the boys had been allowed to go play outside for a while. So, they raced out the door, leaving their father and his date to watch by the window while they started playing what Draxum could only describe as a mixed up version of soccer and cricket.

He wasn't even sure if they were keeping score. All he could tell was that the game involved running all around the small yard, using foam swords and hockey sticks to hit a ball as well as kicking it with their feet. Either way, they all seemed to enjoy it, with Raph happily teaming up with Mikey and offering him a piggyback ride whenever his youngest brother struggled to keep up.

Draxum hummed, taking a small sip from the tea Lou had made for him before setting the cup back down. “Your kids are definitely unique.”

“Heh, they sure are,” Lou agreed, “They really are good boys… And they really like you, you know.”

Draxum nodded. It was still sort of hard to believe himself, given how he often thought of children as nothing more than tiny annoyances. Yes, Lou’s kids were loud, and strange, and still a tiny bit annoying. But they were also clever and endearing, and even a little cute. So, he had no real problems with them liking him, or with liking them in return.

“...And,” Lou began, taking a step closer, suddenly making Draxum very aware of his presence, “I really like you too.”

“I-...” That was all Draxum could get out as he turned from the window, looking Lou directly in the eyes now. The handsome (‘ugh, why did he have to be so handsome,’ Draxum thought to himself, knowing this would all be so much easier if he wasn't) man stared back at him, lips curled into an honest smile. No cockiness or playing up his ego, Lou simply wanted him to know how he felt.

“And I mean it too. And uh, heh, no pressure or anything but… I hope the feeling’s mutual.” Draxum didn't say anything, but he didn't look away either. Lou took another slow step forward. Close enough together to do so now, Draxum dared himself to take his hands.

“I think… That's a possibility,” Draxum told him quietly, finally finding the words to reply.

Lou smiled, letting out a soft chuckle that made Draxum’s heart leap a bit. “Good to know…” They were closer now, enough for Draxum to see himself in Lou’s glasses. He told himself that he wasn't the kind of man to kiss on the first date, but Lou was making it SO tempting!

Their faces were getting closer, with Draxum’s own feeling much too warm. He placed his hands on the shorter man’s chest… And gently pushed him away.

The ex-action star blinked, the intimate mood gone in an instant, suddenly leaving him feeling cold. Still, despite his disappointment, Lou backed away.

“...It’s getting late,” Draxum stated, “I should probably get going.” He didn't waste time moving past Lou, now standing in the doorway between the kitchen and living room.

Lou nodded. “Right, of course. Well, thanks again for coming over. I had a nice-”

“I’m-” Draxum suddenly began to say, still refusing to look back at him, “I’m… Available next weekend, as well. So, perhaps you could come over to my place and we could have dinner there.” He paused for a moment before adding, “Just the two of us. It, it's the least I could do, cooking for you in return.”

“...” Lou’s grin returned. So there WAS going to be a next time! “Yeah, that sounds great! Just text me a time and your address and I’ll be there!”

Draxum nodded. “I will.”

“Heh, I’ll be looking forward to our next appointment, Dr. Draxum.”

Even with the light blush still in his cheeks, Draxum turned back around halfway, scoffing at him. “You don't have to keep calling me that. I have a first name, I won't be offended if you use it.”

Despite his internet search on the man, Lou continued to be coy. “You never told me it, Dr. Tall, Dark and Handsome.”

His date rolled his eyes, sighing slightly. He was tall, definitely, but he wasn't anywhere near dark. His skin just barely had a tan! “It's Benjamin. Benjamin Draxum.”

“Ah. Well, Ben, I’ll see you next week.” Draxum nodded, hesitating for only a moment before moving once more. Lou followed him to the front door, and they each gave a quick good night before Draxum left.

“Heh, a second date,” Lou told himself, still grinning about it, “How about that?” With his steps light and earlier disappointment being unable to touch his now sky-high mood, Lou went into his backyard and began trying to wrangle up his kids and get them back inside for pajamas and teeth brushing.

#baron jitsu #rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #lou jitsu #baron draxum #fanfiction #my writing

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ineffablecolors · 5 years

Note

Number 6? Or number 11? I’m always a sucker for when Emma’s grinchy heart grows three sizes as she discovers Killian really isn’t an asshole.

Thank you, anon! This is definitely not finished but I’m too excited to share it and hear what you guys think. Sooo probably expect part 2 toward the end of the week :D

I’m doing winter prompts from here. If you like them, check out ‘Tis The Season and if you really really like them, check out my brand new book which also contains a selection of Christmas stories. :))

11. you’re the asshole of our group and we don’t get along, but then i find out you make soup for the local shelter

you’re such an assh- oh. [Part 1] [Part 2]; ~ 3, 200 words; FF.NET || AO3

“Love, you know Isteer clear of all that.”

Emma suppresses theurge to roll her eyes at his deep timbre, the way he rolls the word “love”around and flutters his eyelashes slightly – all obviously meant to charm MaryMargaret and let him have his way. As always.

“Oh, come on, Killian.You can let me have this one. It’s just a fortune, you don’t even have to showit to us.”

Jones sighs as ifdrawing a fortune slip out of the Christmas hat MM has been thrusting at eachof them in turn is the biggest sacrifice he has ever been asked to make. Emmafeels only slightly petty about the way she pointedly strides over and plungesher hand into the red felt.

Truth be told, Emmaisn’t the biggest fan of MM’s numerous Christmas activities either – the SecretSanta, the cookie exchanges, the ostentatious dinners, and now the Christmasfortunes, but there are few things she will not do for the sake of her bestfriend. There are also few things she will not do to spite Killian Jones.

If the way he doesn’t suppress his eyeroll at heractions is anything to go on, he knows it too.

“What did ya get, Ems?Please, let it be one of the saucy ones I wrote!” Ruby somehow manages to clapwith the glass of wine in her hand.

Emma pulls the pieceof paper out of its miniature envelope and groans at how many times it’s folded– by the time she has managed to get it all smoothed out Ruby is making dyingnoises.

“Alright, alright. Iswear this is made for people with miniature fingers. Here – A selfless good deed is the thing to make aheart sweet.”

This time she doesn��tsuppress her eyeroll. Her only consolation is that Ruby huffs in displeasureand drops back into her armchair, clearly displeased with Emma’s less than “saucy”fortune.

“Oh, that’s lovely,Emma!”

She puts on a smilefor Mary Margaret’s sake and looks back at the piece of paper. She has nodesire to “sweeten” her heart but doing a good deed over the holidays doesn’tsound like such a bad idea actually. Truthfully, Emma feels a little bad abouthow impersonal most of her holiday “good deeds” have been. She usually donatesto some organization aiding homeless people and sends some presents to anorphanage of her choice – both close to her heart, but she has never actuallygone and gotten involved personally. Maybe this will be the year.

She is drawn out ofher thoughts by the little jingle of the Santa hat that Mary Margaret is nowliterally shoving in Jones’ face. If the guy wasn’t such an asshole, Emma wouldactually sympathize with him.

“Come on, Killian.”

Especially when MMbreaks out her most winning smile. It’s as effective as Jones’ charms, if notmore so. Not that those have ever worked on Emma.

Honestly, she has noidea how such an arrogant man as Killian Jones wormed his way into the friendcircle of people such as David and Mary Margaret Nolan, Belle French and GrahamHumbert. Sure, she and Ruby aren’t without their thorns but their places in thegroup were solidified by their statuses – hers as Mary Margaret’s best friendand Ruby’s as Belle’s girlfriend, and they are always willing to take part inany group activities and eager to be with their self-made family.

The same cannot besaid about Killian Jones. Sure, he is a friend of David’s but he seems toaccept their invitations about as often as he turns them down. He never takes part in the Secret Santa. Henever hosts movie nights at hisplace. He rarely joins on day trips.He rarely joins them for dinnercelebrations, choosing to slink in when they are already at the bar instead. Hehas even missed a birthday party on occasion. Emma – with how much this groupof people means to her – thinks he is not nearly as appreciative as he shouldbe of how David has allowed him into their family and how they continue toinvite him to everything despite his flakiness.

At least he got overhimself enough to draw a fortune. Mary Margaret is positively beaming at him.Emma is trying to put a limit on her eyerolls allowance for the evening.

“Well, what does itsay?”

Jones seems startledby her question. His cough is incredibly uncomfortable and he looks around asif—

“Would you mind, love?”

He extends the littleenvelope toward Mary Margaret and she and Emma both look confused for a moment.MM seems to get with the program much faster.

“Oh, of course!”

She thrusts the hatwith the rest of the fortunes at Emma and takes Jones’ fortune. It’s only whenher slim fingers work their way into the small envelope and start on thetedious process of unfolding the tiny slip of paper that Emma realizes that’s apretty not one-hand job.

“Do you want me toread it out loud?”

Killian shrugs.

“If you wish.”

Mary Margaret looksdown at the fortune and Emma has just enough time to get confused by the slightblush that quickly works its way into her cheeks before MM glances at Ruby andit becomes clear that Killian has drawn one of Ruby’s “saucy” fortunes.Figures.

“Ummm,” MM swallowsand passes it to him and Emma is shocked to see that whatever is on the pieceof paper makes even Jones’ ears turn a little bit pink.

He stuffs the fortuneinto his back pocket and he and MM share a look that obviously swears them bothto secrecy in seconds. Emma’s curiosity is warring with her desire to show nointerest to the extend that she even considers sneaking the thing out ofKillian’s back pocket. Which she will never do. Of course not.

“More wine, Ems?”

“Eh.”

With obviousreluctance she holds her glass toward Ruby and one of the bottles of red Jonesbrought. Emma is not a snob. Not by a long shot. But Killian Jones has trulyhorrendous taste in wine. Or, more likely, he truly cannot be bothered to pickand buy a good one. It’s just another little thing that shows her how little hecares about the group of people who have welcomed him so warmly.

Emma has spent ashocking amount of time thinking about ways to fulfill her fortune. She hassettled on getting more involved with the two initiatives that she generallyjust donates money to. So three weeks before Christmas she finds herself at ashelter in a less than thriving neighbourhood, dressed in her oldest jeans anda dark hoodie under her thick winter jacket.

“Hello, may I helpyou?”

Emma looks at theblonde woman before her and her first thought is that she looks like she isrunning a law firm rather than a shelter’s kitchen. Her hair is pulled backinto an immaculate braid and her white sweater is absolutely spotless. Emmafeels like it’s mocking the safety of her hoodie.

“Hi, I’m Emma? Icalled beforehand to ask when you might need volunteers?”

“Oh, yes, Emma! Thankyou so much for coming! We’re still setting up in the kitchen but I canintroduce you to everyone and show you to the station. We should be opening inanother 15 minutes or so,” the woman gives a brisk nod and starts walking. “Oh,I’m Elsa, by the way.”

By the look and soundof Elsa, Emma is sure they will be opening in exactly 15 minutes.

“So, tonight you’ll bemanning the station with Leroy – he is a veteran here so if you have anyquestions, he will know the answer.”

The short man givesElsa a nod while Emma just receives a suspicious once-over.

“Don’t let the scowlfool you, he is here every Christmas and will never refuse to show you theropes,” Elsa assures her and continues on, deaf to Leroy’s grumbling behindthem. “My sister Anna and her fiancé Kristoff should be joining you any minute. They have the bad habit ofcutting it pretty close quite often.”

Elsa’s pursed lips arenot exactly frightening but they sure don’t invite one to consider tardiness avirtue. Emma would be more put off but she considers that it probably takes astrong hand to organize and run such a thing.

“And don’t worry – ifthey are a bit late, Killian will come out to help you start off.”

Killian? Wha-

“Jones?!”

The guy stirring theenormous pot of soup gives a little jump and whirls around, the spoon in hishand splashes a little and Elsa must have put some sort of magical protectionon her sweater because it remains miraculously white and spotless despite herproximity to the stove.

“Swan?!”

“I see I don’t have tomake introductions here,” Elsa seems pleased by this development.

Emma is still stuck onthe fact that Killian Jones is makingsoup at a homeless shelter.

“So I’d say you candirect any questions at Killian. He has just as much experience as Leroy and heis much nicer to newcomers. Or justmuch nicer, period.”

Elsa laughs for thefirst time since Emma met her. Killian seems uncomfortable with praise for thefirst time since Emma met him. Emma has no clue what is happening and beforeshe can truly absorb it all Elsa waves at some place where the aprons are keptapparently and floats out, leaving her alone in the small kitchen with the lastman she expected to find there.

“You’d better grab oneof those before you get started, Swan. Can get quite messy after a couple ofhours.”

“What are you doinghere?”

She cringes a little.That was a bit too accusatory when asking why someone is being charitablearound Christmas.

“Same as you, I’mguessing.”

She looks at KillianJones and tries not to think that she is seeing him for the first time. It’shard though – especially when the tension in his shoulders is clear as day andshe can tell that his tongue is running restlessly over his lips even though hehas turned his attention back to his soup. The soup that he apparently made.That he often makes. For the homeless.

“You do this?”

His shoulders do thisrippling thing and now they are tight with another kind of emotion.Frustration, if she has to guess. Emma is surprised at how well she can readKillian’s emotions right now.

“It’s not the Ritz,Swan. You can chop some vegetables and stir some soup even with one hand.”

That’s not what—

“That’s not what I mea—“

“You meant why I’mdoing something other than throwing back beers and flirting my way into women’spanties for a change?”

She opens her mouth.Then she closes it again. Well, it kinda is what she meant, she just didn’tthink he—

“Yes, I’m well-awareof what you think of me. I’m sure finding Graham or David here wouldn’t havebeen such a shock.”

No, it wouldn’t have.But the bitterness in his tone is almost as much of a shock as his presence.

“I just—“

She is really not surewhat she would have said, she is really grateful for the girl that suddenlystorms in – Anna she will soon learn – chattering a mile a minute.

“Oh, you must be Emma!”

Somehow, in the spanof a second, Anna manages to introduce herself, give her a quick and veryunexpected hug, whirl around, kiss Killian on the cheek and whirl back aroundin time to introduce Emma to her fiancé.

“You should really puton a—“

“Here,” Killian thruststhe worn apron into her hands and turns back to his soup.

Anna beams at Killian’sback, oblivious to the tension that still lingers in the room.

“Lesson number 1,Killian is a lifesaver, if you fuck up – spill something, burn yourself, cut yourself,just come here and he’ll fix you right up.”

Emma is almost certainthat Killian mutters something along the lines of “I’m sure she’d rather not”but Anna is already dragging her out the door and talking about how Elsa’sschedule is law and must be abided at all costs.

She spends three hoursladling out soup that Killian Jones made for the less fortunate. It gives herplenty of time to think about things. Or more like, to keep going in circles.As soon as she has convinced herself that she has wrongfully labeled KillianJones an asshole, the cynical voice in her head pipes up and insists that onegood deed does not a good person make. As soon as that happens, another smoothor wrinkled face beams at her as she hands them their full bowl.

The thing is that thisisn’t just “one good deed”. Killian is obviously an almost permanent fixturehere. Elsa, Anna and Kristoff obviously know him quite well and think nothingbut the best of him. Some of the people that come in even ask about himpersonally. Anna lets a particularly excited little boy back into the kitchenand Emma is pretty sure he was clutching a handmade Christmas card and—

Her cynical voice isreally losing this one.

She heads to the backto leave her apron and take her jacket, still lost in thought, convinced thatJones must have gone home by now and she has some time to consider what thehell she should say the next time she sees him.

“You can leave that overthere with the rest. Elsa will collect and wash them.”

She doesn’t yelp buther eyes almost pop out of her head. Thankfully, Jones has his back to her again,though he has now moved to the sink.

“Jesus. What are youstill doing here?”

He sighs and Emmamentally slaps herself. Maybe it’s time she stops questioning his presence.

“As I pointed outearlier, Swan, this is not the Ritz. The “chef” and the dishwasher are one andthe same.”

“I got that, I’m notsome spoilt princess that stumbled here by mistake, you know?”

“I’m not questioningwhy you’re here,” he says emotionlessly.

Right. That’s her job.

“I can help with theclean up before I take this off.”

She motions to herapron and before Killian can approve or disprove of her suggestion, she reachesfor one of the huge pots. That’s her first mistake. Her second one is assumingit’s empty.

“Shit!”

Water with bits ofvegetables spills all over the floor and her shoes. And her old jeans. Fuck.

“Bloody hell!”

“Shit! Sorry! Shit,shit!”

“Go find Elsa. She’llfind you a change of clothes.”

“I’ll clean this and—“

“Swan,” Killian fixesher with a serious look that looks surprisingly calm and not angry. “It’s notanywhere near warm in here. Go get changed, I’ll clean this up and we’ll getyou a cab.”

She opens her mouth toprotest but snaps it shut and actually does as she is told.

Killian finds heroutside ten minutes later – soaked jeans and all.

“Before you startberating me, Elsa had just left – some engagement with her aunt.”

Jones sighs and runs ahand through his messy hair. His hand is very pink, probably something to do withwashing a mountain of pots and ladles.

“And cabs seem to beallergic to this street.”

“The neighbourhood ingeneral,” he mutters and his hand reaches toward his hair again when Emma feelsthe full body shiver wrack through her.

Killian’s hand freezeshalf way up and he sighs in resignation and drops it back to his side.

“Come on, Swan.”

He starts walkingbefore she can so much as blink at him in confusion. Emma is only a little putout that she feels compelled to follow.

“Where are we going?”she asks as she catches up to him and tries to ignore the way the cold windplasters her wet jeans to her flesh.

“I live just aroundthe corner.”

“You do?”

Killian doesn’t sayanything.

It’s not a niceneighbourhood and it’s not a nice building. But Emma is much too cold toconsider much of anything until Killian Jones is waving her into his apartment.

“Sorry, it’s not—“ hedoesn’t finish, just waves his hand in the air and hurries to turn up the heat.

He really doesn’t haveanything to apologize for – the place is tidier than her apartment has everbeen. Everything seems to have its place and nothing is just thrown around eventhough it’s basically one room – his bed and wardrobe at the far wall with twoprecariously high columns of books instead of a nightstand, a worn couch and asmall IKEA table in the middle and a kitchen corner to her right.

It’s not exactlypleasantly warm inside but Emma is not numb with cold anymore. She is awareenough to read the new tension that has settled on Killian’s shoulders. Not thestrange and unfamiliar one that Elsa’s praise put there earlier but one thatEmma is a bit more acquainted with – the one that always seems to fall over himwhen he is faced with some task that he cannot perform one-handed. Shame.

“I think these willalmost fit you.”

She snaps her headaround and looks down at the sweatpants that Killian is holding out to her.

“You can…” he waves atthe only door in the apartment that probably leads to the bathroom. “I’ll tryto get you a cab or an Uber.”

“Thanks, I—“ she lookshelplessly between him and the sweatpants, then she takes them and feels a bitsilly over the way she clutches them in front of her chest. “Thanks.”

His bathroom is justas spotless as the rest of the place and just as small and sparsely decorated.Emma puts down the toilet seat and leaves her jacket, wallet and phone on itbefore she bends down to unzip her boots.

She cringes at themuddy footprints that she has left on the blue tiles.

“Great.”

Is it something abouttonight in particular or has she always been the worst? Now, Jones isdefinitely never inviting them to—

The position shefreezes in must be comical to an outsider. In her socks, trying to avoid herown muddy footprints, one hand tugging the wet jeans off one leg and the otherclutching at the sink. It’s not comical to Emma. Emma is too busy having anepiphany about Killian Jones.

Killian Jones whoregularly helps out at a homeless shelter. Killian Jones who lives in a smallapartment in a bad neighbourhood. Killian Jones who never hosts movie nights. KillianJones who never takes part in the Secret Santa. Killian Jones who never joins themfor dinner in the kinda trendy restaurants that Ruby makes them spurge for fromtime to time. Killian Jones with the busy schedule. Killian Jones with thecheap wine.

Fuck.

“Fuck.”

#captain swan #cs ff #cs au #the asshole fic #xmas challenge

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justanoutlawfic · 5 years

Text

You’ll Be In My Heart: Chapt. 4

Summary: Regina and Robin get to know each other better, before she sees Henry again.

Also on AO3

Regina’s stomach was fighting butterflies as she made her way up the elevator with Robin. Even though he said he gotten a suite with two bedrooms, she still wondered what their home life would be like. He wouldn’t expect her to share a room with him, surely? She supposed she’d have to get used to sharing a space with him at some point, even if it wasn’t a bedroom. They’d be living with each other for at least the next 10 years.

Would their marriage really last this long? Or was this all a formality until the adoption was final and then they’d go their separate ways, co-parenting Henry.

She thought about the times she had told her lawyer to offer to the Locksley’s that she’d move out to California so they could see him, offering even partial custody. It was towards the end of the trial and she would’ve done anything to keep Henry with her. Daniel had already given up by that point, and she couldn’t blame him. They had known by a certain point that the judge was just against them, for a reason she could never really understand. They might not have been as rich as the Locksley family, but they also weren’t broke either.

They reached the top floor of the hotel and Robin swiped the keycard for access to the suite. It was beautiful, with a sitting area right when they walked in and what looked to be a full kitchen off to the side. A bottle of wine sat on the middle of the coffee table in sitting area, with a note from the owner. Regina got a closer look, raising an eyebrow.

“They gave you your own wine to celebrate us getting married?”

