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xmalfoyweasleyx · 3 years

Text

Two empty years - F.W (smut)

Summary: Y/N is like a sister to Fred, but when he sees her again after two years, things change, a lot.

Warnings: 18+ smut, but also fluff and a plot, also briefly choking and praising. (to be clear, they talk about her being little but she's absolutely 18+ in this story!)

A/N: This is my first story but I worked VERY hard so I hope you like it. Let me know if you see mistakes or have tips x

2,3k words

27 July 1997

I felt sick when my feet landed on the soft grass next to the Burrow. I wasn't a big fan of appareting. I ran as fast as I could to the door. Molly and Ginny already waiting for me. "Are they here yet?" I asked, not able to hide the fear in my voice. Ginny fell into my arms and hugged me. "I missed you Y/N" she murmured. Molly gave me a smile full of sympathy and sighed: "Hello dear, no they're still not here."

Alll of this, just for getting Harry here safely. When did the upcoming war get this far? A month ago I was at Hogwarts worrying about an essay for potions. And now. Now I'm here. Worrying about my friend’s life. I wanted to help too but they didn't let me.

"Who's there? Who's helping?" I asked, nervously playing with the hem of my shirt. "All of them, Hermione, Ron, Tonks, George, Fred,..." Ginny answered but I stopped listening at Fred's name.

Fred. I haven't seen Fred in 2 years. Two.

It was my own fault. I used to visit the burrow every summer. The Weasleys were like a family. But that was the problem. I've been Ron his best friend since my first day at Hogwarts. I got sorted into Y/H. It was a dream coming true. And since then I visited the burrow every summer. Oh and don't forget the Holidays. Even getting the sweater with my initials on it.

But I never came back, since the day it happened. The day I fell in love with Fred Weasley. It's been two years. I saw him with a little boy. The boy was crying. It was something about the way Fred comforted that boy that made me melt inside, it made my knees weak. I promised myself I couldn't let this happen. I. was like a little sister to him after all. There was no way Fred could ever see me like this, like... a woman. I was a sister, I was his little brother's best friend. He probably loved me. But he would never be in love with me. And it got worse because I started fantasizing. I couldn't get my eyes off him playing quidditch. Watching him move with the sweat on his face. He made my stomach tingle in a way I've never felt. But I was young, and I knew that. I couldn't be that sexy girl, the woman I had to be to make him notice me as something else than an innocent, cute friend. Because we were friends too, good friends, always joking together.

So I never visited again. I just couldn't see him. And I didn't, because he left Hogwarts, I didn't even visit their shoppe once.

"Come inside dear" Molly offered "I haven't seen you in so long! But Ginny told me you still talk a lot with her in school, I'm happy to hear that. And I'm also happy you joined The Order!” she smiled wide like always. And then we heard something. It was Harry and Hagrid. Suddenly a wave of anxiety hit me. I was going to see Fred. If he was okay... Fuck, what if he wasn't okay?

I was ripped out of my daydreams when I heard a scream, it was Molly. I turned around quickly. Seeing a redheaded tall boy. That's when my heart skipped a beat. Blood all over the boy's face.

Oh no.

After one minute I noticed it wasn't Fred. It was George.

"George!" I gasped while kneeling in front of him laying on the sofa. "Y/n? Is that you?" he mumbled. "Yes it's me, what happened?" I gulped.

Before he could answer someone stumbled next to me. Grabbing George immediately. "George!" he panted. It was Fred. I knew it without even looking. He was sitting right next to me without even releasing I was there.

"Y/n is here" was the only thing George answered.

That's when our eyes met. For the first time in two years. After two years of purposely ignoring him.

It was silent. Something flickered in his eyes but I didn't know what it was. He grew up. Even more. He was an adult now. But so am I.

Change of POV

Fred didn't know what happened. Y/n, he missed her. He always knew she was pretty but he never really thought about it. And now, she was... she was older? She was a woman now. He couldn't really describe it, how she was just exactly the same sweet little girl who was like family to him, but how she still changed so much. How she was actually... hot now? She was so damn hot now. Of course she was. There’s always been something about her that he couldn't really describe, this feeling. But he didn’t want to feel that way, he couldn’t, she was younger, she was his brother's friend. She was y/n.

"Fred? Hellooo??" he heard his mother scream, waking him up from his thoughts. He didn't realize he was staring at y/n the whole time. "We have to heal his ear" he shot, trying to make up for his recent stare incident.

"I can do it" y/n said calmly. "What do you mean?" George whimpered. They all looked confused now. "I've studied about it, I want to become a healer and I'm studying already. I know how to but never actually performed a healing spell" she admitted. "I think you should try" Fred said. Making y/n smile at him while biting her lip unconsciously. It made Fred gasp a little for air while his stomach tingled again. She turned her head back to George causing a wave of her scent filling up Fred's nose. He didn't even know the smell would be so familiar to him. He had missed her, that's when he realized. God he had missed her and she was finally back.

A few hours later it was calm again. Most of them already asleep after the exhausting day. Y/n couldn't sleep. She sat in the sofa near the fireplace listening to the rain on the window while sipping from her coffee. "Seriously. Are you still drinking coffee at this time of the day?" she heard Fred saying. "I always do" she pointed out.

"I know" Fred sighed. "So, why is it so long ago since I've seen you? You didn't even visit our shoppe. I've told you so much about it back at Hogwarts."

Y/n sighed not knowing what to answer now. Because I love you and keep having dirty fantasies about how you would rail me.

She couldn't answer that, that's for sure. "Just... stuff... Lot of work with the healer thing" she lied. Fred sat next to her. "You've changed" he said. "Of course I did Freddie, it's been a while" she laughed. Giving Fred butterflies because of the nickname.