Robin chuckled. “You’d be surprised. They think I’m such a snob, I wouldn’t drink anyone else’s.”

Regina saw two doors opposite one another, assuming they were the ones to the bedrooms. Despite the long flight and time change, she was too nervous to sleep. The next day, she’d be seeing her son. “I…I wouldn’t mind a glass.”

“Not tired?”

“I don’t think I could sleep even if I wanted to.”

Robin nodded, knowingly. “I’ve barely gotten any these past few days myself.”

He found a corkscrew and got the wine open, before pouring out some glasses for them. Regina settled onto the couch, Robin sitting next to her. He held up his glass.

“To Henry.”

Regina nodded. “The one bright spot in all of this.” She clinked her glass with his before taking a sip, hating herself for actually liking it.

“So, tell me about yourself.”

“I thought you would know enough.”

“I know what a private investigator could find, but that’s only so much.” Robin took a gulp of the wine. “What happened between you and Daniel?”

“Isn’t it obvious? Losing a child doesn’t exactly do great things to a marriage.”

Regina watched the heat rise to Robin’s cheeks and wanted to smack herself. He was trying to be nice and she just couldn’t let him. Letting out a sigh, she traced the rim of the glass.

“I guess things were rocky as it was. We had been together a long time, since we were 17 years old. Went to college together, got married right after graduation. We waited a year to start trying and when we couldn’t, he wanted to try IVF.”

“And you?”

Regina shrugged. “I couldn’t go through it. I knew it was expensive and risky, and I’d rather our money go somewhere that I felt was more of a guarantee. He agreed for me, but I think it also meant he blamed me when things went wrong.”

Robin frowned. “Did he say that?”

“No, but he pulled away when a birth mother changed her mind. He’d constantly bring up trying IVF and it’d lead to a fight. To be honest, before we met Emma, I was considering it. Just to make him happy. And then I felt really relieved when they called us saying she and Neal wanted to meet.”

Regina had to drink her wine again, she hadn’t admitted that to anyone, not even her closet friends.

“I can’t imagine what all of those choices do to a person,” Robin said, sympathetically.

“He was happy when Henry was born. He didn’t do a lot of the work, but that was mostly due to his own schedule. Still, when Henry called him “Dada”, he beamed. When he was old enough to tumble to greet him at the door, he’d swoop him into his arms and not let go.” Regina couldn’t help but smile at the memories. “We were a happy family, pretending we still didn’t have problems.”

“And then he was taken away.”

Regina’s smile faded. “Yeah. I fought so hard to appeal and Daniel let me, but he didn’t say anything. By the time my lawyer told me it was becoming a waste of money, that there was just no way and by then, it wouldn’t even be in Henry’s best interest, we were just so apart. We co-existed, but that was it. I went to therapy, but he didn’t want to. It was like Henry never existed.”

“I’m sure he missed him.”

“I know he did. But it still didn’t change that I needed to be able to talk about it. One night, I caught him trying to take down Henry’s room and give the stuff away. I lost it, told him never to go in there again.” She stared down at the burgundy wine in her glass. “He left the next day.”

Robin reached out, touching her hand, which made her look up out of reflex. His blue eyes seemed so kind, so filled with sorrow.

“I’m sorry.”

“It was fine, probably for the best. We still talk occasionally, he’s remarried. They had a baby of their own last year.” She laughed, in spite of herself. “That was hard to see.”

“I get it. My ex just had a kid herself with her new wife.”

Regina tilted her head. “You were married before?”

“You didn’t know?” She shook her head. “Oh.”

“What was her name?”

“Marian. We also got married pretty young. My dad wasn’t her biggest fan, but I didn’t care about that. She stood by my side, helping me with all of them.”

“What changed?”

“The custody case.” Regina looked more confused and Robin shrugged. “She hated that I didn’t do much to stop my father or Emma. She said that she didn’t know who I was. Despite the fact that I begged them both to not go through with it.”

“And she left you over that?”

“She said it was more my family than me. She couldn’t be apart of something like us.” He shook his head. “Scared the crap out of Mary Margaret, she worried she’d never be able to find someone.”

“Damn,” Regina whispered into her glass. “That’s wild.”

“It’s what gave me the urge to start challenging my father more. When Emma didn’t step up with parenting, I did. I knew I couldn’t let him be raised by our parents or their help.”

“And Mary Margaret? You say she still lives there with her husband.”

“She used to idolize our dad, but I think the case made him realize what kind of man he really was. She’s only there because of how sick he is.” He smiled a bit at the thought of her. “She’s a good sister, and a really, really amazing aunt. I don’t know how I would’ve gotten through these past few years without her.”

Regina saw the look on his face and it made her feel guilty when it came to her own family. Her father had passed away when she was in college, leaving behind just her mother and sister. Zelena had been Cora’s from a previous relationship and while Henry Sr. had treated her with nothing but love, Cora had focused on Regina and her life. Nothing Zelena did compared to her sister and despite Regina trying to convince her big sister that she didn’t think what her mom did, Zelena still resented her for it. She had gotten a job in England right out of college and moved there, now married with a little girl. Regina tried to visit when she could, but they weren’t at all close. Cora had been critical of every move Regina made as a mother, including claiming that she didn’t try hard enough to save her marriage. They exchanged e-mails and a phone call about once a month, but outside that, Regina was good with not seeing her. She doubted she would even tell her mom about Henry or Robin outside of an e-mail.

“I’m glad Henry has a good aunt,” Regina said. “My sister wasn’t really around to be that when he was with me.”

“I didn’t even think to ask if you wanted any of your family at the wedding.”

“My sister’s in England, my mom vacations mostly. I’m good.”

“Oh yeah, I definitely get that.”

They sat there for another few hours, drinking the wine and getting to know each other a bit better. Regina learned that Robin had a love for spy movies and that he was actually quite good at archery, having learned at summer camp when he was a young boy. Henry hadn’t quite picked up on the love, he was more of an “indoor kid” that loved books. That puzzled Robin a bit, because none of their family had been that way. Regina couldn’t help but smile, remembering back to Henry living under her roof, when they would read at least three books a night. That had to have rubbed off on him in some way.

Robin shared that he had a close relationship with his mom and that she had wanted to accept Regina’s offer for visitation, but Leopold had overridden her. Regina was careful to trash Emma to him, but even he seemed to hold some hostility to his sister. Even so, he said that he was proud of her for being the only one of them to have escaped their crazy family, even if it was only for a bit.

Regina even opened up a bit about Zelena when he kept talking about his own sisters. They seemed to be able to relate on the controlling parents when it came to Cora and Leopold, joking that they’d probably get along great if they had ever met. She hated to admit it, but Robin was a nice guy. He was charming, kind and had a passion for nature. Regina so badly wished she could find a negative quality in him, but it was hard. Even their parenting styles seemed to align.

Eventually, the bottle was empty and Regina was actually becoming tired. She said goodnight to Robin and made her way to her room, not bothering to turn on the light. She changed into some pajamas and brushed her teeth in the ensuite bathroom before sliding under the thousand count sheets. As she drifted off, she couldn’t help but smile, knowing she would see her son tomorrow.

The next morning, Regina found the butterflies return and she knew it wasn’t the glasses of wine she had inhaled. She showered and made her way into the sitting area where Robin had ordered room service, but she could barely enjoy her omelet. Regina just wanted to leave and see her son.

Luckily, Robin sensed her anxiety and didn’t linger. After eating his own pancakes and inhaling some coffee, they headed out on the road. It took 45 minutes to get out of the downtown part of Napa and head further into the wine country. Regina kept her eyes peeled out the window, trying to get a lay of the land. They passed a few vineyards and she didn’t miss the Locksley’s. Robin didn’t pull in, but she saw the luxurious stone sign, along with the high walls. She wondered what it must have been like to be raised in a place that was probably like a castle. Suddenly, she was grateful that Henry didn’t live there, and that she wasn’t expected to. It seemed far too suffocating.

Eventually, he pulled up a long driveway, which was paved with beautiful stones. When they got to the top, she immediately noticed a garden overflowing with different, unique flowers. The house itself was a tannish peach color, with a Spanish colonial roof. It wasn’t as big as she’d assume the Locksley manor would be, but much bigger than she had imagined Robin’s in her head. Suddenly, she wasn’t so worried about having to share a room with him.

What made her feel a bit better, was that there was evidence that a child lived there. Chalk and various balls were in the yard, and a child’s bike leaned next to an adult against the garage. In the yard, she could see a huge playhouse shaped like a wooden castle, a swing set and slide. There was a pool not far from there, fenced off, with pool toys hanging out. Henry lived there.

Her son lived there.

Regina let out a shaky breath as she unfastened her seatbelt and followed Robin through the front door. Immediately, they were greeted by a grey and white kitten. Socks, she presumed. Regina bent down to scratch him behind the ears, before hearing the sound of running coming down the hall.

“Uncle Robin!”

Regina shot up, her eyes widening as a little boy rounded the corner. He had dark brown hair and hazel eyes, along with the biggest smile she had seen in a while. She’d know that smile anywhere.

That was her son.

Tears came to her eyes as she took him in. He had chocolate covered hands and it was smeared on his cheek as well. Outside that, he wore a more relaxed outfit than she had been expecting, a navy-blue t-shirt with Thor on the front and a pair of black gym shorts. He looked right past her, to his uncle, going to hug him but then stopping, assuming because of his hands. Regina couldn’t even let her thoughts linger on that. She was staring at her son, the one she hadn’t seen in 5 years. He had grown up so much in that time.

“Hey buddy,” Robin said, ruffling his hair and giving him a hug anyway, not caring about his hands. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” Henry pulled away, still beaming. “Aunt Mary Margaret and I are making brownies.”

“I can see that,” Robin replied with a slight laugh. “Why aren’t you in school?”

“We had a half-day. The teachers have meetings or something.”

Henry’s eyes finally landed on Regina and he tilted his head, though his smile didn’t leave his face.

“Who are you?’

For once in her life, Regina was speechless. She didn’t know what to say or how to say it. He clearly didn’t remember her and who could blame him? The last she had seen him, he was 3-years-old and crying his eyes out. Who knew what Leopold or Emma had told him in the meantime.

Luckily, Robin seemed to speak for her. “Henry, this is my wife, Regina. She’s going to be living with us from now on.”

My wife. That was still going to take some getting used to. Regina might have given him a look, if her eyes weren’t glued on Henry, her heart beating a mile a minute.

“You might not remember this, Henry,” Robin continued. “But you and Regina knew each other when you were very little.”

Henry studied Regina further, which only further made her want to break down in tears, wrap him in her arms and never let go. It took him a minute before he spoke again, this time softer than how he had addressed his uncle. “You’re…you’re the mommy who adopted me.”

The words made Regina’s breath catch and she felt like her knees might give out. Slowly, she knelt down to his eye level, wiling herself to not break when she spoke.

“That’s right,” she said, softly. “You lived with me until you were three years old, then you came to live with your Uncle Robin and your…other mommy.” It killed her to refer to Emma as such, but she did it for Henry’s sake.

“And Grandpa.”

Regina did her best not flinch. “That’s right, your grandpa too.”

“My mommy died.”

She frowned, the tears threatening to fall again. At only 8 years old, Henry had been through more than his fair share. “I know, sweetie.” Out of instinct, she reached forward to stroke his chin. “And I am so sorry.”

“I was five when she died,” he explained, without missing a beat. He looked up at Robin, the smile returning to his face. It was clear how much he idolized his uncle. “But I still have Uncle Robin, he takes care of me. And we see Aunt Mary Margaret, Uncle David and Grandpa a lot.”

Robin nodded. “Well, now you have Regina to take care of you too.”

Regina held her breath once more, knowing that there was a chance that Henry might not handle it well. No one would blame him if he rejected her. After all, the last time they had seen one another, he had been crying for her to not let go and she had. He could possibly hate her and Regina wouldn’t blame him. In many ways, she hated herself for not fighting harder.

Instead, Henry’s smile grew a bit. “Can I stay up until 10 o’clock?”

“Nice try, bud,” Robin said, rolling his eyes ever so slightly. “You won’t be able to use this to get new rules set. Regina and I are on the same page.” Regina glanced up at him and he gave her a smile, which made her heart grow warm.

Henry gave a dramatic sigh and it made Regina want to wrap him into her arms, it reminded her far too much of the one he gave her back when she would tell him it was bedtime. Even so, the smile returned. “Did you meet Socks?”

“I was about to, yes,” she said, quickly wiping the tears that had managed to escape. “Your uncle says he was a birthday present.”

“He’s the best cat ever. I’m trying to teach him to do tricks, but Dad…” He trailed off, frowning a bit before correcting himself. “I mean, Uncle Robin says that cats don’t really do any.”

Regina put her hand on his back, the closest she knew she’d be getting to a hug anytime soon without scaring him. A part of it was out of comfort, knowing how badly he probably wanted to call Robin “Dad” full time, though it was partially to keep her up. She hadn’t heard him call anyone “Daddy” since Daniel.

A voice traveled from behind a doorway. “Henry? Henry, who are you talking to…” A short woman appeared. She had green eyes and a dark pixie cut, wearing an apron over a bright pink floral dress. It took Regina a minute to realize it was Mary Margaret. She had been a teenager during the custody battle and was now in her mid-20s. She blinked a few times before a smile appeared on her face. “Regina…I mean, you probably don’t remember me, I’m…”

“Mary Margaret.” Regina rose to her feet, nodding. “I remember.”

“It’s…it’s very nice to meet you. At least, officially. I always wanted to talk to you during the court case, but Mom and Dad said that’d be…”

“Mary Margaret,” Robin gave her a look and it instantly seemed to shut his sister up.

“Right, sorry.” Mary Margaret blushed a bit and Regina couldn’t help but smile. She clearly was trying. “I wasn’t expecting you two back so soon.”

“Well, I figured why wait?”

Mary Margaret nodded. “Uh huh. Does…”

“Hey, Henry, why don’t you show Regina your room? I’m sure she’d love to see it.”

Regina wasn’t sure what was going on between the brother and sister, this wasn’t the easy relationship that Robin had painted. Either way, she wasn’t about to deny her son that. “I do.”

Henry took her by the hand, which caught her off guard a bit and lead her out of the room. They were far gone by the time Mary Margaret walked over to her brother, arms folded over her chest.

“I spoke to Dad this morning.”

“Oh?”

“He didn’t know you were leaving town.”

“Well…I don’t need to tell him everything.”

“He doesn’t know? Does he?”

“Mary Margaret…”

“Robin!” She let out in a harsh whisper. “Does she even know why she’s really here?”

“I couldn’t adopt Henry without her.”

“Yes, but did you explain everything?”

Robin sighed, running his fingers through his hair. “I will.” He ducked his head at his sister’s look. “I will! In time.”

“Well, Dad wants to see you. He said to send you as soon as you came back.”

“I have to help Regina…”

“Don’t worry, I’ll stay here with he and Henry.” She fixed her brother with a look. “Go. Before he sends someone for you.”

#you'll be in my heart verse #outlaw queen #outlaw queen au #regal believer #regal believer au #outlaw believer #outlaw believer au #ouat au #regina mills #robin hood #henry mills #mary margaret blanchard

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initiala · 6 years

Text

Hook Echo (5/9)

Summary: They’re in a rut. That’s what Deputy Emma Swan tells herself over and over again as her boyfriend, Killian Jones, grows more and more distant, and more frustrated, due to complications with his dissertation research on tornado formation. But storm season’s more than halfway over and this dry spell is doing nothing to make things easier for him–or their relationship. Will everything blow over, or is there a greater storm on the horizon?

Rating: E

Content warnings: Graphic depictions of injury resulting from natural disasters, minor character death

Hmmm... things are starting to change up top. I wonder what that means?Thanks again to @optomisticgirl, @spartanguard, and @idoltina for all they did on this.

This is also on AO3 or FF.Net if that’s how you wanna roll.

Killian was gone by the time she woke up. And really, "woke up" was a stretch — she hadn't slept well at all the night before; in fact, Emma had still been awake when Killian came home from the bar. She'd lain there for hours, stewing, not sure who she was more upset with, but when he came to bed she immediately rolled over and clung to him. "Emma? You should be sleeping, love."

She shook her head. Killian sounded exhausted, but there was worry in his voice when he asked, "Darling, what happened? You left earlier than I thought you might, you didn't say goodbye. I didn't even see you or the girls leave. You're not really angry with me for taking your underwear, are you?"

Emma half rolled her eyes, nudging him to put his arm around her, which he obliged. He stroked her hair and it felt so nice she almost started crying all over again. "It's not the underwear," she said quietly. "Did - did Liam say anything to you?"

There had always been this unspoken agreement between her and Liam that they not mention their disagreements with each other to Killian, but she was starting to think it was a mistake. It almost felt like tattling, and she really didn't want to make him feel like he had to choose between her and his brother, but even after almost three years, it felt like Liam was still trying to put a wedge between them. And for what, because Killian was almost done with his studies? That was the same excuse he'd been using for years, and still Killian hadn't finished. It wasn't his fault, and it certainly wasn't hers.

She'd only forbade the night chases last spring, after all. And after what had happened, Liam should be thanking her for that, not scolding her.

Killian's hand stilled for a moment, then resumed his ministrations. "He mentioned something about abusing my break privileges, but that was about it. Why, what did he say to you?"

It took all of her willpower not to get up and drive over to Liam's place in that moment and rip him a new asshole the way he deserved, once and for all. It fucking figured that he would lay all the blame on her, take everything out on her, and let his brother off scot-free. Killian seemed to notice something was up because he sounded much more alert when he said, "Emma, if Liam spoke out of turn to you, I need you to tell me."

She sighed, her anger deflating just as quickly as it had built up. "It's nothing he hasn't said before," she mumbled. "Though he was a little more… crass about it this time."

He was quiet for so long she thought he'd fallen asleep. She jumped when he spoke again. "I'll talk with him about it. You'd think he'd bloody give up and accept things by now, but no, that requires someone without a pig's brain in their head."

Emma chuckled weakly, relaxing more into his embrace. She appreciated that he wasn't in denial or tried to downplay the fact that Liam and her didn't really get along. He'd have to be blind, or an idiot, to miss the fact, but she at least attempted to play nice and be polite while they were around his brother. It just bothered her that with how much she knew Killian talked about her, Liam had only found more fault with their relationship; surely he didn't just focus on the bad things, right? There were plenty of good things to talk about too.

Right?

She shook her head of those bad thoughts. "I'm a big girl, Killian; I can handle Liam."

"Aye, love, I know. Still doesn't mean I can't tell him to stuff his opinions back up his arse where they came from."

They'd fallen asleep not long after that, Emma a little more uneasily than Killian, but he could sleep through a, well, through a tornado.

(Which she knew for a fact that he could, and he'd been steaming mad about that the next morning.)

Still, she must have dropped into a deep sleep at some point because she never felt him get up or heard him pack his overnight bag and leave. After she ate, she decided to spend the day getting some prep work done on the painting they'd been putting off doing; she threw on some working clothes and spent the morning stripping the wallpaper in the hallways. The house was always weirdly quiet when Killian was gone so Emma kept the radio on, blaring a classic rock station and singing along to keep herself from going back to what had happened last night with Liam.

God, she really wanted to just punch him in the nose.

The front door opened and startled her so much that she almost fell off the stepladder. "Jesus, Mom, ever heard of knocking?" Emma said, climbing down and turning down the volume a little.

"I have, though you still haven't learned to keep your music at appropriate levels," Ingrid said, though she smiled. "I knocked three times."

Emma winced. They really needed to get the doorbell fixed - whatever the previous owner had done before moving out hadn't lasted through the winter. "Yeah, well, you did always say I could do whatever I wanted once I had my own place."

Ingrid laughed. "That is true. Anyway, I stopped over with a couple of things, mind if I put them in the kitchen?" Emma waved her on, then followed to wash the dust off her hands. "I didn't know you and Killian were doing remodeling already."

"Kind of a spur of the moment decision," Emma said over the water. "He's over in Norman and I don't have anything to do until my shift starts at six. Figured I'd get a jump on some things."

"Killian went to Norman?"

She dried her hands slowly. "Yeah," Emma said, avoiding the look Ingrid gave her. "There's some thesis stuff going on."

"Bad thesis stuff, I take it."

"That's what we're going to find out."

"Mm."

Emma never did like it much when Ingrid made that noise. It meant she knew too much, or had guessed at whatever it was Emma was hiding from her, like the fact that her high school boyfriend was actually in his twenties or how he was having her hold on to his pot for him. She watched as Ingrid pulled a pint out of the freezer and sat down with it and a couple of spoons at the table. "I was going to leave this for you to try at your leisure, but I think you need someone to talk to. Ice cream helps."

"Mom…"

"Sit. I'm experimenting with some flavors for June and I need a second opinion."

Ingrid's latest kick was trying to out-do Ben & Jerry's by taking what she called 'sub-par ingredients' and replacing them with some more local flavor. She kept it to one new flavor a month and there were running polls and commentaries on her social media pages about which ones might become permanent additions to the roster. It was a very popular scheme and Emma hadn't seen Any Given Sundae this booming in years. "You know if it's not rocky road I'm not really interested," she said, sitting across from her.

Ingrid rolled her eyes as she took the top off the container. Whatever the flavor was, it was blue. "I can't believe I raised you to be such an ice cream snob."

"You bought damaged goods, you knew this going in."

The look Ingrid gave her was hard to read, but there was never any pity or sympathy in these kinds of expressions. Just some scrutiny and a little bit of reproof. Emma tried not to squirm under her gaze. "Something's going on with you and Killian," Ingrid said finally. "You haven't been this hard on yourself or this distant in years."

She gestured with her spoon for Emma to take the first bite. More to keep herself from answering the thinly veiled accusation, Emma did - blue raspberry and there were… Swedish Fish? She winced, swallowing. "Ok, I get it, you're going for a more ocean-related Phish Food, but no Swedish Fish. Gummy stuff only tastes good on froyo."

"We do not mention the accursed in this house, Emma."

"It's my house, Mom. I can talk about froyo all I want. Froyo froyo froyo."

Ingrid rolled her eyes again and took her own spoonful. Then she made a face too. "Alright, I see your point. Maybe I'll have something for July… No, I was working on that Independence Day themed neapolitan, so maybe it'll be for August, a last hurrah of summer. Hang on, I have more. In the meantime, talk."

Emma blinked at the speed at which her mother changed both marketing tactics and conversation topics. "About what?"

"Whatever it is that has you so… you."

"Mom."

"Emma."

She sighed in disgust, stabbing at the ice cream for more of the blue raspberry - gummy fish aside, her mom did make a mean blue raspberry - and shoving it in her mouth. "It's not me and Killian," she said, ignoring Ingrid's look about talking with her mouth full. "It's me and Liam."

Ingrid's brows furrowed for a moment, then understanding dawned. She opened the new pint and Emma was relieved to see chocolate in this one. "He's still giving you a hard time."

"I don't think I'd call it that anymore. He's just... " Emma sighed. "He's just mean about it now. And I don't get it. He doesn't give Killian that hard of a time - I asked. He only lays into me about it, like I'm the only one with any say in this relationship. We bought a house, for Christ's sake. You don't buy a house with someone you're only screwing around with."

There were brownie bits and fudge swirls in this one and Emma nodded in appreciation before taking another spoonful. Ingrid looked pensive. "Have either of you tried talking with Liam about his behavior?" she asked. Emma started to respond, but Ingrid held up her hand. "I don't mean taking him to task for it, I mean asking him about the root cause of all of this. It's gone on too long for it to be jealousy or something petty."

Jealous? Liam? Of them? Emma almost laughed at the idea, and would have if she wasn't so pissed at him. "We probably have," she said. "I don't remember, but Liam doesn't listen to me. If Killian has, it hasn't gotten anywhere. He said he'd talk to him again after what happened last night."

"What happened last night?"

Her face warmed. Fumbling for the words, Emma tried to explain what had happened at the bar without going into explicit detail, though she had zero doubts that Ingrid was well aware of what she meant by 'visiting Killian' and the context in which Liam's current anger happened in. The look she gave her confirmed that. "He was on break," Emma said, the defense feeling weak.

"Well, I'd still call it impolite at best," Ingrid said, making Emma wince, "but I'm not going to sit here and lecture you. It's already done and you're a grown woman. So I can see where Liam might be a bit irritated for last night, but it's hardly the worst thing to ever happen."

Particularly when it wasn't even the first time she and Killian had had sex at the bar, but Emma wasn't about to mention that. Alluding to it at all was humiliating enough. "It just isn't fair that he went after me and then Killian gets off scot-free," she grumbled, digging into the ice cream. "It takes two to tango."

"I don't need to remind you that life isn't fair," Ingrid said. "But I can maybe see where Liam's a little blind when it comes to his brother. We tend to develop blind spots about our children."

Emma thought back to when Killian had first told her about losing his parents, how Liam had practically raised him after their father died. She supposed Ingrid had a point, but it didn't mean Liam had to be an asshole about it. She said so, and Ingrid smiled. "I didn't say it was right," she said. "But sometimes it helps to see where someone is coming from."

Just then, Emma's phone rang, and it gave her an excellent excuse to avoid figuring out how to continue that particular conversation with Ingrid. It wasn't a number she recognized, though it was local, so she answered with her professional voice in case it was one of those stupid robo calls. "Deputy Swan speaking."

"Ah, Emma. This is Nemo Bhavsar, Killian's advisor."

Her eyebrows went up. "Dr. Bhavsar, hi." She shared a confused glance with her mother. She knew Killian had listed her as one of his emergency contacts, but he'd only left a couple of hours ago. "Is everything okay? I thought Killian was meeting with you today."

"He did, we just concluded the meeting."

"That was short."

He laughed. "Indeed, but for good reason. There's a strong front coming off the Rockies and I managed to get some funding to allow Killian to take a team out to Wyoming, possibly into the Dakotas if he follows it. We've had luck there in the past and I think this is just what he needs to finish everything."

The sinking feeling of fear for him was buoyed by the small hope that he might be done soon, but Emma was still confused. "I'm glad to hear that, but I'm a little confused on why you're calling me about it?"

Dr. Bhavsar exhaled - not quite a sigh, but close. "Killian gets this look in his eye when he's focused, one where he quite forgets the proper courses of action outside of accomplishing his task. I thought it might be better to notify you now, rather than receive a phone call when he's three states away."

She frowned; he wasn't wrong, per say, but she'd also never seen Killian get that worked up that he'd completely forget to call her. "Well, you've known him longer," she said dubiously.

"It's an academics thing, I'm afraid. When one gets caught in the single-minded pursuit of knowledge, one can lose sight of what's truly important. I've seen it many times before."

She pursed her lips. She hoped he was wrong in this case, but she knew better than to bet on that. Though, she remembered one of the things Liam had implied the night before, that without her Killian could focus better and actually accomplish what he'd set out to do. That hit her like a punch in the gut. "Well. Alright, thanks for giving me a heads up."

"Not a problem, Emma. Have a good day."

"You too." After she hung up, Emma stared absently at the ice cream starting to melt along the edges of the carton, chocolatey blobs against the scooped and scraped lines dotted with fudge and brownie bits. She didn't like to think that maybe Liam was right, that maybe a few days away from her would be good for Killian's research, would be good for him in general. But the thought was there, racing around and around in her brain like a merry-go-round out of control. She glanced up at Ingrid, who looked concerned. "Well," Emma said, forcing some optimism she definitely did not feel, "looks like I might be taking care of all the painting myself over the next few days."

It did make her feel better that Killian called later that night; he and Will were still on the road with two research assistants, somewhere in Kansas. He sounded excited about the prospects ahead and Emma couldn't help but smile as she listened to him go on about the models and figures. "How long do you think you'll be gone?" she asked, tucking her legs up against her tighter.

"If the line of storms stays strong, we could be after it a week or so. Depends on what we run into."

The urge to say something sappy gripped her tongue, but she held off, not wanting to embarrass him in front of his peers. Or maybe it was the lingering thought that he'd do better without her nearby. "Okay. I guess you'll be too busy to call much?"

"Probably, but I'll try to touch base when I can, love."

God, Liam couldn't have planned this better, if he even knew about it. He'd be crowing. Asshole. Emma swallowed, her heart both very full from missing Killian already and hurting because of what his brother had said. "Stay safe, Killian. Good luck."

"As safe as possible."

"I love you."

"I love you too."

Then it was just her, her erratic work schedule, and the messy house she'd made for herself. Emma sighed, and she swore it echoed through the empty house.

When she wasn't working, she kept the TV on rather than the radio. The noise helped to drown out the lingering taunts and obsessive thoughts in her mind. But there was another bonus to it. She primed every wall in the downstairs except for the kitchen while watching more Weather Center Live and Local on the 8s segments than she could remember ever watching in her life, even living with Killian. If there were going to be any updates on the front he was going after, she wanted to know as soon as possible.

She also watched a lot of weird survival-type shows about extreme weather conditions and even something about killer bees, but that usually got interrupted by news updates.

And it was on the news updates that she finally got word of Killian.

She was painting the living room - a dusty turquoise color she liked and she hoped he didn't have any objections to - when she heard the news break sound clip. Emma paused, watching the broadcaster move in front of the green screen and showcase the severe storm they were tracking in eastern Wyoming. Her lips pursed, worry causing her heart to beat a little faster, and she went back to painting, keeping one ear on the TV and waiting to hear what happened.

"We've got a regular correspondent, storm chaser Killian Jones, on the line. Killian it's good to hear from you, can you tell us what you saw there?"

Emma whipped her head around, watching as footage was shown on the screen from what must be the aftermath, listening to Killian talk about the storm. He sounds tired, she thought. And frustrated, which meant he didn't get what he needed out of this one. The scene certainly looked like there'd been a tornado, a couple of downed trees and debris everywhere, a caved-in house and an overturned pickup. "No deaths," she heard him say, "just a few minor injuries the first responders are tending to, but my team and I will be helping where we can before following this one."

Emma turned the volume down. She'd gotten what she needed, Killian was alright and he was going to be a bear about not getting what he needed, and it was going to be a long couple of days while he chased this system across the country.

Part of her wanted to run over to the bar and snap her fingers at Liam - Emma being around didn't have any effect on how Killian's research was going. The other part felt ashamed for feeling any vindication from his failed chase.

Really, though, overall she just felt drained.

She was going to need more paint.

The next couple of days passed much the same, but as Emma moved on from the living room to the dining room (a green that looked nice with all the whitewashed trim) and then into the hallways and stairwell (a neutral caramel that went with everything), Killian seemed to pop up on every evening storm report. Even on TV she could see how frustrated he was, the way he ran his fingers through his hair and the slight clench of his jaw during a question; that was the third day of chasing this particular system, when they were close enough to a nearby affiliate for a news team to come out. The other times were all phone-ins.

She didn't watch the livestreams, if Will did any; it would only make her more anxious, and they'd started muting them, mostly due to how much swearing went on when the chases went live, so it wouldn't help her figure out what was going on anyway.

Killian didn't call at all in that time and she had absolutely no idea what to think about that. Well, she kind of did, but it was such a mess of conflicting emotions that she didn't have the strength for sorting through right now, and so she just hoped she had no idea why he hadn't called.

Still, it was surprising to come home after a late shift at work to find the TIV in the driveway. Surprising, and a little hurtful that he hadn't called to say he was coming home, but Emma was glad to see the monstrous thing in one piece, nary a scratched pirate flag in sight - and hopefully the man who captained it was in one piece as well.

She opened the front door, thankful the smell of paint had died down with all the windows being open, and noted that all the lights were off downstairs. Emma left her shoes by the door and locked up, then went upstairs quietly. The upstairs was dark, too, and she shuffled around in the bedroom to get her things, trying not to make any noise - but her own silence alerted her to the fact that she didn't hear Killian.

He wasn't one to snore, but he could breathe pretty loudly when he put his mind to it. She flicked on the bedside lamp and noted with a frown the bed in much the same state as she'd left it that morning. Where was he?

Leaving everything in a heap on the bed, she went back downstairs. The hall light illuminated enough that she could see into the living room and just make out the lump on the couch that hadn't been there earlier.

Her heart sank with every step she took. She took in the empty beer bottles on the floor, the blanket that was half on the floor at this point and exposing his tightly folded arms and his scrunched up legs, and even in the poor lighting she could see the scowl that remained on his face even in sleep. Emma wanted to wake him, to bring him up to bed and hold him and ease away his frustrations, but her pulse just hammered in her throat every time she tried to open her mouth.

She could be glad he chose to come home, but it hurt to see him balled up on the couch, clearly having drank himself to sleep, rejecting the idea of the comfort of their bed and her arms.

So she swallowed past the lump in her throat and fixed the blanket, tucking it up around him and making sure it wouldn't slip down again. She hesitated, then felt a pinch of disgust at herself for doing so; she brushed his bangs away from his forehead and pressed a kiss there, not daring to hope he was waking up when he stirred a little under her. "I love you," she whispered.

She lingered for a moment, watching him, then slowly walked back to the hall, turned off the light and went upstairs, alone.

Two years ago…

"Swan!"

The front door slammed shut, jarring Emma out of her pleasure-filled daze. The sound of feet on the stairs and Killian talking as he ran happened faster than she could react. "There's an imminent event, the instability levels are the highest I've seen in ages, we're guaranteed to get something and I know I promised you-"

He stopped at the top of the stairs, his words cut off as he took in the sight of her spread out naked on the bed with her vibrator clutched in one hand. Killian blinked, slowly, mouth dropping open a little. "Interrupting, am I?" he asked, his voice sounding strained.

She was a little strung out, her body thrumming from a peak just out of reach, and she couldn't help but laugh a little. "Well, it's hot, and I was bored."

Her lofted bedroom had been stifling when she'd woken up; Mary Margaret was off at work and Emma had slept late after getting in around three in the morning. She'd opened the little windows above her bed and turned on the fans, but it only helped so much. So then she'd figured, whatever, she was home alone, she was a grown-ass woman, she could be naked in her own apartment if she wanted to.

And well, then she'd gotten bored scrolling through her phone.

Emma sat up, wincing a little as her core throbbed in protest. "What's going on with some imminent event?" she asked.

Killian crossed the room in two strides, his hands going to her shoulders as he gently pushed her back down on the bed. "Different imminent event first," he said, dropping to his knees.

"What - are you serious?" she asked. He took hold of her legs and gently pulled her forward until her ass was just at the edge of the bed. She felt warm in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with the temperature of the room; bad enough that he'd walked in on her going to town on herself, but now he was putting aside something urgent just to- "Oh God," she cried, her head falling back as he parted her with his fingers and licked a long stripe up her center.

She was definitely sensitive, definitely ready to come, and now she definitely didn't care about anything else other than keeping her boyfriend's head between her thighs.

He tasted her with short, firm strokes, easing her legs up over his shoulders and then gripping her hips with firm hands. She couldn't catch her breath, straining under his cruel ministrations. His tongue swirled around her clit and dipped down to her entrance and Emma's fingers dug so hard into her comforter that she expected the cross-hatch marks would never go away. God, she'd been so close when he'd hurried in, lost in a fantasy where they were playing a game of pirate and kidnapped princess; she wondered how he'd take such a game, if he'd be willing to make her submit to his whims, but that was a conversation for when he wasn't doing that with his tongue inside of her.

She made a whining noise when he pulled away, but she hadn't noticed his hand leaving her hip - something firm nudged her entrance and she lifted her head, looking down at him in confusion and he grinned at her, winking when he flicked the 'on' button of her vibrator. Emma gasped, her toes curling and her legs tightening over his shoulders, and then that absolute asshole bent down and pressed down on her clit with the flat of his tongue. Her gasps quickly turned into pleading moans, his name tumbling from her lips with a few curses tossed in for good measure. She couldn't hear him over the low thrum of the vibrator, but she knew he would be chuckling because he was an asshole like that, and her hips seemed to be rutting up against his face all on their own. She scrambled for a better grip on the bed, but his other hand found hers and she gripped him tight. "Killian - oh, fuck, Killian -"

And then she was flying, bucking wildly into his face and felt so good that it almost hurt, her skin was so overly sensitive from his attentions and her earlier play with the vibrator.

Killian turned it off and gently pulled it out of her while she trembled from aftershocks; she was sure she'd never be able to unlock her fingers from his, she was holding onto him so tight, and he looked at her with a mix of smug satisfaction and gentle adoration as he stretched out on the bed next to her, bringing their clasped hands up to his mouth to kiss her fingers. "Still bored?" he asked.

Emma exhaled, then turned her head to look at him. If she wasn't so overwhelmed by the aftermath of her orgasm, she'd be overwhelmed by the amount of feeling in the look he was giving her - the amount of feeling in her chest she wanted to express. But it was like a vice gripped her tongue, and she could only reply, "No, but now I think I need a nap."

He grinned and then, with an amount of energy it would take another decade for her to muster, he bounded to his feet and went to her wardrobe, tossing a t-shirt, jeans, and a lightweight plaid shirt at her, all while talking. "No time for naps, Swan, though I suppose you can do that in the car." He went to her dresser then, looking through the drawers. "As I was saying, there's an imminent event and we need to be on the road."

A pair of her own underwear hit her in the face, then a bra. "We?" she asked, not moving; she couldn't, really, her legs felt like jelly and laying on the bed felt nice.

"Yes, love, 'we'. I did promise you I'd take you on a chase when the opportunity presented itself, didn't I?" He paused, looking into the drawer thoughtfully, then tossed a pair of socks at her as well. "It'll be muddy if we have to get out of the TIV, so boots or trainers please. Work boots, not your everyday ones."

With enormous effort, she managed to sit up, moving the clothes off of her and onto the bed next to her. "You do realize that you've effectively rendered me useless for a few hours."

"That's why you'll be in the back. Will's driving, I've got the computers. You'll be along for the ride, a third set of eyes, but you can nap in the car until things get underway."

She raised her eyebrows at him. "You really think Will's going to be okay with you bringing me along and then me just conking out in the back for most of it?"

"He'll be fine."

"And you don't get to tell him why I'm so out of it."

Killian gave her another cheeky grin and she rolled her eyes, giving in. She grabbed everything and padded down to the bathroom to put herself together. She kept in mind that they'd be in the car for most of the day, and out in the wet and the wind if they got out, and braided her hair after brushing some dry shampoo through it. When she came out, Killian was cooling his heels by the door, and Emma raised an eyebrow at him again. "Am I going to eat at all today or is this a 'grab what you can when you can' kind of day?"

"We'll stop by Granny's on the way to Will's. Come on."

In fact, it seemed like he'd called ahead before he'd even gotten to her place, because Granny had two bags of take away waiting for them at the counter. "You bring her back in one piece now, you got it?" she asked, glaring at Killian pointedly over her glasses.

"If she's not in one piece, then it's because I'm also not in one piece."

Emma, blushing a little from Granny's overprotectiveness, gave a smile of thanks as Killian paid and they hurried back to the TIV.

They ate as he drove; Will still lived in Norman, so they were going to backtrack a little before making their way west and south to meet up with the cold front Killian was pinning all of this on. This was the first time she saw the TIV's interior all set up for a chase; instead of the brackets being used for Killian's computers, Emma just set up the trays to put her food on, smiling sweetly when he gave her an exasperated look. "It's a lot lighter than two laptops and all your batteries and wifi cables and whatever," she argued, spreading her onion rings out in front of her and sorting them from smallest to biggest, just because she could.

"No respect," he said with feigned dismay.

"Nope," she said, startling a laugh out of him. "Respect is for men who don't barge into my apartment unannounced and then give me excellent orgasms."

He hummed, an amused glint in his eye. "I'll keep that in mind."

She finished her breakfast-slash-lunch just as they pulled into Will's apartment complex; it was very much a student apartment block, one on the lower-end amenities-wise, but if Will was having similar money woes as Killian, it wasn't unexpected. Killian honked twice; Emma glared at him. "We have to get out anyway, just go and knock on his door."

"It's how he knows it's me!"

"And him opening the door to your face wouldn't let him know it was you?"

"Well, then we both have to get in the TIV and this way I'm getting things situated while he gets in."

Emma rolled her eyes, shaking her head. Men. They got out and she went to sit behind the driver's seat while Killian got his computers set up; Will hurried down the stairs and practically vaulted into the TIV. "Bloody hell, it took you lot long enough," he commented, barely buckling his seatbelt before getting them back out onto the road.

"We stopped to eat," Killian said mildly. Emma hid a smirk at his phrasing; she still felt pleasantly worn out from earlier. "And yes, there's something for you, you heathen."

While Will drove, ate, and managed to cuss out half the drivers on the road all at the same time, Killian started filling them both in on their plan of attack for the day. At this point, he'd gotten everything connected and running on his laptops and he could point out the wind and temperature patterns on his charts to Emma, who by now could at least understand what he was talking about, if not make an educated guess on what his charts meant.

They'd head west and south, possibly heading into Texas if they didn't meet up with the line before then. They would get into position to launch their probes, and possibly intercept if it could be managed. More for Emma's benefit, Killian explained how they had helmets and extra harnesses in the seats to keep them as restrained and safe as possible in case something went wrong with the intercept.

She watched him as he talked, fascinated at how animated he was about the whole process, from safety measures to tiny points of data. She couldn't see his eyes too well, he was wearing sunglasses even if he wasn't always looking back at her, but the enthusiasm in his voice was more than a little infectious. Yes, she'd asked if he'd take her out with him sometime, but it didn't mean the prospect wasn't more than a little scary; only now was she realizing that scary was okay - as long as he was there with her.

At one point, she leaned forward enough so that she could play with the hair at the nape of his neck while he talked; slowly, as if he reacted without realizing it, he relaxed into her touch. She smiled when he make a noise of content, but Will's reaction wasn't so pleased. "Oi, if you two are going to be all touchy-feely for the duration, I've got no problem letting you two get out and walk to Texas from here."

"Oh, stop it," Killian admonished.

Emma eyed the back of Will's head, pursing her lips. "Hey, I'd play with your hair too, if you didn't keep it cut like you were still a cadet."

"It's more practical this way."

She hummed, lightly scratching at Killian's nape one more time before sitting back in her seat. Killian turned a little to look at her, an exaggerated pout on his lips, and her stomach did a little flip.

God, she was so fucked for this man.

Smiling, she turned away, watching the endless farmland pass by outside. It was fairly repetitive: field of crops, dilapidated barn, the occasional pasture filled with some livestock, house, repeat. Eventually, it proved to be just soporific enough to put her to sleep, the excitement of the morning catching up with her.