"Yes, but I mean, your lips and hair and .." he almost said what he wanted to. But lucky for him, he could control his straightforwardness for once. It even made him blush. What the fuck did he just blush?

Not going unnoticed by y/n, she laughed mockingly. "Is Fred Weasley actually blushing? Are you Fred?" she mocked while standing up and hovering over him. He was speechless. Something he never was. "Did you wanted to say boobs? That I have more boobs now? Or were you talking about my ass?" she smiled. Obviously trying to mock Fred. He sighed deeply, trying to be himself again.

It worked. He stood up, now standing very close to y/n. Hovering over her because he was still so much taller. "I know what you're trying y/n y/l/n" he smirked. "I know you just got shy because of me" she answered feeling bolder than ever. Their faces were close, a sexual tension that would be clear to every person, even Ron Weasley. "So tell me" y/n added, coming closer and closer. "Were you looking at my ass Fred Weasley" she whispered in his ear.

Suddenly the floor beneath her disappeared she couldn't process what happened. And then she saw it, they appareted. Standing in a room that was probably Fred's apartment.

"Fred?" she gasped. And before she knew it his lips were on hers. Moving perfectly together. The kiss was full of passion. She grabbed his head and pushed him even closer, slightly tugging his hair. He grabbed her hips and she moaned lightly. And suddenly the kiss was over. She saw a confused boy standing before her. Trying to process what just happened.

"I-I'm so sorry" he sighed. Her heart felt like it was about to break into a million pieces. How could she forget the fact that she was still... well... herself. "I know, I'm like your sister, you don't see me that way" she whispered, hating herself for letting her voice crack. "I shouldn't have done it" he said. Suddenly a boiling anger grew inside y/n.

"Am I that unattractive! Am i?! You know, I didn't see you in that long because I'm in love with you. That’s why! But you don't think about me like that. I'm 0 % sexy to you. I...I..." it all rambled out of y/n's mouth. "Hey hey" Fred sighed grabbing your hands to comfort you. "That's not true, when I saw you today, I was speechless, you're not 0 % sexy, god no, you're so sexy y/n" he admitted. "Why did you say it was a mistake." she questioned. Fred was still astonished by the fact she confessed her feelings to him. "I've just never been so confused. The girl I've known for years suddenly makes my stomach tingle. I don't I don't..." Fred tried to explain but y/n cut him off: "then fuck me"

"What?" Fred asked more confused than ever.

"Fuck me Fred Weasley". she breathed.

They stood like this for a few seconds. "Fuck it" he hissed, grabbing her hips again and pushing her against his wall, kissing her like his life depended on it. Y/n jumped folding her legs around his hips pushing his core closer to hers. Slightly grinding up and down. He grunted into her mouth.

"Can I take your clothes off?" he asked. Y/n nodded and with one little spell her clothes were all gone. Fred's eyes widened. Attacking her with open mouth kisses on her neck. "God you're so sexy, so fucking sexy" he sighed in between the kisses. Making shivers go through y/n's body. His lips attacked her nipples passionately, making her moan his name. Fred swore it was the most beautiful sound ever. A sound he would never forget.

"Please Fred" she sighed. "Patience baby, patience" he hummed in her ear. Slowly rubbing his finger through her folds teasingly. Kissing her lips softly. He went down on his knees and suddenly y/n felt his soft lips attaching to her wet core. "God" she moaned. Fred sucked gently and moaned while y/n ran her hands through his red locks.

This must have been heaven. It was the best feeling they've ever had. Fred thought it couldn't possibly get better, pleasuring y/n being the best thing he ever did. The way she tugged his hair and moaned his name... But then she pulled him away. In a second she was on her knees before him. "What are you d-" he tried. "Shut up. I'm showing I'm not that innocent any more. I'm yours now Fred" she breathed. Before Fred could answer she pulled his pants down. Revealing his throbbing cock. Making him whine.

Y/n kitten licked his tip and heard him sigh loudly above her. She looked up through her lashes, looking at the tall guy with innocent eyes, taking his cock in her mouth. "God y/n, you're going to be the death of me princess" he grunted. She bobbed her head and swirled her tongue, trying to put as much as possible in her mouth. Little moans left Fred's lips. "Y/n I'm going to cum if you keep doing that” he said between grunts. Y/n grabbed his thighs and gagged while tears formed in her eyes. "Good girl" he moaned. Leaving y/n proud but still waiting for her own release.

Fred didn't want to cum yet. In one move he grabbed y/n delicately by her ass, pushing her against the wall. His tip touched her core softly. "Fred" she moaned. "Are you sure about this baby?" he asked. Y/n nodded eagerly. "Make me yours Freddie" she answered.

That was it, Fred pushed slowly into her. Leaving them both moaning in synchrony. After a while Fred started moving slowly. His sweaty forehead resting on y/n's. Looking straight into each others eyes. "Faster Freddie" she groaned. He started pounding into her mercilessly. Making them both moan even louder. The sound of grunts, their skin slapping and her body banging against the wall filled the room. His fingers dug into her skin while she grabbed his back firmly.

"Good girl, you feel so good around me" he whispered into her ear making her moan louder. Suddenly he grabbed her neck gently, but still firm. His long fingers fitting perfectly around her skin, making her gasp at the sudden pleasure. Feeling his cock rubbing her g-spot faster and faster. "I'm gonna cum" she almost screamed. "Me too baby". Fred went even faster while they looked in each others eyes, seeing the passion exploding. "God I love you, I've always loved you" he sighed. "Me too Freddie, I love you" she moaned.

And with one last sloppy trust they both came. Moaning each others name while riding the orgasm out. Looking at each other with eyes full of disbelief but mostly happiness. "Well that wasn't what I expected to happen today when I woke up this morning" he joked. Making y/n laugh while planting a soft kiss on his lips.

That night they fell asleep in each others arms. Still sweaty and exhausted from before. Just like two empty years without each other, never really happened.

***

#fred weasly x reader #fred weasley #fred smut #harry potter smut #harry potter #george weasley #fred and george #fred fluff #x reader

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buckleydiazmp4 · 3 years

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for @emeraldcas follower celebration!

day 1 - prompt: words unspoken

1.3k words

read below or on ao3

Tonight, Dean's brain has decided it's the perfect time for a little screening of Everything I Regret Saying (Or Not Saying) To The Love Of My Life.

Dean's not good with words. Never has been. Sometimes when he was a kid, he'd spend days without talking. By now, he's figured he just has to show instead of tell, otherwise he'll send every relationship he has flying off a cliff simply because he doesn't know how to say what he's thinking.

With Sammy it got easier eventually. He's learned to understand him without words, to know what he's thinking, how he's feeling. Dean's sure Sam knows how much he loves him, even if he rarely tells him. He's very grateful for that.

With Cas, though, things are different. It's not that he's better with words, it's actually the opposite. He wants to tell him so much stuff that he ends up not saying anything he truly wants to. And then they end up hurting each other, because neither of them knows their way with words. If there was a prize for miscommunication, they'd certainly win first place.

So, every time Dean says something wrong, he feels like a teenager with an embarrassing crush, mulling over his own words, regretting them even years after having said them. It's like an endless cycle of self-loathing, which he's an expert on.

Sometimes it's not even his long, big speeches that have the most meaning behind them, but the little sarcastic quips here and there, or the small, quiet sentences spoken in moments of uncertainty. Those are the ones that rewrite themselves in his heart, like lines of a poem carved in stone.

"Cas, we've talked about this. Personal space." I want you to be close to me all the time but I'm scared you'll just want to walk away.

"Morning, sunshine. Want some coffee?" I love that you're here. This is your home.

"I'd rather have you. Cursed or not." There is nothing that could ever change the fact that I love you.

"I need you." I love you no matter what.

"Of course I forgive you." I never wanted you to leave.

Then there's a look of sorrow, or a hug, a pat on the shoulder, a mixtape...

There's always something, and yet that something never seems to be the words that have been lodged in his throat all through the past decade.

Holding the weight of his regrets, Dean lays back on his memory foam mattress and stares at the ceiling. He pictures Cas' eyes from memory. The way they droop when he's tired, and sparkle when he's curious. The way they squint when he's angry or thoughtful, almost cartoonish. I love him, he thinks, with an ironic chuckle. I love him, and I'm never gonna be able to tell him.

Just as he's about to start round two of his self-loathing ritual, there's a knock on the door.

"Yeah, come in."

Cas walks in, wearing a pair of Dean's plaid pajama pants and a Zepp t-shirt. He's holding two steaming mugs that carry the smell of ginger, and his hair is all over the place.

"What's so funny?" Cas asks when Dean starts laughing.

"Dude, you look like a hedgehog."

Cas does not seem to be happy about Dean's comparison, judging by the squint of his eyes. But that just makes it funnier, so Dean smiles deviously at him until the angry facade is gone, replaced by soft, ocean-blue eyes.

"Dean, it's four in the morning. Why are you not sleeping?"

"Well, I could ask you the same thing."

Cas sighs. "I was making some tea." He says, handing one of the mugs to Dean. It warms up his hands when he holds it.

"At the crack of dawn? Sounds like someone's got a bad case of insomnia." He says it like it's a joke, but he's worried. Again, not good with words.

"Yeah. Maybe I do." Cas says in a raspy voice.

Before regretting it, Dean pats the spot beside him two times, signaling for Cas to sit down. Cas walks the short steps towards the bed and sits down slowly, careful not to spill his scalding tea mug on himself. Then, he lays his head back against the headboard and closes his eyes.

Because Dean has no self-control, he scoots closer to the former angel and stares. His eyes trace the slope of his nose and the curve of his eyelashes, and the way his jawline is pointing upwards. He suddenly gets the urge to trace it with his fingers, to feel the stubble growing there. A wave of longing hits him like it's done a thousand times before, and he does nothing to stop it.

A second later, Cas' breath startles Dean out of his internal thinking. That's when he realizes how close their faces actually are. His first instinct is to move away, maybe say some joke about personal space, but he finds himself unable to move an inch. Cas is just watching him intently and shamelessly, and it occurs to Dean that maybe he's not the only one who likes to observe his best friend like he's a renaissance painting.

Since his body has decided to become a full-time statue, all Dean can do is stare at the wooden headboard next to Cas' face. Then he clears his throat quietly and replaces what he wants to say with something else, the way he always does.

"Maybe you could, um, stay here. Y'know, to help with your sleeping problems. A different mattress might, um. It might help."

Cas takes a little while to answer, long enough for Dean to start panicking. But when he's about deflect his offer with a joke or a change of topic, Cas nods. They're still close enough that his hair tickles Dean's forehead when he moves his head.

"Yeah. It might help." Cas says, matching Dean's small, tense tone of voice.

Dean's brain stopped working the minute Cas sat on his bed, but the rest of his body doesn't seem to have gotten the memo. It's moving on its own, and a second later, his forehead is touching Cas'. He feels electricity run through it, like his skin is made of lightning. If Cas weren't human now, Dean wouldn't dismiss that possibility. Dean does his best work to assess the situation, but all he's coming up with is a repetitive whisper of Cas' name inside his otherwise empty head. He does the one thing he's never been able to do, which is voice his exact thoughts out loud.