She didn't know how long she slept for, and when she did wake it was hard to convince herself to open her eyes; the seats were comfortable with all the extra padding - another safety measure. Also, Killian and Will seemed to be having a rather heated discussion about her.

"Mate, I just don't see why you brung her."

"She wanted to come. I promised her ages ago I'd take her out, she wants to see what I do besides stare at Excel sheets."

"She don't take you out where she works."

"She's police, Will. Why are you so bothered by this? We've had other people work with us before."

"That's the thing, innit? They work with us. She's just - a bloody tourist, like one of those groups that charge you a couple hundred and drag you around the countryside and go 'welp, looks like it was a bad day, folks, sorry, no refunds'."

"She's not dead weight. If we need an extra pair of hands, she'll be more than capable. I thought you liked her."

Will's voice was quiet and Emma knew she needed to make it known soon that she was awake, but she also really wanted to know the answer to this. She and Liam were still less than friends, and she wanted to hear if Will thought similarly. "I do like her. This isn't against her, this is... I dunno, mate. I don't like feeling like I'm just playing chauffeur or third wheel on some kind of 'impress the girl' tour."

Killian sounded like he'd had a small epiphany. "This isn't about Emma. This is about Ana."

"Don't wanna talk about that c-"

They hit a hole in the road that caused the whole back end to jolt and Emma let out a little shriek of surprise as Killian swore. "Bloody fucking lazy-ass, penny-pinching, corrupt sons of-"

Will pulled over and Killian barely waited for him to stop before getting out and going around to inspect the front tire where they'd hit. They could still hear him cursing ODOT and all the holes they hadn't patched up on the highways, and Emma let her head fall back with a sigh. "How much of that did you hear?" Will asked, surprising her.

She caught his eye in the rearview mirror. He didn't look guilty so much as he looked embarrassed that she'd overheard. "Enough," she said, "to know that I seem to have this problem with the people in Killian's life."

"I'm sorry, lass," he told her. "Shoulda waited to talk to him without you nearby."

She shook her head. "Not sorry you said it, though."

"Like that mind-reading bastard said, it's not about you."

"Ana."

He sighed. "Don't wanna get into it, but she's a right bitch of the first order. Thought she was everything, instead she took everything. Look, I do like you, not that my opinion matters 'coz I'm not the one dating you, but you're good for him." Killian continued to swear outside and Emma smiled wanly. "Ain't never seen him happier, present situation excluded, and that might be what put a bug up my arse about it. So I'm sorry - my shit getting in the way."

She pursed her lips. Yes, it stung. Could she fault him for letting his own feelings cloud his judgement? No. "Next time you have a problem, just take it up with me personally; don't go through Killian. He's got enough on his plate."

He caught her eye again and she saw the crow's feet form around his eyes as he smiled. "He does, but I dunno if I wanna go head on with you, lass - you'll knock me dick up through my teeth if I'm not careful."

Emma just smiled, not confirming or denying anything, as Killian got back in and practically ordered, "It'll hold for now, just drive."

They stopped a little while later for gas and to put a little extra air in the tire, just in case; Will was the one to get out this time, leaving Emma and Killian alone in the TIV. Killian shoved his sunglasses up on top of his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry if you heard-" he started, but she interrupted him.

"We already talked about it. He apologized, we made a sort of deal that we'll butt heads with each other about anything else in the future. He'll leave you out of it."

He looked guilty, and she unbuckled herself to lean forward and play with his hair again. "I didn't want today to go like this," he said. "Losing my temper like that, letting Will run his mouth. I wanted to share this with you, and I feel like it's just going badly."

Emma closed the space between them and kissed his cheek. "It's not your fault. I'm not even mad, I'm just… you have a lot of people who love you, and I'm a little worried about how much I have to prove to them that I - that I care about you too."

His eyes flicked up to hers, completely catching on to her stumbling over the words. They were just shy of a year of dating and they hadn't said it yet. Oh, she'd almost said it - back in April, for instance, when he'd taken her for that picnic and taught her about storms. One morning a few weeks ago when he'd surprised her at the station with hot cocoa and a bear claw, she'd covered up the urge to say it by taking far too large a bite out of her breakfast.

This morning, laying naked in her bed when he'd eaten her out and not asked for anything in return.

She knew he felt it. The way he was looking at her right now definitely said it. But he was waiting for her to make the first move, letting her set their pace, and she was just too damned scared to say it.

Even though she was almost positive she felt the same way as he did.

The door opened and Will got back in, so Emma just kissed Killian on the cheek again before sitting back in her seat.

Dark, heavy clouds sat low in the sky as they got back on the road and Emma scanned the cloud base carefully for any signs of activity. Lightning lit up the cloud interior here and there, and the occasional cloud-to-ground bolt made her start with surprise, but she reminded herself that this was what they'd come out here to chase and it would only get worse - if they were lucky.

Odd, to think that the worse the conditions, the luckier they'd be.

"Emma, love, do you mind navigating?" She looked up and saw Killian offering her the smaller laptop. "I'll give you where we need to be going and you tell Will where to turn. It gets trickier to look between both screens sometimes, especially when I have to send emails."

"Sure." She thought she'd do better with her phone, but she'd use the thing that didn't suck up her data plan out here in the middle of nowhere. "You're writing emails? Now?"

"Updates to the National Weather Service, love. Strictly business."

They stopped just on the edge of the storm and got out - Emma mostly to stretch, but Will and Killian wanted to get their anemometers and barometers and whatever-meters balanced to the area before going in. Killian took some photos too, while Will set up a GoPro on the front dash. "I can stream this on our social pages," he explained while Emma watched. "With social media, news stations can pick stuff up, let people know how bad it is, and we can get some cash from it."

Killian came up beside her, slipping his arm around her waist and tucking his hand in her pocket. She leaned into him and he pressed a kiss to her temple. "I let Will deal with Twitter and whatnot, I'm not good with the hashtags and selfies and whatever else kids are doing these days."

"You're such an old man," Will grumbled, looking down at his phone.

"Selfies are easy," Emma said, taking his camera from him. She held it in front of them and she felt his head bump into hers as they leaned in close.

Okay, selfies with an actual DSLR weren't as easy as they were with the phone, but she had to admit the photo came out nice anyway. Even if her hair was escaping from its braid, wisps of it all windblown and sticking up a little from all the static in the air.

"Now how do I put this on Twitter?" Killian asked, a teasing tone in his voice.

"First you shove it up your arse-" Will stopped, laughing as Emma reached over and smacked him on the arm.

A rumble of thunder reminded them why they were out there. "Alright, it's now or never," Killian said. "Let's get the helmets on now so we don't have to scramble if we get close to an intercept."

As they strapped in, belt and harness this time, and Emma settled her helmet on, she suddenly wondered why they hadn't seen any other chasers out, and mentioned it. "There's at least three other teams that we know of out now," Will said. "Just texted 'em. This storm's big enough to come at from a few different directions, so we coordinated a little."

"And I've been emailing with a few as well. We're all working for the same goal," Killian added. "It's not like one person gets to grab the singular prize and they win. Everyone has different reasons for chasing, so the only real reason we have to coordinate is so that if someone gets in trouble, the others can go help out. We're all looking at the same section of the storm, so you'll see another crew soon."

She had a thought; she could see their location on the map, so maybe these other crews were visible too? And there it was - if she zoomed out on the map, she saw what he was talking about; everyone's GPS location was there and she counted five other teams in the area. She went back to the original map positions as Killian started reading off probable target areas and Emma got to work figuring out how that translated to the GPS.

Rain splattered against the windshield, slowly at first with fat drops of rain, but soon increased to a torrential downpour. Killian didn't want them to get stuck in the rain too soon, so he and Emma worked together to get them towards the southern side of the storm, still east of where the hook was starting to form on the map. But the rain was persistent, even as it tapered to a more visible hindrance, and as they moved closer to their target area, hail started to pelt against the hard outer shell of the TIV. "That's good, right?" Emma called over the racket it was making.

"Hopefully!" Killian said.

"If it don't break our equipment!" Will added.

Emma saw another map come up on Killian's computer, this one mottled reds and greens. "Wind directions," he said. "We're looking for red and green close together, it signals they're in rotation and either a funnel cloud or an actual tornado."

He brought the radar and the wind map up side by side, and Emma joined Will in actually scanning the skies for signs of activity. "All the technology in the world can't make up for human senses," Will said.

She thought it was interesting how they balanced -Will could do the technologically social side of their job but preferred to use his eyes to do the actual work, Killian was helpless at social media but could run several programs at once to detect tornadic activity. Even if they were good friends otherwise, she was starting to see how they worked well as an actual team; friendship could only help so much in a working relationship.

"I think - yes, we need to go a bit northeast to get ahead of it, but there might be something," Killian said.

Emma scanned her map and told Will where to turn next. She zoomed out and saw a few other teams heading the same way. "Three others think the same," she said.

"Good. We'll get into position and deploy the probes, and then hopefully we can intercept."

"And it'll be a good day for everyone," Will added.

She looked out the window, looking towards the south and west of where they were. The rain made it a little harder to see, but she could still tell where the cloud bottoms were; wispy, low-hanging cloudlets darted along faster than the darker mass above, and she wished she knew more about what she was looking for in the churning gray clouds. For all that she'd lived most of her life in the Midwest and Tornado Alley, she'd never seen a tornado in person before, just the aftermath.

They put in another couple of miles before Killian launched the probes; it was one thing to know that it was basically like having six giant t-shirt cannons sticking out of the TIV, but it was another for all those air pressure valves to be released at once, right near Emma's head. "Sorry," Killian said, his voice dimmed by the ringing in her ears.

"What?" she asked loudly.

"I said - oh, bloody hell, you're teasing."

"Only a little." Emma looked at her map again. "Will, skip this next road and turn left on the one about a mile down the way."

"What? That'll put us way out of the way of the probes."

"Yeah, but the wind map says they'll get picked up and carried off - and the storm's turning."

She glanced up and Killian was looking back at her with sheer delight on his face. "You're learning, Swan."

She smiled, pleased that he was so pleased at how quickly she was picking everything up. The rain suddenly dropped off and Will swore. He gunned it, and all three of them looked off to their left. "I see it!" Will shouted. "Funnel cloud!"

Killian had his phone out in a second to call it in, while Emma scanned the clouds for what he was talking about. She only saw the wispy cloudlets, though, until Killian hung up and said, "Look behind the scud, it's a bit pointy -"

"The what?"

"Little wispy bits, they're called scud, look behind them for the funnel."

She looked again and saw what he was talking about: the thin funnel cloud was rotating as it slowly stretched downwards. "Can we get ahead of it?"

"Doin' me best, lass."

The engine roared as Will floored it again. He asked how many roads were available for turnoff ahead and she told him three; he took the second one, slowing down enough so that the whole TIV didn't tip over during a turn but just barely - they still leaned uncomfortably far and the tires were actually squealing a little before they got some traction and rumbled off on down the road. She wondered just how just further they'd go, watching as the funnel cloud reached the ground and a cloud of debris swirling upwards around it, when they slowed suddenly and the TIV shook as they went offroad. "Deploying," Will said, parking and pulling on a lever that dropped the lower armored flaps.

Killian had his own buttons to push, the ones that deployed the spikes deep into the ground and anchored them in place - in theory. One of these days, they might not work as well as they'd hoped, but he'd told her that in all his intercepts so far (three, in the last five years or so) the safety measures had worked without fail.

"Now what?" Emma asked.

"We wait," Killian said, his eyes on the tornado.

"If you're the praying type, I'd do that too," Will added.

Emma wasn't sure she liked the sound of that, but she swallowed hard and gripped her harness for something to do with her hands. The TIV started to shudder as the wind outside picked up. "It's not the funnel that's the problem," Killian said. "It's the wind's all outside it and what they carry. The funnel's just the middle."

He said all of this very calmly and Emma wondered if that's what she sounded like when describing a crime scene, and if people thought she was crazy for being so calm about something so dangerous, too.

Something bashed into the TIV on the passenger's side and she yelped. "See?" Killian said.

A small rain of debris started to join in beating up the TIV, along with the rain, and Emma's fight-or-flight instincts were extremely unhappy with her current situation. The wind outside roared and she squeezed her eyes shut as the shaking grew more violent. There were some serious regrets about asking to come chase sometime and she felt very much like she'd gotten into something way over her head here. She wasn't the type of person who put much stock into praying, but she thought it might not do any harm to asking whoever might be listening to get them through this in one piece.

Something touched her knee and she opened her eyes. Killian was reaching back for her, giving her a reassuring look as he twiddled his fingers at her. She took his hand and he squeezed it, just as the view outside of the windows grew dark with the amount of dirt flying through the air.

Emma didn't think she blacked out at all during the interception, but if she had to recall it later, the only thing that came to mind was how dark and loud it was, and the warmth of Killian's hand in hers. It felt like it lasted for days, and she didn't realize it was over until he tugged on her hand a little to bring her out of whatever trance she'd gotten lost in. "Come on," he said.

She blinked - surely he didn't mean what she thought he meant. But no, he did, letting go of her hand to undo his safety harness and seatbelt; Will was doing the same. She followed their lead, a few beats behind; she left the helmet on, though, she didn't want a rogue two-by-four falling out of the sky and bashing her head in.

The sky was already lighter as the storm rolled on ahead. Emma joined them on the road, watching as the tornado started to rope out in the distance. Killian was taking pictures again, Will filming with the GoPro. Emma felt the adrenaline start to wear off, and leaned back against the TIV for support, not caring how filthy her clothes were going to get. Killian turned, putting the camera on the passenger's seat. Evidently, his adrenaline was still pumping, because he pulled her up and whirled her around, a grin on his face. "That was the best intercept we've had in ages, love, you were brilliant!"

"Me?" she asked, breathless.

"You," he said. "You picked up on everything so quickly, you made that last call on where to go, and without it we wouldn't have gotten nearly so many results. We make quite the team, if you don't mind me saying."

Finally, she started to grin. She was tired - exhausted, really - and everything was sort of catching up to her all at once. "We do," she said, "and don't take this the wrong way, Killian, but as much as I love you I never want to do this again."

His face went slack. "What?"

"I never want to go chasing again. I think this was more than enough-"

"No, the part before that," he said.

Emma paused, trying to remember what she'd said. She'd gotten to see what he did, which was what all of this had started out as, and she loved him, but this had been more than-

She loved him.

She'd said it out loud.

She met his eyes, the fight-or-flight instinct coming back, and he was looking at her with such raw hope that it gave her the courage to ask, "The part where I said I love you?"

"Aye," Killian said, his voice cracking. "That's the one. You bloody maddening woman, you'll be the death of me."

He picked her up and spun them around again, meeting her lips with a quick kiss. "I love you, too," he said softly, for their ears only.

Emma grinned, bumping his forehead with hers.

Will sighed, loudly. "If you two are done bein' all twitterpated with each other? Can we go find our probes? Get back home before it gets too late and maybe start looking at the data?"

Killian hardly spared a glance to his friend. "Dunno, mate, we might not get back early enough for data mining. We've probably all earned a good rest after today, don't you think, Emma?"

She smiled coyly, hoping he was implying what she thought he was implying. "Oh, definitely. Take a look at it with fresh eyes tomorrow."

After all, she did have to repay him for this morning.

#csbb #captain swan #cs fanfic #cs ff #cs smut #amanda writes #hook-echo

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actuallylorelaigilmore · 5 years

Text

the word is out about the town, to lift a glass and don't look down

Christmas fluff!! During "Silent Night, Deadly Night," Alice runs into FP at the Whyte Wyrm. Afterwards, they each receive an unexpected gift.

FP x Alice, Riverdale. Also on AO3.

He’s paused at the bar, talking to the Serpent that helps out when Hog Eye’s off for the night. Topaz, he thinks, her eyes the golden color of gemstones. He doesn’t know her that well; the kids who join keep getting younger and younger. But she’s taken Jug under her wing and FP is grateful for that.

“Can I get you anything?” She looks up from wiping down the bar, and he shakes his head.

“No, thanks.”

He hears her all the way from the other side of the Whyte Wyrm. It’s like the sound of her cuts through the static of the crowd between where he stands and where Alice Cooper is, dressed like somebody who got lost on her way home from the PTA.

“I gotta…” FP leaves his sentence unfinished, missing the knowing smirk on Toni’s face as he’s drawn to the drop-off spot for holiday donations.

She looked so different the last time she was here--or she looked the same, and the way she’s dressed now is really what counts as different. He can’t tell anymore, with Alice, which is the real her and which was a lie. But she looked great at his retirement party.

Now she’s buttoned back up and carrying two big gift bags in green and red.

What’s the classic line? He steps closer. Of all the bars in this town, here she is in his? Something like that. He’d be able to recite it word-for-word if he wasn’t already catching a hint of her perfume.

“Alice Cooper.” He enjoys the way she whips around, startled by him despite being on his turf. Serves her right.

“FP. How are you?”

Strange thing is, she sounds like she means it. It occurs to him that the last time he saw her, he was throwing his second chance away. No wonder she's wary.

“I’m fine. Snakes don’t stay down for long.”

Alice rolls her eyes. She was a Serpent too, but it was FP who became so enamored with snake imagery that he started confusing the gang insignia with the creature itself. What a silly quirk to have survived the years between them.

“What are you doing here?”

“Toys for Tots.” She lifts the bags and shakes them a little. “Toys.”

“Ah.” It’s not much of an explanation. He's certain the Northside has toy drives of its own, along with school supply collections and fundraisers she could donate to. Why here?

“I felt like...doing something,” she says when he keeps staring. “Giving back. I remembered we always did this. Decided to see if it was still happening, and here you are.”

“Here I am.”

And here you are, he thinks, dragging his eyes away from hers long enough to scan her thin pink blouse and skirt under a heavy winter coat. “Come with me. Oh, give those to Sweet Pea,” he adds as an afterthought.

“What? Where are we--” They are almost to the bar, his hand on the small of her back, before she relaxes.

“What’s your poison?”

“I still have to make dinner,” she says with a hint of sigh in her voice. “I’ll just have some wine.”

“The wine here sucks,” Toni tells her firmly. “Nobody drinks it, so they won’t let me bring in better. Please, if you care about your tastebuds, order anything else.”

“Okay…”

FP leans in. “She’ll have two shots of strawberry vodka with a chaser of that lemonade you fixed up fresh this afternoon.”

“Gotcha. Be right back.”

“I can’t believe you remember that.” Alice stares at him.

“There’s a lot I remember.” He takes the liberty of tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. She's in his den, after all. Normal rules feel suspended here. “Why Toys for Tots, huh? We do it every Christmas. I’ve never seen you.”

“I have my reasons. And we have the money.” She shrugs. “Why not?”

“Until my party, you hadn’t set foot here since...before you got married. Is this gonna become a habit? Not complaining,” he adds. “Just wondering.”

“That was a one-time occurrence. I don't exactly belong here anymore. But, ‘tis the season.”

She pokes his chest with a perfectly manicured nail. “Where’s your holiday spirit, FP? You should be happy.”

“About what? I hate the holidays.”

“I know you used to. You’re a father now. You’re no longer that kid whose dad refused to put up a tree."

“Yeah, I know. I try to make it special for Jug. I do. But he’s growing up--he doesn’t want Santa stories and snow angels anymore.”

“Some traditions we grow out of,” Alice agrees, with a parent’s sorrow. “But some grow along with us. Don’t stop trying, FP. Your kids will always be your kids, if you let them.”

“Wow, somebody’s philosophical.”

“No, somebody’s impatient. Where’s my drink?” Alice turns away from him, drumming her fingers on the bar until she spots Toni.

“Sorry, Tall Boy wouldn’t wait his turn. You know how he gets,” she tells FP. “Here’s your shots and chasers.”

Alice narrows her eyes when the girl sets down the shot glasses and only gives one to her. The other is in front of FP. Wasn’t he done drinking?

“I never said I would share,” she protests, reaching across him to grab it.

“It’s a free drink, Alice. Stop complaining.” FP tosses his back, following it with the chaser. Alice smiles at the way his mouth twists around the tartness of the lemonade.

“I don’t know how you can stand that berry stuff,” he says as Alice drinks hers in half the time. She pats her mouth with the napkin in front of her and grins.

“It’s disgusting.”

FP’s laugh fills the space between them. It does more to warm her than the liquor.

“Hey, I didn’t order it! You did.”

“Because it used to be your favorite.”

“I also used to watch The Breakfast Club every week for a year. I was a dumb kid.”

“You were never dumb. But wow, you had crap taste.”

“In alcohol, yes. I’m happy to say my tastes have matured.”

“Also in music,” he argues. “That song you played about a hundred times. You wore out the tape deck in your old car. What was it called again?”

“'Hungry Eyes?' It was in Dirty Dancing! FP Jones, that is a classic song.”

“That song drives me nuts. I still know all the words, and not by choice.”

“I’ll never understand how you could live in that trailer and be such a snob.”

“Well, you grew up in the ugliest house on the block, and look at you.”

She glares at him. “I can still punch you without breaking a nail, you know.”

“Meant it as a compliment, Alice. You’re gorgeous, always have been. Questionable taste, in music and movies and alcohol. In people. But too pretty for words.”

“You certainly seem to have plenty tonight.”

“Vodka went to my head.”

Her lips quirk. “You’re not that much of a lightweight. But we’ll pretend I believe you. I have to go, FP. Thanks for the terrible drink on the house. Good luck on the toy drive.”