"Cas..." he whispers, feeling their breaths mix together.

Cas has always been braver than him, so he's the one who closes the gap. He presses his lips against Dean's, so ghost-like and soft that he's not sure it's real. To test that theory, Dean's brain finally restarts with a jolt, and then he's pushing forward, deepening the kiss, which he's now sure is actually happening.

Cas returns the kiss like he's been drowning for ages and can finally breathe again. The electricity Dean felt when their foreheads touched is dialed up to a hundred where their lips are sliding against each other, like tiny little fireworks exploding against his skin. Despite the surreal feeling of kissing the man he's been in love with for ages, it also feels like home. Cas tastes like ginger and honey, and that cherry chapstick Dean bought for him at the grocery store.

Dean traces Cas' jawline with his thumb the way he was imagining just a few minutes earlier, which pulls a sigh out of him. The stubble tickles his skin, and it feels so good he thinks he might explode. A million words unspoken fly through Dean's mind, but he doesn't need any of them at the moment.

They break the kiss to take air, but their foreheads stay in place, aligned with each other perfectly. Cas smiles, and it's nearly blinding. I love you, Dean thinks, except this time, he's sure he'll be able to tell him in the future.

#emeraldcas1k #sara writes #destiel fic #spncreatorsdaily #creativecaviar #offbeattraxx #plantdadcas #userjenmish #userstarry #chocolatecakecas

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caelimonoceros · 3 years

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moonlight — childe

pairing: childe x gn!reader

wc: 1.9k

tags: fluff, it’s just fluff, established relationship, i guess a lil light angst if you squint, childe lovable dork number one

notes: of course my first piece is about childe my one and only…my beloved…please come give me some constellations <3 pls enjoy! i’m planning on writing some more similar pieces with some other characters but i really wanted to post this one now tehe…interacts/reblogs appreciated!

Just as the moon guides the tides in and out of the shore, she pulls you to him—Childe, quiet in his solitude and unsuspectingly calm on the beach.

You find him on the beach just north of Liyue Harbor, on a long stretch of tan sand with a sheet spread out under him. Uneven rocks pin down the corners of the makeshift sand-protection, and you can make out the shape of the Harbinger’s jacket and boots settled next to him.

Upon hearing your soft footsteps crunching on the sand, Childe perks up. The slight curve of his posture, betraying a weeks-old exhaustion, straightens into a bright smile and a cheery wave, the welcoming facade he throws around to unsuspecting strangers who won’t ever make the plunge into the depths of his heart. Blue eyes, blue like the ocean and the cosmos and the frost on your skin after too many hours spent trekking around Dragonspine, pierce the dim night, only lit up by the small lantern next to him and the faint blue glow of his vision. They give his skin an unearthly glow, the warm light of the lantern bringing out copper highlights in his hair while the blue of his vision drives deep shadows into the far side of his face.

The night is peaceful in its simplicity, watched by the careful eyes of the moon and her starry companions. Childe’s smile brightens as you settle next to him, kicking off your own shoes and stretching out across the oversized blanket. Your own bag, full of warm midnight snacks and soft blankets, hits the ground as you do, and rolls with a soft thud.

“You made it,” Childe inches closer, quick to put his hand over yours and fold your fingers together. You let him, settling your joined hands over one of your thighs and sitting to lean against his shoulder.

“Yea. The slimes didn’t drench me.” You huff, eyes pointed out towards the water; then slowly drifting over to him.

“Well, since the slimes didn’t get to you, I was thinking…” Childe rubs a gloved thumb over the back of your hand, directing your attention. The leather is rough against your skin, worn equally from working a weapon and signing bank documents.

“Your ideas are always awful. I wanna know,” you lean into him.

“Midnight swim!” He says cheerfully, pointing out towards the water with his free hand. “The weather has been so warm lately that I’m sure the water will be as well. Plus, it’s just the two of us! Wouldn't that be nice?” Oh, you don’t want to crush his dreams and his eager, giddy smile, but you are not going in that water. No thanks, you are perfectly content to stay warm and dry on your big, spread out blanket and watch Childe make a shivering fool of himself before he comes back and soaks his half of the blanket.

“I’m not going in the water, especially not in my clothes, Childe. It’s cold out.” Childe blinks at you, as if he doesn’t understand the problem for a moment before sighing, as if he knew this would be your answer.

“Fine. But I’m going to go in, and I'm sure you’ll join me in no less than five minutes!” He says it so confidently, living up to his namesake so easily that it makes you swallow down laughter. The tall Fatui makes sure to blow you a dramatic kiss from the water’s edge, before he turns his back entirely. Really, you are completely content to watch him enjoy himself in the shallows. It’s refreshing to see him so light on his feet and in his words.

The soft moonlight illuminates his back, drawing out the folds of his dark shirt. The metal accessories around his belt glimmer in the cool light as well, twinkling like stars at you, but you’re almost mesmerized as you chase the patterns of moonlight across his ever-moving form. The water is so clear, reflecting him and the mountains situated behind you, every trace of silvery-white light that dances down an uneven slope or a curving tree branch rippling amongst your lover’s own reflection.

“You know, the water’s still warm!” Childe calls after a few minutes of peace. He’s rolled his pants up to just under his knees, but they’re still being soaked by waves of water. From your warm, dry, position on the shore you’re inclined to protest, but a shimmer in cerulean eyes not brought on by the moon or stars cuts your words before they can begin. He begins making his way over to you, sloshing through the water and then up onto the sand.

“C’mon, just stick your feet in. I promise I won’t let you drown.” You roll your eyes at his proposition; the way he walks so arrogantly over to you and crouches ever so slightly, extending a hand to you. He’s tracked wet sand onto your clean, safe haven, and his wet pants are dripping seawater on your bare shins, but you still hold your tongue all the same.

“Please? It’ll be fun. You don’t have to, but I think you’d enjoy it.” The Fatui offers his hand with a little bit of a wave this time, and you give in to his easy smile and comforting presence. It’s hard not to, hard to resist the way he sweeps you into the ocean, the same way he’s already swept you away entirely like a pebble torn from shore.

The water is still warm, but it’s still much cooler than your skin and you shudder as you’re exposed to it much too quickly. Childe’s grip on your hand is too tight, his excitement adorably obvious as you come to a halt some ten feet into the water, where it rises just above your hips.

“See? It’s not bad at all.” Childe leans down, his face mere inches from yours, and sticks his tongue out playfully. You resist the urge to pinch it between your thumb and forefinger, instead flicking his forehead gently, just enough for him to recoil as if you’ve shot him and dramatically clasp a hand over his head.

“It’s not bad at all,” you mimic, unable to stop yourself from laughing at the ginger’s over-the-top reaction. Cute, he’s so cute sometimes and you doubt he truly knows it, cute when he drops something from his chopsticks or shoots an arrow into the ground or trips over a loose rock when he’s pretending not to stare at you. Cute when his guard is down, when he’s not a battle-hardened warrior and traces of the myth you know to be named Ajax are allowed through the ever-present cracks in his facade. Just as you’re lost in thought, a spray of salty water meets your face, and you close your eyes and cross an arm over your forehead quickly.

“That was uncalled for!” You complain, but it trails off into laughter as you return the splash back at Childe.

“Hey, your aim’s not half bad!” He’s even quicker to fire back, and soon the water around you both churns enough to drown out your shared laughter. Your clumsy feet, weighed down by your movements kick up sand and cloud the water, and you brush grit from your face and hair after a particularly well-aimed splash flattens it down your back.

“That’s practically an insult, coming from you.”

“My aim isn’t that bad!” Fake offense riddles his tone, one hand placed over his poor, scandalized heart.

“Will you be less arrogant if I tell you I’m enjoying myself?” You dodge most of another splash, but even when you’re complaining you find your jaw beginning to ache from a wide smile.

“So much for staying out of the water,” Childe taunts, gesturing to the soaking mess you’ve become. He’s no better, water dripping down his face in rivulets, blinking the salt away from his eyes instinctively and pushing the wet hair back from his view.

“This is your fault, you know,” you tell him, but the complaint holds little water. He lets you splash him again, a full wave that hits against his chest, and you take another step closer to him—just close enough for him to hook a gangly leg around your own and pull you down, spinning gracefully and catching you just as your hair begins to fan out in the water. One arm holds securely under the middle of your back, while the other settles on your hip.

“You just can’t stay away from me, I know.” The smug confidence he wears is equally endearing and enraging. You begin to counter him with an asshole—, one hand moving up to poke his cheek, but before you can make contact he completely retracts his arms and you submerge with a shriek. When you come up moments later, coughing and spluttering in surprise, Childe is laughing so hard that he’s bent over with his hands on his knees. He’s completely unsuspecting, the perfect target for you to grab the back of his head and shove his face into the water, too.

Except, Childe topples over his own long legs, the two of you falling down messily and his head bumping against your knee as you land flat on your butt. He makes a face, rubbing his cheeks as he kneels. Despite how you joke around, it’s clear that the bump actually hurt, and you can’t help but feel a little pang of guilt at the genuine pain he displayed. Holding his head, Childe moves closer, until he’s easily looming over you with your hands braced against the sand and the water level just under your chin.

“You’re so difficult,” he sighs, your foreheads pressed together. The feeling of salt grinding between your skin is just on the edge of unpleasant, but nowhere near enough to make you back away. “Nearly gave me a black eye there.”

“Aren’t we both?” You smile in response, cupping a cool, wet hand over the cheek he’d hit on your leg. His eyes flutter closed, and he breathes out a sigh against your nose as tension visibly drains from his shoulders. It’s like the final traces of his daily life have fallen away with just your touch—gone is the hedonistic Childe, the calculating Tartaglia, leaving only the scattered fragments of a Snezhnayan boy far from home. Even at peace, there’s a longing in the way he looks at you—eyes wide as if in disbelief, unable to hold your gaze with all of his defenses stripped down.

“Yea. We are,” he concedes—so quiet that you barely make out the words over the sound of the wind and the soft movements of water. Difficult, and he’s right: nothing involving a Fatui Harbinger will ever be easy.

“I think you’re well worth the trouble,” you confess, letting your eyes meet his. They don’t shy away this time, there’s a blue fire blazing somewhere in the back of his soul that warms your cheeks and has your free hand clenching the sand underneath. Certainly well worth the trouble, for all of the moments he looks at you like this—holding the intensity of a thousand suns and all of the love and guidance offered by the moon, an entire universe dancing in his usually lifeless eyes.

And the trouble is most worth it when Ajax—not Childe, not Tartaglia, but Ajax, closes the miniscule gap and kisses you under the witness of the moon—you can be at ease.

“I am?” He teases, a whisper against your lips. You roll your eyes before the hand on his cheek slips to the back of his head, and you pull him close once more.

#viv writes #genshin x reader #genshin x reader fluff #genshin #childe #childe x reader #gn!reader #fluff #genshin fluff #short fic

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sleepy-dreamers-inc · 3 years

Note

MORE DAD WILBUR!!! IT WAS SOO FREAKING CUTE!!!