“Stay warm,” he says, the closest he can get to goodbye. That almost felt like old times. They’ve never looked more different, but something was the same. Something is still there.

“Hey, Toni.”

“You want another?”

“God, no. The woman you fixed the shot for just now?”

“Yeah, Betty’s mom.”

He glances at her, surprised.

“I used to read the Register. She’s not exactly low-key.”

“Right. I wonder...does she look like the type who might have a record player?”

“I don’t know.” She thinks it over. “I mean, her husband owns a newspaper. She might’ve gone digital. But if she does have one, I’m guessing it’s quality.”

She could have questioned him in return, about Mrs. Cooper or his sudden interest in vinyl. Toni was curious about all the undercurrents that ran through the Southside and Northside High and everywhere in between, but she didn’t ask about them. She learned more by listening and letting others do what most people did naturally: tell strangers all their secrets.

FP grabs his coat and pauses by the Meals on Wheel section to make sure the arrangements are coming together. “I’ll be back soon,” he tells Tall Boy on his way out. His bike takes him to Greendale and back with no problems--an unnecessary precaution, probably. It's not like he's doing anything wrong.

But Riverdale is full of nosy idiots.

****

Alice hears the doorbell ring, and waits for Betty’s footfalls on the stairs as she brushes flour off her hands. Eventually she sighs and goes to answer the door herself. She’s busy in the kitchen; couldn’t Elizabeth have at least come downstairs?

There are carolers on her doorstep, one of the traditions she loves about Riverdale that she had no idea existed outside of Christmas movies until she joined Hal on the Northside.

The Riverdale Children’s Choir sings a spirited, if slightly off-key, “Carol of the Bells.” After that, it’s “We Wish You A Merry Christmas” and then “Santa Claus is Coming to Town.” By the end, her lonely mood has perked up a bit. The group of kids and parents moves to the next door.

Maybe they’d like some of the cookies she’s been making all day, Alice thinks, before a glint at the edge of her porch catches her eye.

The flat package is wrapped in metallic gold and crinkles when she picks it up. For Alice is all the tag says. If her memory hasn’t failed her, though, she knows that handwriting.

What would he be doing getting her a gift?

She closes the front door, tiny carolers forgotten, and sits heavily on her couch. Betty is doing who knows what in her room; Hal is out. No time like the present...for a present, Alice decides.

Even as a child, she was a fastidious unwrapper. Gifts were so rare in her house, so precious, that she relished them. She hung on to the paper for years, turning it into something new or laying it flat in a box, tucked away in wait for a life where she could take such things for granted.

She wants for nothing now, but the box has only gotten bigger, and the treasure trove of glittering bows and ribbons and glossy paper offers her the holiday spirit year-round.

On really bad days, Alice dives into that box, running her fingers over the twirled ribbons and remembering where each piece of carefully preserved wrapping came from.

FP was there for a lot of that--for the worst of it. There’s no way his choice of paper isn’t deliberate. He brought her shimmering gold, the color he always told her looked best on her. Though her world has been falling apart for months, that makes her smile.

Pressing the tape against the white side of the paper as she goes along, Alice painstakingly peels back the gold until she can see what’s inside.

A laugh bursts out of her, and she rushes to cover her mouth like she can take it back. There is no sane way to explain this gift to Betty...the circumstances, or receiving it at all. But it's perfect.

Untying her apron and leaving it on the couch, Alice takes her surprise to Hal’s study. He shouldn’t be home for hours. And since she no longer really owns records, it’s where they keep his father’s player.

Not that Hal listens to them much, either. He likes the idea of being the kind of man who does. Status and how things look matter more to him than the truth; despite her choice to marry him, they are nothing alike in that way.

Alice slides the shrink-wrapped vinyl out of the gold paper, and sets it down on Hal’s desk. She runs her fingertips along the cover of the LP. There’s Johnny, and there’s Baby. She’d been such a romantic back then, in a desperate secret way she showed only to the first boy who loved her back. How many times had she made FP watch Dirty Dancing?

It had to be at least a dozen, the poor guy. And he wasn’t wrong, she’d played this song in her car over and over, until the tape snapped inside the cassette.

It was playing when they got lost in the rain during what was supposed to be a romantic picnic. It was playing when he quirked that smile of his and ran his hand up under her shirt the first time, when they steamed up the backseat.

FP even played it once, when she found out she might not graduate because of her arrest and they would be putting her on community service on the Northside to expose her to more ‘positive influences’--like the Northside wasn't full of pompous jerks who bullied her friends.

She couldn’t stop crying, her face buried in his jacket while they sat in the cab of his dad’s truck...and then "Hungry Eyes" started playing.

“I bought a copy,” FP told her, kissing her damp cheeks. “In case of emergency. Close your eyes, Al. It’s gonna be okay.”

It wouldn’t be okay, in actuality. Everything was about to change--but neither of them knew that at the time. Her lashes dried, his varsity jacket left the imprint of an R on her cheek, and she laced her fingers through his. She let her favorite song and her boyfriend's warmth make it disappear for a while.

Now, Alice puts the record on. She closes her eyes and curls up on the small sofa in the corner, feet tucked underneath her, clad in fuzzy socks. The music washes it all away.

It’s 1992. She’s splitting her time between school and the local biker bar, because her home isn’t safe or happy. But she has FP. That matters more than everything else.

Her relationship is a little like her favorite movie, when she thinks about it. He’s a roughneck like Johnny, with a soft side. She’s never fit in her family, like Baby. And FP isn’t really the school dance type, but he likes to put the radio on in his trailer when they’re alone and slow dance with her on the frayed carpet.

She spends the next hour locked in her husband’s study, the record taking her back to a life before there were Black Hoods and teenage pregnancies and broken hearts. She’s just a girl who loves a boy, and he’s murmuring along to her favorite song.

Alice hopes he likes his surprise as much as she likes hers.

****

“Hey,” FP calls out to Hog Eye behind the bar as he surveys the donations table. “I thought the sorting was done.”

“It is. Everyone got the toys and meals packed up and ready for distribution, all of it. Finished this morning.”

“Then what’s this?”

FP waves a box in the air. It's wrapped in forest green paper with little white trees. Hog Eye shrugs and goes back to tending bar.

“Sweet Pea found it with the donations. Apparently it’s for you.”

“Huh.”

He turns it over and spies the card tucked under a silver bow. Typed out instead of handwritten, it reads, Merry Christmas, FP. From your Secret Santa.

The Serpents don’t do Secret Santa. Their money goes to holiday donations and taking care of their members the rest of the year. Plus it’s such a spoiled rich sort of idea, buying gifts for someone and not even signing your name.

Which is exactly what he did, leaving that surprise for Alice, he reminds himself. So maybe he should just open the thing.

It takes him three seconds to remove the paper. He’s never been the patient type when he gets presents; if it could get taken away any minute, you better enjoy it while you can.

Wrong Men & Notorious Women: A Criterion Collection, the cover says in black and white. Apparently Santa thinks he needs to own more old movies. Who…

He remembers the way Alice’s eyes flashed at him across her dinner table last year and smiles. Before she went for the jugular on Homecoming night, she seemed surprised to learn he still loved movies. She looked, for just a second, like she’d seen a ghost.

The ghost of Christmas Past, FP thinks, turning the DVD set over in his hands. It’s Hitchcock. Got some good stuff. Not that he’d expect anything less from Alice Cooper.

As thank yous go, it’s a good one.

Then he freezes, still holding his gift.

“Boss?”

“Yeah, Hog Eye?”

“Need a drink? You look strange.”

“I’m fine, Hog. Thanks.”

If Sweet Pea found this mixed in with the donations, then she brought it that night. She brought it before he left hers on her porch.

FP isn’t sure what that means, but he knows it means something.

He used to speak the language of Alice fluently; now he can only guess that this is much an apology as a surprise.

Trying to tear him to shreds in front of his son and her husband and daughter? Pure Alice Cooper. No hesitation, no mercy.

Giving him movies for Christmas, when he mentioned being a movie buff right before their pleasant dinner went off the rails? When she hadn’t given him anything in the twenty Christmases before?

That was vintage Alice Smith. The girl he knew would pull stunts like this, flipping from angry to apologetic, from demands to tears.

He could never quite keep up, but he had loved the ride.

The reckless part of FP that always wanted another five drinks considered giving her a call. He could pick up the phone, thank her for the movies, extend an invitation to watch one in case she was ever bored and lonely.

He knows damn well it wouldn’t end there, if it started. There’s no version of that phone call that ends good.

“I’m goin’ home,” he tells everyone and no one in the Whyte Wyrm, and he tucks the box set inside his jacket for safekeeping.

Jughead’s pissed at him for taking the Serpents back, but maybe he can get his sullen kid to watch The Lady Vanishes with him tonight. Wasn’t that Alice’s advice, to keep trying?

'Tis the season, FP thinks with a grin as snow hits him on his way out the door.

If he’s ever going to catch a break...or a miracle...it might as well be on Christmas Eve.

#falice #riverdale #fp x alice #alice x fp #snakeparents #riverdale fic #riverdale fanfic #riverdale fanfiction #falice fic #falice fanfic #falice fanfiction #alice x fp fic #alice x fp fanfic #fp x alice fic #fp x alice fanfic #my fic

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salamoonder · 6 years

Text

Dark Side | [ch. 5]

Virgil’s mastered the knack of replacing one kind of pain with another.

Wordcount: 1.8k

Warnings: self harm, moderately graphic

A/N: Here we go, kids. Here’s the beginning of the dark stuff. My poor Virgil is...not very good at coping. As always I don’t condone any of his actions and if you’re upset by this chapter and need someone to talk to....my dms are open. But!! Please don’t read this if you’re not in a good place to do so. Love y’all. <3

|| Read on AO3 ||

“I’m not going. You can’t make me.”

“Virgil, please…”

Virgil flops onto his completely unmade bed and screams quietly into the mattress, sits there for a couple extra seconds with his jaw gaping for good measure, then closes his mouth, swallows, and tries again, this time directing the noise into words. “I said NO, Patton. I’m NOT GOING.”

There’s a freshman welcome barbecue on the main lawn and Patton’s been needling him to come for the past twenty minutes, but it feels more like years. It takes a lot of social energy to reject any kind of invitation from Patton, never mind rejecting it angrily, but he’d rather be angry than suppressed right now. He feels like Patton’s forcing his hand.

He can practically feel the hurt and bad emotion emanating from Patton, who is standing in the narrow doorway and making puppy eyes at him. That’s the problem with Patton; he feels everything so damn deep down. He never shoulders a feeling, he sets it squarely on his chest and lets it sink in hard. Virgil gets up and walks to the door.

“I’ll talk to you later, Pat,” he says, and closes it in his face.

He feels awful. It’s really not Patton’s fault, but he suspects Patton isn’t taking him seriously. Virgil doesn’t think he can survive, living with anyone but Patton. And Patton seems to think it’ll be nothing but a new adventure.

Well, it would be for Patton. He’d already cozied up to Remy. Everything was a new adventure to Patton.

The guilt is already sticking to the roof of his mouth, sealing it shut, even as the frustration and anger builds up in his fists. And his new roommate...he doesn’t even want to think about him.

When he walked into the room there had been a boy sprawled out on the second bed, which was completely made. A dozen or so Disney posters covered the wall above it, and a cork board above one of the desks was covered in pictures. Virgil was too far away to see them, but he could tell that they were all group or couple pictures.

Presumably his very social roommate with his many, many friends.

A bluetooth speaker on the desk next to a sleek macbook was playing something from the Hercules soundtrack at top volume. Boxes were splayed across the room, some of them on what Virgil assumed was supposed to be his side.

When he’d pulled the door open the kid had looked up from his phone and scowled. “Ah, rude! You could’ve at least knocked! This is my room, you know!”

He really talked like that, like every statement had an exclamation point at the end. He was long and lanky but solidly built. He looked like the kind of guy who could pick Virgil up and punt him like a football. And he was wearing expensive clothes, all name brand, but he was wearing them so casually they might as well have been Goodwill finds. He had his legs up and his ankles crossed as he lounged across his bed, like those cute pictures that roommates took of each other and posted to their studyblrs with hashtags like “aesthetic” ”dorm life” and “best roomie”.

Virgil immediately disliked him.

“It’s my room, too, jackass,” was the first thing that came out of his mouth, even though what he’d been thinking of in his head was a lot more diplomatic.

The kid on the bed raised an eyebrow and sat up super slowly, as dramatically as though it was the worst thing anyone had ever said to him.

“Well,” he said in a shocked tone, “I can see I’m not welcome here,”

And then he had taken his phone and walked out. Virgil noted with distaste how expensive his shoes looked before slamming the door after him. Being considered a rich snob, it didn’t usually take him too long to spot another one.

“Well,” he said to the empty room, “that went well.”

Since then he’d been wandering his room, debating going out to the car for more boxes, considering leaving all of Patton’s boxes on the sidewalk and just driving back home, or plotting what the best way to survive by locking himself in the bathroom all semester would be.

In the end, none of the options won out, and so he spent a few uncomfortable minutes pacing around the room before finally getting completely sick of the Disney songs pulsing from the bluetooth speaker and slamming the laptop shut. Normally Virgil hated touching other people’s things, but he couldn’t even hear himself think. It was like...roommate kid....thought he was at a rave. A Disney rave.

A few minutes later he was lying face down on the floor hyperventilating into the carpet, and Patton had chosen that exact moment to helpfully pop in and let him know that he was going to the freshman barbecue. And so Virgil had gotten up, walked over to the bed, and done approximately the same thing there.

His roommate still hadn’t come back yet, and he’d lied and said he must’ve just missed him when Patton asked. Virgil seriously hoped he’d gone to the freshman barbecue as well.

Virgil hoped he would make tons and tons of snobby, dramatic friends and spend all of his time outside of his room, taking a ridiculous number of group photos and leaving Virgil firmly out of all of it.

Actually, Virgil hoped he could go straight to the housing office and get them to change his living arrangements back to strictly Patton only as soon as possible. Or better yet get counselling to convince Patton to forget about this whole college thing and go home with him. Live out a nice, boring existence at home.

Virgil’s been lying on the floor thinking all these things when a tiny voice in the back of his head says “you know...you could always just bleed all these feelings away.”

Normally he would fight it, even if it was the smallest, most pathetic fight in the history of humanity. But I’m comfortable here. But I’ll have to actually look at the blood. But...just. Tiny excuses. Tiny little useless excuses. But today he listens to the voice and says, “You know what? You’re right.”

Almost out loud. Almost.

He gets up, slips the keycard into his pocket (he’s been holding it in his fist this entire time) and sneaks out of the hall, looking out for Patton lest he mistake his sudden activity for unexpected enthusiasm for the freshman barbecue. Luckily he makes it to the car with no encounters.

Patton’s left all of Virgil’s boxes stacked neatly on the sidewalk next to the car; all his boxes must be inside already. A peace offering. Or, really, just a nice thing that Patton did because he’s Patton and nice is what he does. Virgil feels another pang of guilt shoot through him, but he pushes all thoughts of the outside, non depressed world out of his head and picks up the first two boxes, balancing them carefully on top of each other.

It doesn’t take him very long to take all the boxes back to his room. The book box had been the heaviest, and going downhill really helped. It only takes a little digging to find the roll of paper towels stuffed with bandaids wrapped carefully in a towel, and a little more careful looking to find the book containing the razor blades he’s taped to the inside flap of the back cover. It’s not particularly subtle, but you’d still really have to be looking to find anything.

He steps into their suite bathroom, locks the doors on both sides (great, he thinks, the neighbors are going to hate me already--hopefully they’re at the stupid freshman barbecue too) and starts his work.

His hands are shaking a bit; it’s been a few days since he’s done this. He understands, he really does, why this is considered an addiction. He feels drunk; feels like the first time he’d taken an edible and all the colors in his eyes had swirled and blurred together and lifted him up in a happy little rainbow bubble; recalls the numb warmth pushing against his hands.

This is like that, with the shaking and the adrenaline, but it feels sharper somehow. Clearer. Weed and alcohol had dulled all his senses; cutting enhances them. Brings everything into needlepoint focus.

He keeps going and going until he feels a little delirious, until the blood splashes on the counter and he lunges forward to dab up the spill with a paper towel. He’s learned the hard way that even on supposedly easily cleanable surfaces blood can leave its mark.

That seems to be his cue that enough is enough. He runs his arms under the cold water, teeth bearing down hard on the front of his hoodie so he doesn’t cry out. This pain is different somehow, worse. He hates this part.

But eventually it’s over and he dabs his arms dry, painstakingly slowly, with a few paper towels. Then he gets to work spreading bandaids over every inch of his arms where he’s left his mark. He would prefer gauze and medical tape but that’s simply not practical right now. Anyway, gauze makes everything look more serious. Someone is more likely to gasp and yelp “oh my gosh what happened?” over gauze than they are over a dozen bandaids. Of course the bandaids look pretty suspicious but they still give Virgil the slimmest of outs-- “had a fight with a cat”-- if someone for any reason catches him without his ever present hoodie.

Ugh, he hadn’t even thought about changing in a room with someone who isn’t Patton.

Patton knows, of course, but he mostly pretends not to. Except when it gets real bad. Then the talk of seeing a therapist comes up.

Virgil grinds the heels of his hands carefully into his eyes, trying not to bend his wrists too much and reopen the cuts.

He’s focusing too hard on that to remember to stop himself from crying, though. He usually cries after he cuts. Somewhat because he feels disgusting, but also because he’s relieved.

He’s always relieved, to some degree or another.

He’s mastered the knack of crying silently. When someone from the other side knocks, he calls “just a minute,” voice practiced and steadied, clears his supplies, and gets out.

He sits on the bed, feeling better and worse and too hot in his hoodie but too nervous to take it off, even with the door closed and locked. After all, roommate kid has a key, too. He peeks his head out of the door for a second just to check his name on the door because it’s bothering him that he doesn’t know it.

Roman. Ugh. Sounds just as pretentious as he seems.

Virgil manages to find the energy to pull out all his bedding but is only halfway through pulling the fitted sheet over his mattress when he collapses and decides he’s not moving another inch until someone makes him.

He falls asleep about five minutes later, and misses the well meaning knock of Remy, who’s come back because Patton asked her to check on him.

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #virgil #roman #patton #logan #college au #tw: self harm

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jennycalendar · 6 years

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regarding honor and honesty in the workplace (28/43)

read it on ao3!

this chapter: dumb family shenanigans. also nightmares.

from the personal files of Jenny Calendar:

Part of me isn’t entirely sure why I’m still continuing to write personal files when there’s no active case. I’ve shut down Calendar-Giles Investigations for the time being, and we won’t be needing to work any odd jobs; Lilah wired us a very large sum of money in what I guess is another of her attempts to apologize for shooting me. Only—she isn’t really sorry for trying, I don’t think, she’s sorry that she wasn’t strong enough to kill us both. I think there’s a lot of resentment involved in her having to actually pay us the money we’re owed for helping her, which makes me feel better about taking it.

I guess I just need some kind of an outlet, and recording what’s going on always comforts me a little. It’s good to have some kind of a reference regarding what kind of progress I’ve made, whether it’s professional or personal, and right now all my efforts seem Sisyphean at best. My feelings for Rupert aren’t really going anywhere, our kids are still having trouble handling the aftermath of his being shot, and no one knows where the bulk of Angel Investigations has disappeared to. It feels like the end goal is to reach the level of easy normalcy we had before Lilah entered our lives, but—selfishly, I don’t think that kind of undefined, nebulous happiness is what I want anymore. Particularly not with Rupert. I think I want to know what I have in my life.

Staying with Rupert and his kids was probably going to take some getting used to, but not really in a negative way—more like all of Jenny’s family was under the same roof for the first time ever, and she had to deal with a mixture of nervous happiness and a sense of impermanence. She wished that this could be every day, and was beginning to think it might not be too unrealistic to expect she’d always have Buffy, Dawn, and Rupert in her life. At the same time, though, being in love with Rupert felt like a major stumbling block in what could be a perfectly platonic co-parenting situation, and she wasn’t sure how to deal with that on a day-to-day basis.

Jenny made the kids dinner and served it upstairs, because no one really wanted to leave Rupert’s bedroom. Dawn and Faith had created a pillow nest on the floor with Xena and were watching some high school drama on Netflix, and a giggling Buffy was settled right next to Rupert as he complained about the copy of People she’d picked up for him from the hospital. “Really, Buffy,” he was saying, “there are plenty of other things you Americans could be occupying your time with—must you be concerned with Who Wore It Best?”

Buffy almost fell off the bed, she was laughing so hard.

Jenny coughed pointedly, shifting the dinner tray to balance it against her hip. “Anyone up for personal pizzas?” she inquired. “I can make you guys popcorn, too, if you wanna keep watching stuff.”

“Pizzas,” said Rupert reprovingly, “are not suitable for three growing girls and an invalid.”

“I’m turning nineteen in January, Dad,” said Buffy, and she and Giles both smiled a little shyly at Dad. “And you got shot, but you’re gonna be fine—that so doesn’t qualify you as an invalid.”

“See? She gets it,” said Jenny, setting the tray down on the bed in front of Buffy and Rupert. “And I made these myself, so shut up.”

“Dough and all?”

“Oh my god, am I getting the Spanish Inquisition over personal pizzas?” Jenny shoved one of the greener ones in Rupert’s direction. “I put green stuff on this one, invalid, that should suit you,” she added playfully.