Wilbur as a Dad! Pt. 2 💫||

irl / in-game

Genre| fluff

h e a d-c a n n o ns||

Sypnosis|

Y/N and Wilbur have finally had they’re baby, so have some nice Dadbur <3

Artist| jillybeanie01 on twitter!

warnings| hospitals, swearing

Key|| [C/N] - child’s name

- There C/N was, laying in they’re parents arms, as Y/N hugged them close, cradling they’re new born baby. Y/N stared in adoration, they we’re finally going to be a parent, the journey had been rough, and still will be, but for now, it was worth it.

- Wilbur had quietly sneaked in, cracking open the door and sneakily slipping into the room. He quietly walked over to the bed, staring at the two most beloved people in his life. Y/N softly cradled C/N in they’re arms, softly nuzzling them as C/N softly snored.

“Oh god...- oh now i have two beautiful people to adore..” Wilbur giggled, grabbing his partners attention. “Why hello, Mr. Soot, would you like to meet Soot Jr?” Y/N giggled softly as to not disturb the precious infant in they’re arms.

Wilbur giggled, and slowly made his way to his lover and child.

He’s never loved two people so much in his life.

- The few days you and your baby had to stay there he felt like he couldn’t function, usually he would go on ‘auto-pilot mode’ or be totally normal, but he practically sulked around until you and C/N were discharged

- Speaking of leaving the hospital, when all of you could leave that day he was SO EXCITED. Cradling his baby in his arms bouncing them up and down ever so gently. He was so happy to finally be able to be with his kid, with no boundaries. He was truly the happiest man in the world

- He’d walk around with C/N in his arms, showing them the house whilst he had a big goofy grin on his face. Especially when showing the kid they’re nursery

(just an example but still)

- You know he’s missed streams becyhe was spending time with C/N. Which in return causes him to stream at like 2-3 AM, but then C/N starts crying, so theres just these like 10-15 minute periods in his stream of just him not being there.

- Him having shopping trips with C/N and going buying them clothes, toys, plushies, ect.

- Again, he’d totally buy sweaters and beanies for them. They’re is no escaping this thought.

- Techno travelling to the UK so he can meet C/N with Tommy and Philza. And them all of then internalky crying because ‘holy shit this baby cute but WILBUR IS SO HAPPY— BUT FAMILY TIME AND LATE NIGHT TALKS-‘

- Niki? She’d be a great babysitter change my mind. She’s like the only one you two trust besides SBI & Tubbo. Like thats the group. Thats it.

- Philza would be a great grandfather this is CANNON. That man was made to be a fatherly figure, okay? Him and Kristin would be so happy to spend time with C/N

- Like yeah they wouldn’t act like 80 year olds and want porridge or like prunes but you know they’d take your kid out to the park, play with them, like i swear they’d probably have a routine schedule

- Tommy and Tubbo would just. Vibe with them if im being honest. They probably dont know how to take care of babies but that doesn’t mean they’d look after C/N and try they’re best.

- Although you and me both know they’d get into some trouble while C/N was there, i can totally see them sprinting down a sidewalk with C/N in Tommy’s arms as Tubbo is looking behind them.

- Wilbur having to be pryed off of the duo after he found out that incident happened.

- Wilbur is a protective dad, not suffocating and wouldn’t let his kid do anything, but more of just wanting them to be safe. He would die if his baby got hurt

- He’d miss a lot of streams... which caused his chat to ask what was happening. This in turn led him to walking out the room and returning with a bundled up baby in his arms.

“This is C/N, chat. This is my baby! They’re the reason I’ve been missing so much... but i can’t complain, they mean everything to me.” He whispered, pecking his baby on the forehead as he read his chat. It seemed everyone was supportive, and he knew Twitter would blow up.

- He’d make so many songs about his kid. It’s ridiculous. You could hear him humming a new tune and peek into the next room, only to see him rocking C/N back and forth.

- He’d sit C/N in his lap and play Minecraft on stream every once and awhile, C/N would try to grab the mouse and chat sweared he started crying

- Monthly streams with C/N pog??

- When C/N spoke they’re first words Wilbur got SO EXCITED. Especially if it was “dad” or “dada”. He would SOB GUYS.

- Wilbur hates being soft in front of other people that isnt you or SBI but C/N could do anything in front of anyone and ges smiling, giggling, clapping his hands.

- When C/N took they’re first steps it was because Wilbur was strumming his guitar, making a new song. He felt a tug on his pants and looked down to see C/N standing, angry and wanting attention. Oh boy they got attention all right. He ran to his phone and called Philza

“PLIL!!! PHIL!! PHILZA! DADZA-“

“WILL WHAT IS IT???”

“C/N JUST TOOK THEYRE FIRST STEPS I THINK I MIGHT BE CRYING-“

“OH MY GOD YOUR JOKING?? REALLY?”

“YEAH!! PHIL MY BABY IS SO SMART-“

“POG-“

- Y/N and Wilbur would have to take a trip somewhere, and this time Techno is the one who gets to take care of C/N!!! You guys would only be gone for like 3 days, but still.

- But when you two got home to a Techno sleeping in a chair, C/N in one arm as a Greek Mythology book was in another, Wilbur snapped a picture because thats what brothers do, guys.

- You finding Will asleep on the couch, C/N napping on his chest. You’d probably join in the cuddles to (dont lie-)

- I have no idea what being a parent is like lololol im the youngest in my family so i hope this wasn’t SHIT-

a/n: Dadbur pog. I had no idea what to do for this post since all my ideas just left my brain.

Also sorry for not posting sooner!! Life has been super busy and a struggle for me for like,, the past week but lets hope i have more chances to write so my posts are actually good sjdbjd

Anyways ughhh sorry if this was bad but ughhh im making a discord? So pog? :D

#wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot imagine #wilbur soot fanfiction #mcyt x reader #mcyt fanfiction #dream smp x reader #mcyt imagine #dream smp fanfiction #dsmp x reader #dream smp imagine #dsmp fanfiction #dreamer posts ♠️

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amiedala · 3 years

Text

Something More (the mandalorian x reader)

CHAPTER 4: Protectors

Rated: Explicit (we’re FINALLY getting to the actual explicit stuff y’all!)

Warnings: descriptions of violence, mentions of stalking/hunting, descriptions of sexual activity

Summary: “Too bad,” you manage, finally, hoping that your voice doesn’t break, “you protect me, I protect you, give and take, Mando, that’s how this works—”

And then you stop because his hands are on you. So fast. Lightning quick. One grabs at your side, thumb pressing lightly against where your scar bottoms out on the left of your abdomen, the other on the right side of your face, fingers tangled in the mess of your hair. You gasp, shudder, and breathe out as he grabs you. As easily as he squeezes, though, his grip detracts to barely there at all, and he slowly pushes you back against the wall. Every nerve on your body is on fire. You breathe, uneven and desperate, as his grip on your hip trails up your side until he has both big hands cupped against your face.

He’s eclipsing you. All you can see in your line of vision is him, and, peripherally, the distorted reflection of your heaving chest pressed up against the cool beskar, everything swallowed up by him. It’s devastating. It’s everything. You can barely breathe.

You dream about him that night.

Well, you’ve dreamed of him every night. It started when you fell asleep face to face, and now he lives in your head. You think some crucial part of it has been wiped clean simply for the sheer space of memory that’s just him. You don’t even know his name. You don’t know how old he is. You don’t know anything about him except that he’s a Mandalorian, he seems to have had adopted the child, and that he has thrown himself directly in harm’s way for you twice now.

Thoughts like that live on while you sleep. Vibrantly so. Sometimes, the dream changes and you’re on top of him, or those huge hands are inside you, or you hear him gritting out your name through the modulator as he—

Somehow, you always seem to wake up before anything in the dream can finish. It’s maddening, to say the very least. Everything with him seems to overlap until it doesn’t.

It’s been a handful of days since your narrow escape on Coruscant, and both of you have healed from your injuries on the planet’s surface. You haven’t been as close to Mando since you slept face to face that night, his head slipped down on your shoulder. When you had woken in the morning, he was gone, and you frantically searched the entirety of the bottom half of the ship for any trace of him leaving before you heard him playing with the baby up the ladder, and when you ascended into the cockpit, you were back in hyperspace.

You’d been in the air for the most part, only stopping briefly down on planets to refuel and replenish whatever stock of food the three of you needed on the ship. You weren’t sure where you were going next. You don’t even remember asking him where the next planet was, just that you knew you were going somewhere. The two tracking fobs he had left to complete before returning the bounties to the Guild blinked from the dashboard, stuttering out of rhythm ever so slightly. You watched them in the dark, sometimes, when you slept upstairs in the cockpit and tried your best to not let your mind wander to the man sleeping a level below you.

Sometimes, more often than not now, your hands would slip absentmindedly into your pants and you’d find yourself conjuring up the gruffness of the Mandalorian’s voice when you touched yourself. Twice now, you’ve finished to the memory of him saying, “where did he hurt you”, and it’s an instinct so natural you don’t even realize that you’re getting yourself off to the rhythm of his words until you’re done. Once, he climbed the ladder almost immediately after you finished, and you had to wipe the warm slick off your fingers on your pants when he asked you to hold the baby. They’re still stained, and the thought of him noticing it—or walking in on you while you’re in the act—has occupied almost all of your waking hours.

It’s better on ruminating on how narrowly you escaped getting hurt by the thug a few weeks back, or on your mind reliving every single memory of how badly you handled being alone on Coruscant the last time you were there—two thoughts that you tried very hard to push away—until the Mandalorian brings it up, almost a full week later.

“You did good,” he says, and you have no idea what he means. For a split second, you think he’s talking about you touching yourself last night, and you have to stifle a yelp when you ask him what he means. “Back on Coruscant. The ship doesn’t handle easy.”

“Oh,” you say, “thank you. I think the Crest has something against me.”

He doesn’t laugh, but you almost think you’re hearing a lighter voice coming through the modulator. “It’s old.”

“As old as me?”

He looks back at you, and you swear you can feel his gaze locked on you again. “How old are you?”

You swallow. “Twenty-five.”

The Mandalorian keeps his visor on you for a second, and then turns back to the front, focusing on the space you’re hurtling through.

“The ship is older than you,” he confirms.

“Explains why it’s so cranky.”

He looks back at you, and you giggle. A few moments pass, and he says, “so am I.”

You don’t know what you’re supposed to do with that information, quite honestly. Are you supposed to ask him how old he is? Maybe he’s seventy under the armor. Until you saw his stomach back on Coruscant, you often wondered if he looked exactly like the baby under there, or if he was a Quarren or a Gungan or something else entirely alien.

It takes you a minute, but you finally ask, “Are you younger than the ship?”

“No.”

“Are you twice the ship’s age?”

The Mandalorian looks back at you again, and if you weren’t hurtling through hyperspace and the Razor Crest wasn’t mostly running on autopilot, you would have cracked a joke about distracted driving.

“No.”

“But you’re older than the baby,” you joke.

He pauses again. “The kid is fifty.”

“What?” you shriek, and turn, betrayed, to the little green child hovering innocently in his egg next to you. He coos. You look back and forth between them, incredulous, and then a laugh filters out of the modulator.