“Thank you,” Rupert murmured, his hand brushing hers as he took the plate.

Jenny bit her lip and smiled, feeling fluttery and nervous as she sat down next to a very knowing Buffy. “I might pass on the pizza,” she said, and off Rupert’s reproving look, hastily added, “I’m tired! I really just want to lie here for a little and then camp out on the couch.”

“Be that as it may,” said Rupert, “it’s quite important to me that I know you’re taking care of yourself. You’ve been through a traumatic incident—”

“Yeah,” said Jenny, “you getting shot. Don’t try and take care of me when you’re supposed to be resting—”

“You guys are seriously so annoying,” said Buffy, and took one of the plates from the tray, handing it to Jenny. “Just eat, Jenny, Dad’s right. You can’t mom all of us and live off coffee.”

“Clearly you don’t know me,” said Jenny, but took a bite of pizza. “Mmm!”

Rupert, who was warily observing his own pizza, sort of poked at it, then said, “It looks very good, Jenny,” in a tone that sounded dramatically pessimistic.

“You’re such a food snob,” said Jenny, grinning.

“I’m ill,” said Rupert plaintively, “I would like soup and some soft bread, not something with grease and—and green,” but he was smiling playfully up at her as he took a bite of pizza. “This really is quite good,” he added, in the sweetly accommodating way that Jenny knew meant he didn’t like the food but he did like her.

Jenny blushed. “Yeah?”

“Is Mom blushing?” Faith was whispering loudly and very audibly to Dawn. “Turn off the episode—is Mom blushing?”

“Goodness, I believe she is,” said Rupert playfully, and reached out to lightly tap Jenny’s cheek. “That is most certainly a fetching shade of pink, my dear. Had I any idea I was capable of drawing it out, I would have complimented your cooking much sooner.”

“You are the actual worst,” Jenny informed him, smiling slightly, and relaxed back into the pillows with the pizza. “Faith, can you turn the laptop so we can all see?”

“I’ll just bring it up onto the bed,” said Faith helpfully, and did so without much warning, not even bothering to pause what they were watching. Dawn, who had been observing the screen with rapt attention, let out an indignant yelp and scrambled to follow Faith onto the bed, settling in next to Rupert as Faith set down the laptop and squeezed in by Jenny. Xena hopped up onto Jenny’s lap and made an attempt to get at the pizza; Jenny tapped her gently on the nose until she’d settled down a little.

“See, Dad?” said Buffy. “Told you a king-size was a good investment.”

“Don’t spill grease on the sheets,” said Rupert.

“Who’s the blonde?” asked Jenny.

“She’s Sarah, obviously,” said Dawn, as though Jenny should already be aware of every single Netflix high school drama ever.

“Yeah, Dawn unironically watches this,” said Faith.

“Shut up,” said Dawn, and snuggled into Rupert’s side.

Jenny set Faith up in the guest room, made sure Buffy and Dawn were doing okay in their bedrooms, did one last check-in with Rupert to see that he’d taken his painkillers, and found herself downstairs in the living room, closing the curtains and drawing up a makeshift bed on the couch. She had chosen to sleep on the couch if only to keep her own emotions in check; not telling Rupert she was in love with him was more difficult than one would expect. She didn’t want to give in and tell him about her feelings when what he really needed right now was Jenny Calendar, best friend and shoulder to lean on. It sucked for her, sure, but it was better than hurting him just because she wanted to feel better herself. She’d done that enough already.

She had turned off the lights and settled into the couch when she started becoming aware of how still and quiet it was in the living room. It was the first time she’d been alone since arriving at Rupert’s, and the first time she’d been far enough away from him that, if something happened to him, she might not get there in time. Jenny told herself she was being ridiculous, because she’d been there when Rupert had been shot and it wasn’t like she’d really been any good then.

But then that backfired, because it led to Jenny thinking about Rupert getting shot, and that pervasive, horrible image of him bleeding out was in her head again in the worst way. She knew, rationally, that he was fine, why wouldn’t he be fine, he was upstairs, alone, in the dark, recovering from being shot in the chest by someone who very clearly didn’t like being Jenny’s second priority—

“God!” she whispered, shakily, and pulled the blankets tighter around her. It took her nearly half an hour to finally fall asleep.

blood all over Buffy’s pink dress, and blood on Jenny’s hands, and the steely glint of Lilah’s smile, and the weight of Rupert’s body in her arms, and his eyes half-open and Buffy crying and then a terrible, terrible silence—

Disoriented, Jenny jerked awake. She was too drowsy to sort through the tangled mess of fear and panic and figure out the rational thing to do, and it was way too dark to go back to sleep in the deadly-silent living room when Rupert could be dead somewhere, and—she needed to see him. That was what she knew. She needed to see him and know he was okay. Stumbling a little in the darkness, Jenny made her way out of the living room and up the stairs.

The upstairs hallway was dark, but there was a dim light coming from under Rupert’s bedroom door. Jenny didn’t have enough presence of mind to knock, so she just opened it, leaning heavily on the doorframe.

Rupert looked up from his book. “Jenny,” he said, his voice softening into concern halfway through her name. “Jenny, come here, what’s wrong?”

Jenny felt like some kind of weight had been lifted, but she was still exhausted enough not to think too much about crossing the room to all but fall onto the bed next to Rupert. Awkwardly, he moved his arm to wind it around her shoulders, and she buried her face in his chest with a relieved, shaky breath.

“Here,” said Rupert, and she felt him adjust her a bit so he could pull the blanket up and over her, tucking it securely around them both.

It took Jenny five minutes to reach a place that allowed for coherent thought. She was awake, now, enough to recognize the problems that might accompany sleeping with Rupert even in the tamest sense of the word, but when he was this close, she wasn’t thinking about him bleeding out—she was just thinking about how she was an idiot for letting them be this close, which she definitely preferred. “Sorry,” she said, and curled into his side. “I just—I had a nightmare. Kinda stupid, I guess—”

“Would you like me to read to you?” Rupert shifted again, securing his arm around Jenny’s shoulders so that she was lying on one side, her cheek on his chest. If she wasn’t wrung-out and frightened, she’d probably be swooning a little about how effortlessly close they were. Really, Jenny thought, there were worse people to be madly in love with than Rupert, who was gentle and sweet and was right now offering to read her short stories. “Aesop’s,” he was saying. “I like simple fables for when I’m feeling a bit under the weather.”

“Under the—you just got shot,” Jenny scoffed tiredly, feeling a comfortable rush of fluttery infatuation—and god, now that she knew what it was, she knew that she’d felt this so many times before without knowing enough to name it. “I’d say that’s a little more than under the weather. Just don’t read me the Tortoise and the Hare and we’re good, okay?”

“Now what do you have against that one?”

“Overdone,” said Jenny. “Mainstream.”

“Oh, and you’re too cool for it, I suppose?”

“I just want something new,” said Jenny simply.

Rupert looked at her with that thoughtful expression, then squeezed her shoulder. “I can understand that,” he said finally, then began to read. Jenny wasn’t paying attention to the words, really, because resting her head on his chest like this, she could hear the steady, reassuring flutter of his heart. The way it was in tune with the cadence of his voice was comforting, like a warm blanket, and her eyes began to droop.

“Five seconds in,” she heard Rupert say, “and you’re already drifting off. I hope that’s not a comment on my storytelling abilities,” but he continued to read some story about a fox or a deer or something with complete contentment. Jenny let her eyes close all the way.

#regarding honor and honesty in the workplace #The Slow Burn Continues!

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serceleste · 6 years

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writing meme

I was tagged by @incognitajones!

1) How many works in progress do you currently have? HAHAHAHAHAHAHA. I honestly have no idea but it’s at least a couple dozen. Most of them I still have vague hopes of finishing. Or at least trying to.

2) Do you/would you write fanfiction? LMAO. My AO3 profile would say yes.

3) Do you prefer paper books or ebooks? Paper! I get the convenience aspect of ebooks, especially for traveling, and for not having shelves and boxes of books, but to me there is nothing better than an actual paper copy of a book, the feel of it, the weight, the way it smells. I prefer reading on paper than on a screen, too, though the hours and hours I spend voluntarily on a computer or my phone might indicate otherwise, lol. But I’m a book snob. Paper all the way. (Moving’s gonna be a bitch.)

4) When did you start writing? I’ve loved writing my whole life, I was so proud of my creative efforts in grade school, I still have a lot of it. In junior high I started my first novel. (Terrible, obviously.) In high school is when I really started making up fandom stories in my head and writing them down, I first posted fanfic online when I was a freshman in college.

5) Do you have someone you trust that you share your work with? Kind of! I definitely have friends I talk to about my writing, and some I send stuff to for beta and/or thoughts, my RL friend tends to be the one who gets the most unpolished stuff. My friends I’ve made through fandom I sometimes get anxiety over showing stuff, particularly when I’m nervous about it, and especially when they’re friends who are much better writers than me!

6) Where is your favorite place to write? I don’t really have one, I basically write wherever.

7) Favorite childhood book? Oh..... Maybe the Narnia books? Where the Red Fern Grows? I had a lot of favorites.

8) Writing for fun or publication? For fun, I don’t think I have the mentality to be able to put my stuff out there for the world with my name attached, for critics, whatever. Online fanfic with a pseudonym is hard enough. Also let’s be honest, I’m not a novel writer, as much as I’d love to be hired to write for the Star Wars EU.

9) Pen and paper or computer? Mostly computer, but I love my journal to keep around for writing when odd inspiration hits or when I’m in a situation where it’s just easier than to get out the laptop or slave away tapping on my phone, lol.

10) Have you ever taken any writing classes? Nope, I’m sure I could benefit, but a) it would be miserable for my anxiety and b) I’m not looking to make money off this.

11) What inspires you to write? Falling in love with characters and their worlds, really. Having a picture in my head that I just really need to get out. UNNECESSARY FEELINGS (that I will then unload on the rest of you, haha).

Tagging every interested party!

#meme #writing #me

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dimancheetoile · 6 years

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Quiet, soft understanding

Written for ShikaSakuWeek Hanami 2018 @shikasaku-week

Day Three: Civilian POV/Team POV

Read on AO3

Miho is staring at the scroll, pale as a ghost. Hideki calls her name, but she doesn't react. Frowning, he throws the gardening glove he was holding at her head. She jumps in surprise and blinks a couple of times.

"What is it?" he asks.

"The Hokage sent this."

He gasps. "You're kidding."

"Anata, the Hokage wrote to us!" she looks terrified. "He wants us to organize his wedding."

"Sweet gods."

Hideki sits down on the ground, knees weak. His wife joins him, her shaking hands offering the scroll. He doesn't look at it. All he can think about is that he's way too young to die of anxiety.

As expected, it's an absolute nightmare. The Hokage doesn't care about anything. He has no opinion, no matter what the subject is. His fiancé, on the other hand, is a pain in the ass. There is no other way of putting this. The last Uchiha seems to be stuck on pissed-off mode, rarely approving anything they propose and when he does, it's with a great deal of changes.

The Hokage seems to notice how much pressure he's putting on the both of them and forbids him to take part in the process. Then he laughs, the picture of sunshine on a summer day, and assures them he'll send people to take care of it in their stead.

Neither Miho nor Hideki hear from them in almost a week. Then, as they're about to close shop one day, a bulky silhouette sunshine at the door. Hideki lets out an entirely unmanly shriek before recognizing the pink hair of the legendary Haruno Sakura. As it is, she's carrying a man over her shoulder, her skin darkened with mud and tracks of sweat on her cheeks and forehead.

"Sorry to drop by so late. I'm Sasuke's best man, he told me that I should come take care of stuff for him. I'm just going to bring this fucker to T&I and I'll come back to see you in the morning, yeah?"

Numbly, Hideki nods and waves back when she salutes him with a broad grin. He watches her disappear into the night with the feeling that something terrible just happened to him.

She does come back in the morning. She's much cleaner but grinning just as wide. From the way she looks about two seconds away from bursting out laughing, she's taking this as the biggest joke there is. In retrospect, and having spent hours on the list of requests Uchiha-san has made, Miho can see why it would seem hilarious. That man is picky.

That's when the second half of the anxiety equation decides to drop by, blond hair like a halo around his head as he steps inside the shop. He's not alone, but Hideki doesn't recognize the man accompanying the Hokage. Miho looks frozen in place though, so he knows his wife has a pretty good idea of who just entered their shop.

“Good morning! This is Shikamaru, my best man. Apparently, there is a Suna delegation coming so I thought he could take care of everything for me!”

The man looks miles away from being happy at the idea, but he's not saying it out loud either and it seems good enough for the Hokage.

“Oh, we actually have Uchiha-san's maid of honour picking flowers right now, if you'd like to see her.”

A voice from the back of the shop yells 'Best man!' and the Hokage's face seems to brighten even further, if it's possible.

“Sakura-chan!”

Haruno-san appears from behind a gigantic bouquet, her face tensed in annoyance.

“You! Why the fuck are you marrying this absolute bastard? Do you realize how much of a fucking pain in the ass he's being? Asshole!”

Hideki coughs, trying to decide if laughing will get him in trouble. Miho jabs her elbow in his ribs and he swallows a pained cry. The Hokage is pouting.

“But, Sakura-chan! Have you seen his face? It's not fair being so pretty, how could I resist? Also, the sex is fantastic-”

“Oh my fucking gods, please spare me the details and go bother you fiancé.” She groans, before noticing the other man. Her whole face changes in barely a second and she blinks a couple of times. Hideki frowns. Is that a blush?

“Oh. Hello, Shikamaru.”

“Sakura,” he nods. “I didn't know Sasuke had picked you.”

“For all the good it's done me,” she grumbles.

He snorts in laughter and she smiles softly. Miho looks between the two. 'Softly' is not a term she would had associated with Haruno-san, ever.

“Will you help me with the flowers? He insisted on a colour palette, the snob.”

“Fine. You're lucky my teammate forced me to learn about them.”

“I'm lucky, yes,” she says before realizing it, her eyes widening in embarrassment a second later. The man looks at her in surprise, before a pleased smile blooms on his face. He offers her his hand and she takes it without missing a beat. Then they both look at their joint hands with some sort of wonder on their face.

Hideki looks at Miho and his wife nods. They silently leave the room. After all, they might have a second wedding to plan very soon.

#shikasaku #shikasakuhanami #My writing #shikasakuweek

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stereksecretsanta · 6 years

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Merry Christmas, @caffeine-in-an-iv!

Happy Holidays and/or Seasons Greetings to my Secret Santa, caffeine-in-an-iv aka WitchWithWifi! I heard you liked Christmas fluff! Well, have I got some fluff for you! I really hope you enjoy it! Thanks so much for reading!

Read on AO3

*****

Follow the Jelly Beans

Derek can’t believe he’s the last one off the plane.

It’s partially his fault, he’d been working late and had to rush to the airport. The dirty looks he’d gotten when he ran down the aisle of the plane in a crumpled suit rivaled what he had gotten from his mother on Skype that morning when he said he’d be catching a later flight.

It isn’t Derek’s fault that his students had handed in work at the last minute that had to be graded before Christmas break. He knows he’s been too soft on them, but he’s always been a sucker for personal statements and reading about his students’ holiday traditions made him even more lenient than usual.

He’d shoved himself into the middle seat closest to the rear lavatory with a sheepish look on his face. It was a six-hour flight from New York to Sacramento and he clutched his worn copy of A Christmas Carol and settled in to read it like he did every winter.

By the time he deplanes and makes it to baggage claim, his suitcase is the only one left. The tag is torn off but he’s already missed 8 calls from Cora and just grabs it quickly before rushing outside.

“Get in, loser!” she calls from the window of her Jeep. “Everyone is waiting for you to decorate the tree!”

“Christmas is in like two days, and you still haven’t decorated?” Derek asks, throwing his ratty rollaway bag into the trunk.

“Mom wanted us to all be together. But someone had to go and move halfway across the world.”

“I like my job, Cora,” Derek says, buckling his seatbelt. “You don’t just turn down Columbia.”

“You sound like such an East Coast snob when you say stuff like that,” she says, weaving through the crazy holiday traffic.

“And you’re my least favorite sister.”

“Ha fucking ha,” she says, narrowing her eyes. “Your life is in my hands right now, don’t mess with me,” she adds, changing lanes just a hair too close for Derek’s comfort.

It takes a few hours but they make it back to the house in one piece and Derek can already hear the kids screaming as they pull into the drive. It makes him smile. He doesn’t get home as often as he should and hopes the small gifts he has packed are enough for him to keep his title as favorite uncle.

”Finally!” he hears from the front porch as he grabs his suitcase. “I thought you’d walked here.”

His mother is just as striking as ever, just a few streaks of grey in her dark hair betraying her age. “Sorry, Mom,” he says softly into her hair as he’s pulled into a hug.

“Uncle Derek!” someone screams as they tackle him around the knees. “It’s pajama time!”

“I can see that!” he says, stooping down to get a hug and a kiss from Laura’s youngest. “Give me a minute and I’ll go change.” He waves hello to everyone else who is gathered around a bare tree and hops up the stairs to his childhood bedroom to put on his soft flannel bottoms. Gracie had picked them out especially for him last Christmas and he made sure to pack them for the traditional pajama decorating party.

Only his pants aren’t in the bag. In fact, none of his belongings are in the bag. It’s not his bag at all.

“Oh no,” he mutters, sifting through the contents. “Who the fuck packed this?”

The suitcase is utter chaos. There’s an assortment of wrapped Christmas gifts and scrunched up clothes but there’s also a bunch of half knitted scarves, action figures, baby toys and… are those throwing stars in that carrying case? To cap it all off, every nook and cranny of the bag is full of loose jelly beans.

“Oh my God,” Laura snickers from the doorway. “Did you switch bags with a killer Easter Bunny?”

“I have no idea,” he says, pulling out a noise machine and a copy of Go the Fuck to Sleep .

“Is that a fishing rod?” she asks, stepping forward to grab an oblong shape out of a long pocket. “This thing is kind of cool,” she says, snapping the rod together to its full length. “It’s like stealth fishing.”

“I need to call the airline,” Derek says, reaching for his phone. “I had all the gifts in there. And I don’t think I can fit in any of these clothes,” he adds, pulling out a well-worn Batman tee shirt that’s at least two sizes too small for him.

He’s on hold for twenty minutes with Laura tapping her foot and looking at her watch before the helpline connects. They are no help at all. Does he know how many bags get lost during Christmas? It’s impossible for them to match up every bag with every person and there’s nothing matching his description left at the airport. Someone else must have taken his bag by mistake. So sorry, happens all the time, Merry Christmas.

“Fuck!” he groans, ending the call. “Someone else has my bag and I’ve got this… whatever this junk is.”

“We could just give the kids these and hope they’re not porn,” Laura says, chuckling as she reaches for one of the wrapped presents. It’s Star Wars wrapping paper. R2-D2 is wearing a Santa hat and everything.

“You can’t do that, Laura!” Derek says, snatching the present out of her hand. “You’re going to ruin someone’s Christmas.”

“You’re such a Tiny Tim,” Laura teases, dropping the present with a huff. “We’ll figure it out tomorrow. It’s getting close to bedtime for the kids and we still have to decorate and have hot chocolate. You know how Dad is about tradition.”

“I’m coming, just…” he trails off, opening a drawer and finding nothing but old clothes from high school “Can I borrow something from Adam? I don’t have any pajamas to wear.”

“Sure thing, bro,” she says, leading him out of the room.

It’s wonderfully chaotic as always, and the footie Minion pajamas Derek is forced into only add to the ridiculousness of it all. Thirteen people under one roof is always a bit crazy, but coming in late without any of his belongings has Derek feeling a bit more overwhelmed than usual.

“I don’t think you’re going to be getting your stuff back, sweetheart,” Talia says hours later as the adults share a much-needed glass of wine. “We can do some last minute shopping tomorrow if you really want, but the kids are just happy you’re here.”

“I had a 50th Anniversary copy of The Hobbit for West,” Derek groans, rubbing at his beard.

“And you didn’t carry it on?” Peter asks, swirling his wine with his feet up in his wife’s lap. “It’s like you were asking for it.”

“I’ll help you see if there are any clues in the bag,” Cora says, tossing a dirty look in Peter’s direction.

They go through everything in the bag piece by piece, sorting it into piles and collecting the jelly beans in a ziplock bag. Without opening the presents, there aren’t a lot of clues. The only identifying item is a ratty old Beacon Hills High Lacrosse tee shirt.

“This looks at least five years old, maybe ten,” Cora says, holding it up to her chest. “The underwear tells me it’s a dude, at least.”

“I don’t think I can go to the high school and ask, ‘hey I know this is a long shot but do you know whose boxers these are? They used to go here ten years ago,’” Derek says, rolling his eyes.

“Why don’t you just open a present,” she suggests, shaking a box. It doesn’t make any noise. “It’s not like the guy can’t re-wrap them.”

“I don’t know,” Derek says, flopping down on his back on his old full bed. “It feels weird and invasive.”

“Just imagine that he’s probably touching your underwear now, too. If that makes you feel any better,” she says, poking him in the side as she drops the box back in the suitcase.

“Somehow that’s not comforting,” Derek groans, kicking out at her.

“Why don’t you just start with one,” she says, holding up another small package. “If that doesn’t help you can try another one. That way you won’t ruin everything, you big baby.”

“Okay,” Derek says, not having any better ideas. He grabs the gift and reads the tag. “To Scott: Finally saw one of these come through the store and nabbed it for you.” Derek peels back the corner of the paper and finds a Funkopop box. Sliding through the tape and removing the paper he sees that it’s a glow in the dark White Walker.

“I have no idea,” Cora says, quickly becoming bored. “Try the comic book store in the morning. If they’re even open on Christmas Eve.”

Derek does exactly that. He checks online and is standing out front of Beacon Hills Comics with a cup of coffee exactly when it opens.

“Can I help you?” the clerk asks, eyebrows high. Derek must not look like their typical customer in his tweed jacket and slacks.

“I kind of found this,” he says, putting the box on the table. “And I was wondering if you could tell me about it.”

“Seriously?” he says, eyes brightening as he carefully lifts the box. “These are really rare. You just found it somewhere?”

“It’s a long story,” Derek says, sighing. “Do you know where someone might have gotten it?”

“Are you looking to sell? Because I’ll give you $200 for it.”

“Thank you, but no,” Derek says, shaking his head. He has no idea if that’s a fair price or not, but he’s sure as hell not selling someone else’s Christmas gift.

“Most of the time people buy and sell these on eBay or at stores like this. The super rare ones are only sold at like Comicon and stuff.”

“Okay…” Derek says, puzzling through the information. “So whoever bought this is a nerd?”

“We’re all nerds,” the man says with a huff. “This guy is a collector. Someone serious.”

“Okay,” Derek says, reaching for the doll. “Thanks for your help.”

“$300!” the guy calls as Derek leaves the store.

“No deal,” he says with a small smile on his face, more determined than ever.

He thinks it over while he plays Guess Who with the kids. The more he thinks about the collection or random stuff in the suitcase, the more he thinks he might like to meet whoever owns it.

Under the watchful eye of Laura and his mother, he helps Gracie, West, Charlotte, and Milo decorate Christmas cookies, which is more of a test of patience than anything. By the time they’re done, Derek is covered in frosting and has sprinkles stuck in his beard. He takes a second shower before choosing another present to open.

This one is much larger than the last, but a completely ridiculous shape. The tag reads: “To Allison: Your other gift got shipped, but I thought you’d enjoy this. Might be fun to scare the kids with.”

Derek slips the paper off to find a headband in his hand. There’s an arrow going through it. He cracks up. Who is this guy? A magician? An evil mastermind? An eccentric preschool teacher?

There’s no way the headband is going to help him get anywhere, so he digs another present out of a pile of jelly beans. This one is squishy and the tag reads: “To Melissa: No more putting it off. It’s time for your childhood dreams to come true. Eat your heart out, Tonya Harding.”

Inside is a pair of fur-lined mittens. Slipped inside one of them is an envelope containing a voucher for ice skating lessons… at the Beacon Hills rink. Smiling to himself, Derek rounds up the kids and loads them into Laura’s minivan for a fun surprise trip with Uncle Derek.

Gracie and West help the other two on with their skates while Derek speaks to the front office. Their website is down so they’re unable to trace orders that were placed online, but they tell him that he’s welcome to schedule his first ice skating lesson now if he likes. Derek politely declines, shaking his head. Another dead end.

Derek laces up his own skates and steps out onto the ice, smiling as the weightless easy feeling takes over him. He watches the kids race around the rink, screaming and laughing as they fall all over each other under the twinkling of the arena’s Christmas lights.

Not for the first time, Derek wonders if he’ll ever have something like this, a loving partner and a couple of kids to bring home to his parents’ for the holidays. Maybe it’s time to give online dating another try. If there’s anyone half as interesting as the suitcase man out there, he might want to ask them for a date.

After a few hours, Derek rounds the kids back up and treats them to hot chocolate. He sits with Milo on his lap and sings along to the Christmas carols being pumped through the tinny arena speakers with a smile on his face. Even a bit of scalding cocoa spilled on his pants does little to dampen the spirit of the season.

“What are you thinking about?” Gracie asks him on their way back to the car, already far too perceptive for her age.

“How things are going to be next Christmas,” he says, smiling sweetly down at her as they help the younger kids into their car seats. “You think you’ll get another sister or brother by then?” he teases.

“I hope not. I already heard Mom say Milo was an accident,” she stage whispers.

Derek laughs freely, making sure everyone is buckled in tight before heading back to the Hale house. As they sit beside the fire reading The Night Before Christmas later that evening, Derek thinks about the suitcase man and who he might be spending Christmas with.

Unable to sleep from all the chocolate he’s had in the last two days, Derek stares at the ceiling at 11 p.m. He’s no closer to finding out where his suitcase is and tomorrow is Christmas.

One more , he tells himself, getting up and flicking the light back on. He digs around in the suitcase until he finds the present Cora shook the night before.

Carefully slitting the tape, Derek reveals a plain white box. Inside, painstakingly wrapped in white tissue paper is a framed photograph. It’s old, the colors worn and tinted orange like so many other family photos he’s seen over the years.

A man stands next to a police cruiser, one hand leaning against the roof while the other holds tight to the leg of the young boy who’s sitting on his shoulders. It’s shot from behind, so Derek can’t see their faces, but he knows for sure this is a special photograph. He also knows that the little boy in the photos must be the one who went to Beacon Hills High ten years ago and filled his suitcase with jelly beans.

He stares at the photo for a long time, tracing the lines of the car with his finger until it clicks. This boy’s father was a local police officer. If he was twenty years ago, maybe he still is and if not, at least someone at the station would be able to identify the car.

Moving quickly, Derek makes sure everything is back in the suitcase before grabbing the photograph and rushing downstairs. “Hey Peter, can I borrow your car?” he asks quietly. Peter and his wife Savannah are curled up on the couch, Charlotte asleep between them.

“Keys are in the kitchen,” he says softly, brushing the hair out of Charlotte’s face as Savannah looks on. Her eyes are sleepy but bright with love, it’s obvious how happy they are together.

Derek’s heart aches as he stares for a second, caught up in the sight of something he’s not sure he’ll ever experience himself. Shaking his head slightly, he pushes on, retrieving Peter’s keys and shoving the suitcase in the trunk. It’s a short ride to the Sheriff’s station and Derek barely even has time to think about what he’s going to say before he’s heading inside.

“Can I help you?” the dispatcher says, barely looking up from the paperwork he’s shuffling through.

“I was wondering if you knew who was in this picture? I think they might work here,” Derek says, holding out the frame.

The dispatcher laughs. “That’s a good one,” he says, handing the photo back. “Hey Sheriff!” he calls behind him. “Someone here to see you!”

“How many times have I told you to use the intercom,” a man says, poking his head out of an office down the hall. He’s imposing in his uniform but looks kind, blonde and tan with a coffee mug in his hand.

“It’s a small office, Sheriff,” the man says, turning back to his paperwork.

“Don’t I know it,” the Sheriff says, sighing as he leans his hand on the doorframe. “That’s why we’re all working on Christmas Eve. What can I do for you, son?” he asks, turning to Derek.

“Uhh…” Derek says, stepping forward when the Sheriff waves him over. “I think…” he trails off again searching for the words. “Is this you?” he asks instead, holding out the photograph.

“Wow,” he says, taking it and sitting down heavily in his desk chair. “Where did you get this?”

“I got the wrong bag at the airport,” Derek says, watching the Sheriff’s face intently as he studies the photograph. It’s happy, but also wistful. It makes Derek think that while the suitcase man in the picture is probably still alive, maybe the person who took the photo isn’t. “It was full of all this completely insane stuff, but also a few presents. That was one of them.”

“So you’re the one who ended up with Stiles’ bag,” the Sheriff says, a smile spreading across his face as he starts to chuckle. “He’s an odd one, my son.”

“Do you want the bag?” Derek asks, a little put out. After all the work he put in to finding the suitcase man, he kind of wants to see it through to the end.

“I’m working the night shift tonight. Why don’t you go to my house and give it to him? Just don’t ring the bell or you’ll wake the baby. If that’s not too much trouble?”

“Sure. No problem,” Derek says, taking the photo back when it’s offered. Knowing there’s actually a baby involved at least makes sense of half of the items in the suitcase, the others, not so much. “Thanks, Sheriff.”

“Call me John,” the man says, holding out his hand. “It’s 129 Woodbine Lane,” he adds, walking Derek out. “And thanks for hunting him down. Especially on Christmas. It would have been a shame to lose that photo.”

“You’re welcome,” Derek says, turning toward the door. “I’m Derek, by the way.”

“I know who you are, son,” John says, clapping him on the shoulder. “I’ve lived here for years. Your sister went to school with Stiles.”

“Oh,” Derek says softly. He’s kind of struck dumb by what a small world it is, that Stiles was on the same flight as him coming home to Beacon Hills for Christmas on the same day with a bag that exactly matched his. “I’ll get this to him.”

“Make sure he gives you a proper thank you,” John adds, waving before heading back to his office.

Derek gets back in the car and heads over to Woodbine. He must have run down this block a hundred times as a kid and never knew the Sheriff or his son. Retrieving the bag from the trunk, Derek walks slowly up the front steps. He’s thought of nothing else for the past 36 hours and yet now that he’s here he’s hesitant to knock.

Taking a deep breath, Derek raises his hand and gives the glass a light rap. A few seconds later the curtain flies open and a freckled face appears. Derek waves, mouthing “hi” like Stiles has any idea who he is. He points down at the suitcase and hopes Stiles will get the idea.

The door opens quietly and the suitcase man invites him inside. He takes the bag from Derek’s hand and immediately opens it on the coffee table. “I swear to God, if the Binky Bear isn’t in here, I’m going to lose my shit.”

“What?” Derek says, eyebrows flying up.

“Binky Bear. It’s this little stuffed bear with a nipple attached. Have you seen it?”

“Uhh…” Derek says, getting lost for a second when he looks down to see the waistband of the man’s underwear sticking up out of his pajama bottoms. “I think in the side pocket maybe?” he walks around the table to the other side of the suitcase and unzips a hidden pocket, revealing the bear.

“Thank fuck,” Stiles says, grabbing the bear and clutching it to his chest. “I thought I had it in the diaper bag and then it was nowhere and I just… it was touch and go there for a while, I’m not gonna lie. I thought she was going to eat me.”

“Your... daughter?” Derek asks, not wanting to assume anything further.

“Yeah, she’s two and when they say terrible, they mean terrible, holy fuck,” he says, flopping down on the couch, looking exhausted.

“Ah,” Derek says, not knowing what he’s supposed to do now. “Are you supposed to curse this much if you have a two-year-old?”

“She’s sleeping, Suitcase Man,” Stiles says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It doesn’t happen very often so when it does, you have to take full advantage. You don’t have kids, do you?”

“Uhh no,” Derek says, scratching at his beard awkwardly. “I have nieces and nephews.”

“Wait a second,” Stiles says, eyes narrowing in Derek’s direction. “You’re Derek Hale, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, that’s me,” he says, shrugging his shoulders.

“The beard threw me off for a minute but I never forget a face,” Stiles says. “I went to school with you. Same year as Cora.”

“She didn’t say…” Derek says, trying to string a coherent sentence together. “I mean we saw the lacrosse shirt in the bag but we didn’t really know who it was.”

“How did you find me then?” he asks, heading to the fridge and returning with two beers, handing one to Derek.

“This,” Derek says, pulling the framed photo from the inside pocket of his coat. “I went to the Sheriff’s station. Met your dad.”

“That’s A+ detective work, Mr. Hale,” Stiles jokes, tipping his beer toward Derek.

“I didn’t want to open the presents, but I didn’t have much of a choice.”

“It’s alright, I’d given it up as a lost cause. I must have your bag. Sorry about that, by the way. I may have rage dumped it looking for the Binky Bear.”

“That’s alright,” Derek says, mind reeling. Stiles is without a doubt one of the most peculiar people he’s ever met. “I have to ask though… what’s with the jelly beans?”

“Well, Derek,” Stiles says, propping his feet up on the suitcase. It slouches him down far enough that a strip of his stomach is showing between his underwear and his Green Arrow tee shirt. “When your ex-girlfriend shows up on your doorstep with a two-year-old and says she’d like to relinquish custody, you do just about whatever it takes to get that little baby girl potty trained. The only thing that seems to work is jelly beans. She inherited my penchant for junk food. The bag popped while I was packing but I just kind of went with it. I needed those jelly beans, Derek.”

“Huh,” Derek says, frowning. “I was thinking magician.”

“What?” Stiles crows, practically folding himself in half as he spasms with laughter. “What made you say magician?”

“I don’t know… the throwing stars and the scarves and the arrow headband thingy? It was either that or super villain,” Derek says in a huff.

“I own a comic book store in New York,” Stiles says, still laughing. “Although I might take up villainy on the side. Sounds like a sweet gig.”

“I teach English at Columbia,” Derek says. “Not as fun as a comic book store, I’m sure.”

“What’s your favorite book?” Stiles asks, narrowing his eyes. “Be warned that our fledgling relationship depends on your answer.”

“Don’t ask me that,” Derek says, groaning. “That’s not fair. I can’t pick one book.”

“Answer the question, Mr. Hale,” Stiles says, staring him down.

Derek downs the rest of his beer before saying, “ Don Quixote ,” with a grimace.

“No shit,” Stiles says. “I bet you’re bilingual too,” he adds rolling his eyes.

Derek doesn’t even bother answering. He is bilingual, but he knows Stiles is just trying to embarrass him.

“Try again. What’s your second favorite book?”

“ Welcome to the Monkey House ,” Derek says immediately.

“Better,” Stiles says, tossing his head back and forth like he’s considering it.

“What’s your favorite book then? If you’re going to be so judgmental about it,” Derek says, eyebrows raised.

“ Ender’s Game ,” Stiles says. Before Derek even has time to consider this, he shoots back, “Favorite author?”

“Neruda,” Derek says, flashing Stiles a grin.

“Poetry doesn’t count,” Stiles says. He’s shaking his head but he’s smiling.

“My PhD in literature begs to differ,” Derek says as Stiles hops off the couch for more beer. He’s already feeling loose and comfortable, all awkwardness of their meeting flown out the window.

“Fine,” Stiles says, flopping back on the couch. “Favorite band, then.”

He’s closer to Derek now, his feet practically in Derek’s lap. There’s an easy familiarity to the gesture that makes something in Derek relax even further.

“What is this? A job interview?” Derek asks, laughing as he watches Stiles’ beer foam over.

Stiles chases the spill with his tongue, licking his fingers as it drips down his hand. “I figured it was more like speed dating,” he says once his hand is clean. “People don’t just hunt you down over some jelly beans. You must be something special.”

“I was… curious,” Derek says, feeling his face heat under his beard. “Interested.”

“Well now I’m interested,” Stiles says easily, flashing him a smile.

They end up talking for hours. Derek asks question after question, eager to find out more about the mysterious man he’s been led to by some sort of twisted Christmas miracle. Stiles teases him mercilessly, making him laugh and blush harder than he has in years.

Eventually, a sharp cry rings out through the baby monitor on the end table and Derek startles. “She’s not going to go back down easy,” Stiles says, peeling himself away from Derek’s side where he’d settled the last time he’d come back from the bathroom.

“I can go,” Derek says, pointing to the door. He glances at his watch and sees that it’s nearly 3 a.m.

“Stay,” Stiles says, reaching for his hand. “I have your clothes anyway. We can talk more. You shouldn’t drive this late at night on Christmas Eve. Too many drunks on the road.”

Derek wants to argue, but all of that sounds perfectly reasonable to him. “Okay,” he says, following Stiles to a bedroom that’s currently serving double duty as an office and a nursery.

“Shh, Wonder Woman, it’s alright,” Stiles coos, reaching down into the crib for the baby girl who is standing up, clinging to the bars and screaming. “I heard you the first time.”

Derek stares. The girl is wearing Wonder Woman themed footie pajamas, her auburn hair curling around her tiny ears. She has Stiles’ little upturned nose and matching freckles on her round face.

“This is Claire,” he says, fitting the crying child against his hip like he’s been doing it for years and not just a few weeks. “Claire, this is my new friend Derek.”

She immediately hides her face in her father’s neck and quiets down. Stiles bounces her a few times, exiting the room and leading Derek down the hall to what must be his own childhood bedroom. There are posters on the walls of some of the bands Stiles had mentioned and superhero paraphernalia everywhere.

“I believe that is yours,” Stiles says, nodding to the corner where Derek’s suitcase stands. “Put on some PJs and join us,” he adds, sitting down on the edge of the bed and patting Claire’s butt to check for leaks.

“Thank you,” Derek says. All his clothes and gifts are inside, still wrapped and folded the way he left them. He pulls out his flannel pajama bottoms and ducks into the bathroom to change.

When he gets back, Stiles is lying down on the bed, Claire resting on his chest with the Binky Bear tucked into her mouth. She’s awake and babbling nonsense around the pacifier. Stiles speaks softly to her, “Really? That’s so interesting!” he replies, cupping the little girl’s head.

Derek picks up a picture book off the bedside table and looks at the cover.

“That’s her favorite, isn’t it Claire-bear?” Stiles coos, rocking her. “It’s cute. You should read it.”

So he does. Derek reads through The Pout-Pout Fish three times before Claire’s eyes fall closed and she starts dozing on Stiles’ chest.

“Hit the light,” Stiles says, yawning. “I’m not moving her again.”

“Okay,” Derek says, like staying right now isn’t a completely absurd thing to do. His entire family will be up in three hours ready to open presents, but right now, Derek doesn’t care. He lays down beside Stiles in the twin sized bed, close enough that he can feel Claire breathing beside him.

“Thanks for bringing the gifts back,” Stiles says, reaching his pinky out to snag Derek’s, linking them together.

“It was a really nice picture of you and your dad,” Derek says softly, turning in toward Stiles, placing his free hand on Claire’s back to feel her breathing. It’s just like when he first babysat Gracie except entirely different. Being here with Stiles is like nothing he’s ever experienced before.

“My mom took it,” Stiles mutters, eyes blinking slowly. “I found it in the attic last Christmas but it took me a while to be able to look at it.”

“She’s been gone a long time?” Derek asks, inching closer to Stiles.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, smiling sadly. “Thanks for bringing her back to me.”

“I’m glad I found you,” Derek says, answering his smile.

“I’m glad you did, too,” Stiles says, leaning in to press his lips against Derek’s. It’s dry and over too quick, but Derek doesn’t ask for anything more. They fall asleep like that, curled in toward each other, pinkies linked, with Claire a solid warmth between them.

It’s 8 a.m. when a soft knock on the door wakes Derek. When he peels his eyes open he sees the Sheriff standing in the doorway, eyes flicking between him and Claire. He gives a small nod and leaves them be.

As quietly as he can, Derek pulls himself out of bed and grabs the handle of his suitcase. His family is probably waiting on him to open presents. Just as he’s thinking about whether or not it would be creepy to kiss Stiles’ cheek goodbye, the man’s eyes flash open.

“Leaving already?” Stiles asks, lips curving into a warm smile. “I thought you might stay forever.”

Derek smiles back, reaching for Stiles’ hand. “I might,” he says softly, knowing Stiles needs the sleep and he’ll only get it as long as Claire is still quiet. “I know you guys probably have plans, but what would you say to dessert at my parents’ house tonight?”

“We’ll be there,” Stiles says, giving Derek a wink. “My dad knows where you live.”

“That’s not terrifying at all,” Derek says with a small laugh, leaning in to kiss Stiles once on the mouth before grabbing his suitcase and heading back downstairs.

“Must have been some thank you,” the Sheriff says from his seat on the couch when Derek passes him.

“Yeah,” Derek says with a sheepish smile. He knows he didn’t do anything wrong but he still feels like a teenager getting caught with his pants down. “I’ll see you all later for dessert,” he says, giving a quick wave and practically running from the house.

Driving quickly, Derek gets home in a matter of minutes and throws Peter’s car in park. He fetches his suitcase and goes around back in an attempt to sneak into the kitchen.

“Really Derek?” Laura asks, looking up from her cup of coffee when he pads into the kitchen. “You do a walk of shame on Christmas morning and you can’t even be bothered to come in wearing last night’s clothes like a normal person?”

“It’s not a walk of shame,” he says quickly, feeling the blush rise to his cheeks as he looks down at his flannel pajama pants.

“Because you’re not feeling ashamed, or because nothing happened?”

“Nothing happened!” he blurts out, burying his head in a cabinet to search for a coffee mug.

“Holy shit,” he hears, seeing Cora appear in the kitchen doorway when he looks up. “You fucked suitcase man!”

“I did not!” Derek shouts, turning his back on both his sisters as he busies himself with fixing his coffee. “And his name is Stiles.”

“Stiles Stilinski? That weird kid from high school who used to do bad magic tricks in the cafeteria?” Cora asks, eyebrows furrowing.

“I knew it! I knew he did magic!” Derek exclaims. “I’m going to kiss that smug look off his face when he gets here.”

“He’s coming for Christmas?” Laura says, eyes lighting up. “Ohh, Derek’s got it baaaaad,” she calls. “Do I hear the pitter-patter of little feet already? You want to have his babies?”

“Well, actually,” Derek says, a smile crossing his face as he thinks about Claire and her Binky Bear.

“No shit,” Cora says, deadpan. “I don’t believe it. You and Stiles and a baby makes three?”

“Her name is Claire and they’re coming over with the Sheriff after dinner,” Derek says, taking a sip of his coffee.

“What’s this I hear about more grandchildren?” his mother calls, her steps heavy on the stairs.

Derek groans while Laura and Cora laugh and throw mini marshmallows at him, but he can’t stop smiling.

Hours later, when dessert is long since gone and Stiles and Derek are kissing under the mistletoe as Claire plays pet hospital with Milo, Derek thinks that maybe following the jelly beans was the smartest dumb thing he’s ever done.

#caffeine-in-an-iv #stereksanta17 #*fic17 #*gifts17

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zoemurph · 7 years

Text

dewey decimals

on ao3

i was doing a close reading assignment the other night and i started thinking about connor as an english major and then i started thinking about connor as a librarian and now im here

enjoy this and also my opinions on wuthering heights

Connor loves books.

He does, no matter what look Larry gives him whenever he locks himself in his room to read for a few hours. Larry probably thinks he’s getting high. Okay yes, sometimes he’s just getting high. But he also reads.

It’s cliche as fuck, but books are the best friends Connor’s got. They can’t hate him or judge him or abandon him. They’re just there. Plus it’s pretty morbid to sometimes think about how they’re insights to the minds of people who are dead.

So yeah, Connor likes books. He likes classics and gothic novels and young adult lit and middle grade books. He doesn’t really get book snobs, because there are shitty books in every genre. He tries to give all books a try.

Except Twilight. Zoe went through a Twilight phase. Fuck Twilight.

Loving books means that he should probably like his job more than he does. But he doesn’t love it. Because being a part time librarian is boring as shit.

All Connor has gotten from this experience is minimum wage and the ability to alphabetize things relatively fast.

Libraries are not active places. They just sort of exist. If Connor were anything like his father — and the day they become alike at all is the day he jumps out a window — he would say that libraries were dying because everyone was too focused on technology these days or something. Which is partially true, but the local library also…sucks.

They don’t get new books quickly, the computers they do have are old as fuck, and everything is slightly dusty. Which is just annoying, because Connor literally dusts on a weekly basis. It’s part of his job. Where the fuck is this dust coming from? They may be right across from the high school, but most high schoolers have better things to do than sit in a dimly lit library for a few hours. Like getting high behind McDonald’s.

Most of Connor’s job is cleaning. Which is ironic because his room is a travesty. But as boring as it is, there’s something weirdly calming about shelving books. There’s a nice routine in pushing the cart through the shelves, making sure all the books are in the right order, pushing them all up to the right part of the shelf so they’re all perfectly aligned.

Sometimes the head librarian misplaces the duster. That switches things up.

Once all the books are reshelved and the shelves are straightened and dusted, Connor makes himself comfortable at the front desk. On slow days like this (but who is he kidding, every day is a slow day), he just sits at the desk and reads a random book until someone needs to check out books or needs help. Usually he’s kind of shit about the help part, but he’s getting better.

Some of the more elderly visitors like him, they find him charming or something. Entertaining maybe. Suburban mothers judge him for having his combat boots up on the desk. They also judge him for his hair and his piercings and the fact that he hasn’t worn a color other than black in two years. They literally keep their children away from him as long as they can. It’s more amusing than insulting, besides, kids think his hair is fucking awesome.

But almost no one is in the library today. It’s one of the slowest days they’ve had in weeks, which means Connor is able to get comfortable in the old desk chair and ignore all the other happenings of the world for much longer than usual.

Today, he’s reading Wuthering Heights. It’s for class, but he doesn’t hate it so that’s an improvement from the last book they were assigned. Supposedly it’s a romance but Connor isn’t seeing it. Some girl in his english class is trying to convince them all that it is, but whenever she brings it up, Connor just flips back to the page where Heathcliff breaks into Catherine’s coffin to see her dead body.

Sexy.

He tugs on his hair as he squints at the page, trying to see any sort of romance in any of these relationships. It all kind of just sucks.

“E-excuse me?”

Connor looks up without lowering his book. Libraries aren’t known for their customer service, right? “Can I help you?” he asks flatly.

“I-I…” The boy furrows his eyebrows and pulls on his sweatshirt. “There’s a book I’m— looking for a book.”

“Cool.”

“Uh… I’m…”

Connor sighs and puts down his book, marking the page with a sticky note. “Is there a specific book, because you can look it up on the computers.” He jerks his head toward the old machines that everyone pretends aren’t five years out of date.

The boy stares at him with wide eyes. “H-how?”

Connor stares right back at him, expression blank. “I’m sorry, how?”

“I-I know how to use a computer!” he says quickly. “I just don’t know how to use those and I kept getting weird pop up messages and then something happened and I think maybe one of them timed out but I don’t really understand what I’m doing and I think I actually might’ve broken the middle one because it started making a weird noise and—”

“That thing is a fuc— freaking dinosaur,” Connor interrupts, catching himself on the swear and glancing over to the children’s section. No one’s here right now, but moms are like hawks. It’d be just his luck for one of them to swoop in and get him fired for swearing. “It’s impossible to break but if it’s broken it’s because it’s old as…crap.” He leans back in his chair. “Just follow the instructions.”

Connor moves to pick his book back up. The boy does not move.

Shit. He’s going to be one of those people.

“Do you need me to show you?” Connor asks, trying to sound like he doesn’t hate life too much.

The boy jerks away. “N-no! It’s fine I’ve got this I just have to, um, figure it out quickly and then I think I should be able to get it but I just don’t want to break anything because if I do I might have to pay for it but I don’t actually think I can do that because computers are expensive and then not only will I not have my book but also I—”

Connor stands and the boy stops talking, shrinking away. Connor blinks. Holy fuck he’s a lot taller than this kid than he initially thought. “Do you need me to show you?” he asks. The faster this kid gets his book, the faster Connor can go back to reading.

“Yes,” the boy says shaking his head no. “I-I mean—!”

Connor sighs and steps around the desk. “Let me just…” He leads him to the computers and doesn’t even bother sitting down. He bends over and clicks the mouse a few times until the monitor wakes up. “What are you looking for?”

“A-a book for class,” the boy sputters. He digs through his pocket and pulls out a piece of paper, holding out the crumpled page to Connor.

Connor resists the urge to roll his eyes, smoothing it out on the desk and skimming over it before turning back to the computer. He inputs all the information, the book sounds familiar to him which is promising, and then lets the piece of shit they call a computer load.

The boy just awkwardly hovers next to him as he works.

If Connor were better at his job he’d probably, like, explain this process. So next time, the kid can do it himself. But he’s not.

“We have it,” Connor says when the page finally loads. He turns to the boy. “Can you find it with this info or…” he drawls. He really wants to sit back down.

The boy steps a little closer and squints at the screen. He smells like cinnamon and something else that Connor can’t name but knows smells nice and this is creepy and he needs to stop immediately. “Is— um…” He tilts his head.

Connor raises his eyebrows at him. “It’s a science book. So it’s shelved using the Dewey Decimal System. Do you…?”

He stares at Connor with wide and terrified eyes. Yeah that was what Connor thought. “Follow me,” he mutters. The library isn’t big. It’s almost directly proportional to the size and quality of their town. So small and shitty. But if you don’t know your way around it is a little confusing. The labeling is bad and Connor still hates the Dewey Decimal System, even after working here for over a year.

He glances down at the boy, who’s trailing slightly behind him. He looks…familiar. “Do you go to school here?” he asks, gesturing vaguely toward where the high school probably is maybe. Usually Connor hates small talk, but this is bugging him.

The boy looks up with a start. “Y-yeah,” he says, getting the gist of Connor’s strange hand motions. “I’m a, uh, senior. There. Yeah.”

Connor slows his strides to study him carefully. Admittedly, Connor doesn’t pay much attention to anything in school, but most of the people in this town are born here and die here. He notices the collar of a shirt under the boy’s sweatshirt and it snaps into place. “Evan Hansen, right?”

Evan stops walking. “Ye-yeah? I’m not— you know who I am?”

“Vaguely,” Connor says dryly. He doesn’t think they’ve ever had any classes together and Evan isn’t exactly a memorable person. “I haven’t had a reason to.” “F-fair.”

“You know me, though.”

“I never said that!” Evan blurts out.

Connor looks at him with raised eyebrows. “Are you telling me you haven’t heard rumors about me.”

Evan pulls on the strings of his sweatshirt. “I-I never said that either. I just meant—”

Connor crosses his arms.

Evan ducks his head. “Okay yeah but I wasn’t going to… I should shut up now.”

Connor shakes his head. “Come on, let’s get your book. Who do you need it for?” He still hates small talk, but now he feels obligated. Fuck.

“AP Environmental Science,” Evan mumbles. “With Ele— Ms. Daniels.”

“Isn’t that the fake AP class?” Connor asks. He stops walking and skims the shelves. He sees Evan turning pink out of the corner of his eye.

“I-I mean… Yeah everyone kind of treats it that way so I guess it is but it could be more interesting if people actually tried and we get to go on field trips to like forests and stuff and it’s, um, I mean not fun but... It could be…worse?”

Connor pulls the book off the shelf and turns to hand it to Evan. “That’s cool.” He surprises himself by genuinely meaning it. He’s not super into the ideas of the outdoors, bugs can go fuck themselves, but it sounds like a chill class. Anything to get out of the hell hole that is their high school.

Evan takes the book and laughs awkwardly. “You’d be the first to think that, it’s a joke.”

Connor shrugs. “So is life.”

“I…guess that’s one way of looking at it.” Evan glances down to the floor, smiling a little.

Connor clears his throat and shakes his bangs out of his eyes. “Do you need anything else or do you want me to just check you out?”

“Please,” Evan says, his voice almost a squeak.

Connor leads Evan back to the front desk, grabbing a few misplaced books as he does so. Those will have to be reshelved before he leaves later. He takes the book back from Evan and Evan’s library card, scanning it and printing out the receipt.

“We got rid of the index card things,” Connor explains, grabbing his sticky note out of Wuthering Heights and flipping the book upside down. It’s not his book. Who cares if the spine breaks. “The due date is just on the receipt but honestly it’s shitty and easier to forget. So here.” He writes the due date on the sticky note and pauses for just a second before scribbling down ten digits in slightly messier handwriting. He sticks it on the inside cover before he can change his mind. “Here. You’ve got two weeks without renewal or we fine you some money because we need to make money somehow.”

“T-thanks.” Evan takes the book and opens the cover, checking the date. He frowns. “Wh-what’s that one?” He tilts the book so Connor can see what he’s pointing at.

“Haven’t you seen a phone number before?” Connor asks, raising an eyebrow.

Evan’s ears go red. “O-oh! That’s…” He ducks his head, but Connor catches the ghost of a smile. “Th-thank you I…yeah! I’ll uh…see you around? I guess?”

“In case you need help finding a book or something,” Connor says with a shrug.

“O-or something,” Evan repeats. “I’ll see you in school.” He smiles at Connor quickly before rushing out the double glass doors.

Connor grabs Wuthering Heights off the desk and hides his face in it. He’s almost smiling and if anyone sees him smiling that’ll definitely wreck his reputation as the grumpy emo librarian. He doesn’t manage to read any more of the book in the remaining hour of his shift, but he can’t bring himself to care. He’s got a better romance, anyway.

#connor murphy #evan hansen #convan #tree bros #dear evan hansen #my fics

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jedifighterpilot2727 · 7 years

Text

Failing Physics

Just a heads up but I'm going to try and go through my prompts on here the next few days, and some of them will just be little short fics that don't get posted on AO3 so I’ll try and tag everything appropriately!

The story of how Lexi and Taylor meet - AKA the rom com beginning that no one asked for but I decided to write anyway.

Taylor is failing physics.

She’s not even exaggerating at this point, because it’s right there; written in red ink on her test paper.

Forty-six.

She didn’t even know test scores could go that low. Granted she’s also never taken college level physics, so that probably has something to do with it.

Once again, she curses herself for forgetting to sign up for the mandatory science class until the last possible minute; because of course the only option that fit in with the rest of her schedule had been physics. Of course.

Groaning, she watches the rest of the class file out, debating on whether or not she should cut her losses and drop out of school entirely or try and beg the professor for extra credit. She isn’t exactly sure what extra credit in a physics class would look like, but it couldn’t be THAT horrible?

Right?

She watches as Dr. McGregor packs up his bag at the front of the class, debating.

Just as she’s made the decision to throw herself at the mercy of the extra credit gods, she hears a voice.

“Dr. McGregor! Hi! Ummm, I just had one question about the test - “

A figure laden with books steps up to the desk, drawing Dr. McGregor’s attention to her outstretched test paper.

Lexi, Taylor thinks her name is.

That’s a lie.

She knows for sure that that’s what the girl’s name is, just as sure as she knows that Lexi is one of the reasons for Taylor failing her latest test.

It’s hard to pay attention when the prettiest girl she’s ever seen in her entire life is sitting just a few rows up.

Lexi, with her dark brown hair, and her bright blue eyes, that stupid sunny smile that absolutely no one should have during an 8am class. She watches as Lexi’s free hand pushes her glasses up her nose before gesticulating wildly at the paper in front of her.

Since she’s been spared from her begging for another few moments, she takes the opportunity to give her crush an appreciative once over. As flustered as the girl sounds, she LOOKS put together, from head to toe. The braid containing her hair looks nearly impossible to wrangle, and Taylor absently wonders just how long the other girl spends on her hair in the mornings. Her outfit just screams ‘money’, from the black designer button up and the brown Hermes belt and the black Givenchy pants . . .

Taylor doesn’t even want to think about how much her loafers cost. Two month’s rent, probably.

She has to hand it to the rich girl though, if she didn’t know fashion, she would never guess that any of it was designer. It was subtle, and Taylor likes that. Not enough to flaunt, but enough that it probably kept the other rich kids off her back.

Well other than the popped collar and the fact that she seems to be debating an answer to a physics test. That probably didn’t make them consider her less of a dork.

A cute dork though.

She considers for a moment that she doesn’t really know much about Lexi other than the fact that she wears designer clothes, sits at the front of the class everyday, and that she never speaks to anyone other than the professor.

Oh and that she’s insanely attractive, but Taylor would have to be blind to miss that.

She’s startled from her thoughts by Dr. McGregor’s voice.

“Now Lexi, I know that you’re only in this class because the Dean turned down your request to bypass it for the higher level course; and I’m also aware that he turned you down only out of spite because of his long standing feud with your mother, but that doesn’t change the fact that in this class we’re dealing strictly with Earth based physics. I understand that on Mars or even Vucarra that the principles determining the result of the test mentioned in question 7 would be vastly different, but this is about how the test would play out on Earth.” He chuckles. "Try to dial back your vast knowledge of extraplanetary physics for this class, please.”

“Sorry, it’s just- the different systems got mixed up in my head, I didn’t want you to think that I didn’t understand the concept.”

“Lexi, you missed half a point on the entire test, you’re in no danger of me doubting your ability to grasp the concept of entry level physics anytime soon.”

That seems to appease Lexi, because she tucks the test paper in one of the folders balanced on her arm.

“Thank you, sir.”

Taylor is standing before she even registers what she’s doing.

Only her feet don’t take her up to Dr. McGregor’s desk, instead they follow Lexi out into the quad.

She isn’t exactly sure which part of her brain decided this was a good idea, but she’s going to blame it on the gay part.

Sappho have mercy.

“Lexi?” She calls out, and the other girl stops and whirls so fast that her papers and books fly everywhere.

Great way to start a conversation, good job Taylor.

“Oh, Rao! Sorry! I hope I didn’t hit you! I just have a really exaggerated startle reflex sometimes.” Lexi blurts out as she scurries around, picking up papers from the grass; and Taylor drops to her knees to help.

“Completely my fault, I didn’t mean to startle you!” She passes Lexi a stack of papers, pretending not to notice the electric current that passes between them when their hands brush.

Lexi clears her throat, but makes no attempt to get up or pull away.

“Was there something you needed?”

Taylor doesn’t think she’s ever seen eyes that blue.

“Pardon?”

Lexi’s fingers brush nervously at her glasses.

“You called my name?” Her voice squeaks at the end and Taylor almost melts at the adorableness.

“Oh! Right, sorry. I just - well I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation with Dr. McGregor, and well, I need a tutor.”

“A tutor? For what?”

She might think that Lexi is simply being mean, but she doesn’t think there’s a way to fake the look of genuine confusion on her face.

“Intro to physics? The class we were just in?” Taylor jerks her thumb back towards the door.

“Oh! Of course! Yeah, no, duh, I mean obviously -“ Lexi shakes her head. “The science center has a really great tutoring program, or I think there are some private tutors posted on the bulletin board outside the lab.”

“Actually,” Taylor hesitates for half a second before taking the plunge. “I was hoping, maybe, you could tutor me?”

She isn’t sure how to read the hesitation on Lexi’s face, so she stutters forward.

“I mean you don’t have to, obviously, and I can’t pay you - because, well broke college student - but I work down at the corner coffee shop, and I can get you all the free coffee you can drink. Plus you’d have my undying gratitude for helping me not flunk out of college.”

A twinkle lights in Lexi’s eyes and one of her perfectly sculpted eyebrows arches upward.

“I am running a little low on undying gratitude.”

Taylor doesn’t let herself imagine that Lexi is flirting.

“Well, if you can help me pass physics then you will have mine, I have no idea how you even understand what he’s talking about half the time.”

“Oh!” Nervous Lexi appears to be back, tilting her glasses once again before reaching out a hand to pull Taylor to her feet. “My mom has been teaching me physics since I was like, five; so. . . . it’s just kind of . . . ingrained in there, I guess.”

“Five! You were five when you started learning this stuff?!”

“Well, Mama and I would always be worried when my Mom was . . . out on assignment, so we did science experiments. It sort of became our thing.”

“You have two moms?”

That must strike a nerve, because Lexi straightens to her full height, and even though she’s shorter than Taylor by a few inches she looks menacing.

“Is that a problem?”

“No, no, of course not! Huge lesbian here.” Taylor points to herself, trying not to wince at her own sudden awkwardness. “Just wanted to clarify! It’s always nice to hear about other lesbians having families and succeeding - out there teaching their five year-olds physics!” Lexi seems to have relaxed, but she rambles on anyway. "What does your mom even do? That she knows so much about physics, and that she apparently has beef with the Dean of the science department at USC?”

“You don’t - you don’t know who I am?”

Of course she should have know that a person dressed like they belong in a fashion show for high end tomboy wear would have an ego.

“Should I?”

“Sorry! I didn’t mean it like that; I wouldn’t expect you to know who I am, I was just trying to say . . . .” Lexi trails off with a sigh. “Most people form opinions about me based on my family before they even meet me, so it’s just surprising to hear someone say they don’t know who I am.”

Taylor feels herself relax. Maybe Lexi doesn’t have that much of an ego after all.

“Oh, well I can see how that might throw you off.”

“I wasn’t trying to be snobby or whatever, I just -“

“Lexi, it’s totally fine! I don’t think you’re being a snob! Hell, I don’t even think I’ve told you my name!”

“Taylor!” Lexi blurts. “Not that I’m creepy or stalky or anything, I just -“

Taylor saves her from whatever apology is about to come by extending her hand for a shake, warm and giddy off the fact that her crush knows her name.

"Taylor Mitchell, pleasure to meet you.”

Lexi’s handshake was firm.

“Lexington Luthor-Danvers, and the pleasure is all mine.”

Smooth. How could someone go from blubbering mess to suave in exactly 0.25 seconds? And -

"Wait. THE Luthor-Danvers? As in the Luthor-Danvers empire?”

“That’s the one.” As uncomfortable as Lexi may seem with her social status, there’s a hint of pride in her voice at the family name.

“Well, I can see why your mom started teaching you physics at five!”

“She’s kind of a legend among science nerds, so since I’m a science major, pretty much everyone I’ve met here has already known about me beforehand.”

Taylor vaguely remembers ‘the Luthor-Danvers heir’ making headlines on magazines for some sort of scientific research a few years back and she vows to google it when she gets home.

“Well, I’m an art major, and I know absolutely nothing about science; hence the failing grade in physics.”

Lexi’s mouth quirks upward.

“Right, well I can probably help you with that.”

“Like I said, undying gratitude.” She teases and Lexi starts to say something only to get cut off by a shriek echoing out across the quad.

“Lexi!! A little help here! This Dargorian poodle is a little out of control!!” A huge beast streaks by- one that resembles a St. Bernard only without the fur - dragging behind it a person on roller skates.

“Uhh,” Lexi begins stuffing her books into her backpack. "I - I have to go, that’s my cousin. Tomorrow at 1? Does that work for you?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Study date? Tomorrow at 1pm in the library, second floor?” Lexi slings the stuffed bag over her shoulder with surprising ease and Taylor tries not to drool.

“Oh! yeah, perfect!”

“Great! I’ll see you then!” There’s a blinding grin tossed in her direction, and then Lexi is gone, running after the animal and its handler.

Taylor still isn’t sure what possessed her to follow her crush and ask her for help; but it’s easily the best decision she’s made all week.

So let me know what you guys think about this one!! This is the closest to an original fic that I've ever written - all of the speaking characters are original characters - so i'm a little nervous!

#supercorp #Lexington Luthor-Danvers #the lexington chronicles #Taylor the Girlfriend #a major part of the reason that Lexi is such a bumbling mess is because she has a HUGE crush on Taylor #fanfiction

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