“I don’t know how he ages. But he’s definitely still a baby.”

“Maker,” you say, still flummoxed. “Baby, you don’t look a day over thirty.” He coos at you, and you grin, folding your knees up to your chest in the chair.

“The kid is older than me,” Mando says, and then all attention is on him again.

“Well,” you manage, “then we’re working with a gap of twenty-five years.”

It seems the conversation is over, and you’ve been preoccupied with the kid, when Mando finally speaks again.

“I don’t know,” he says, and you look at him, curious, confused, “how old I am exactly.”

You’re about to ask what he means when the ship lurches again, and both of you are thrown sideways. You had strapped yourself in this time. You didn’t want a repeat of Coruscant, in any capacity. The way the Crest handled was atrocious. It was an old, cantankerous piece of junk, and it seemed to defy every other order either of you gave it. It also decided to blindside you out of nowhere, which was… well, it was like both your dirty subconscious and your conversations with Mando that teetered on something more, right before you hit the impact. Mando hauled the navigation drive up, and suddenly you were all right side up again.

“What was that?” You manage, blowing rogue hair out of your face.

He pointed. “Asteroid field.”

You squinted out the window. “Where are we?”

The Mandalorian was silent for a minute, and you didn’t push him. You weren’t in any rush for him to leave again, if you were being quite honest with yourself, and were soaking in all the tiny moments of the two of you cohabitating the ship for as long as you possibly could.

“Jakku.”

You hadn’t ever been on Jakku. You knew that it was a dry, hot wasteland like Tatooine, but that all the Rebel connections here had dried up over the years, and it had lots of small outposts where scavengers could bring practically anything dug up from the sand to make a little money. It was also worlds away from Coruscant, which was probably why it had taken so long to get here. Truthfully, it sounded dangerous in ways that you’d always feared the heat for, and your stomach flipped over a little in the recognition that he was probably going to leave again. You had been so spoiled with the last few missions—they had taken hours, and not one had swallowed up a full day, let alone weeks. He had warned you when you first joined that he could be gone for a week if he were tracking someone particularly difficult to locate, and the small sadness that pained in your gut when you barely knew Mando was a blip compared to the wrench you felt whenever he left your line of sight now. Seeing him get hurt, having to pull him back from that—you hated it. You hated knowing that he wasn’t infallible, regardless of that big shiny armor and the combination of his stealth and quickness. You wanted to tell him it, sometimes, that you hated seeing him leave, but there was still that anxious twang that came attached to how deeply you felt every single interaction, how you make things out of nothing, and you don’t think you could take it if he ever rejected you.

“Is the bounty…difficult?”

Mando seems to deliberately not hear your question, and something flares deep inside you, allowing you to pretend his resistance is because he doesn’t want to admit he doesn’t want to leave you, either, but you swallow and try to be patient.

“Not as difficult as the last one.”

“How dangerous is he?”

Mando takes a second with that one, too, and you aren’t prepared for him to turn towards you. His visor pauses on you, just for a moment, and you offer up a half smile. You have no idea if he’s reciprocating under the mask, when he finally answers.

“She’s nothing I can’t handle.”

She? That tiny, betrayed part of your mind screams, and you have to fight the urge to physically kick away your jealousy. He’s hunting her. Hunting her down, whoever she is, and bringing her back to the ship in shackles. Stop it, you chastise yourself, what, do you want him to hunt you down? Get it together.

Yes, your traitorous, primal possessiveness taunts. Yes, you want him to hunt you.

Maker. You were going to have to square up with this needy, animalistic part of yourself the second Mando left. You were going to kick its ass, because this was absolutely ridiculous—you still hadn’t responded to his last comment.

“You’re objectively…better than her, right?”

He looks back at you. “Expand.”

“You aren’t going to get shot again?”

Mando’s gaze fixates on you yet again. You swallow dry air.

“A blaster’s not really her speed.”

What did that mean?

The baby babbles. He’s reaching out his tiny green fingers for the ball that rests, perennially unscrewed, on top of one of the levers. Absentmindedly, Mando pops it off and hands it to him. The baby coos as he plays with it, trying to teethe on its smooth metal surface. You watch him as he finds so much joy from one small object, not paying attention to how quickly the Crest is dropping onto Jakku’s wasteland surface.

You don’t say much. Mando doesn’t say anything. If you try hard, really hard, you can imagine that he’s regretting leaving you and the kid as much as you’re dreading it. You don’t know why you can’t voice any of this out loud. It should be easy, by now, you’ve pretty much become a permanent fixture here. He fell asleep with his head on your shoulder, your fingers intertwined, a few nights ago. He’s offering voluntary information about himself to you now, which is a complete 180 from how stoic in his silence he was when he first brought you on board. He offered up safe delivery out of Nevarro and then refused to let you leave the ship anywhere dangerous. He let you fix a wound on his bare skin—something you know goes against the rumored Mandalorian creed. There’s all these signs, blinking and humming in the back of your mind, that the way you feel around him—something earned, something real, something more—is mutual. You know you attach big stakes to everything, that you think the galaxy has been leaving you signs, when there’s no higher power orienting you to some elevated purpose. But the way the air burns around him, how right you feel with Mando and the baby…you’d bet your life that he felt it too.

Even just a fraction. Even just in the back of his mind.

When you make your landing, the ship stubbornly creaks into the uneven sand, and you’re glad you’re still strapped in. The Crest had it out for you. You loved it in the way you’d love an old house—broken and creaky around the edges, but warm enough to still call home. The Mandalorian didn’t ask you to follow him down the ladder this time, but you did anyway, out of some habit you’re trying to force. The baby toddles around the lower deck as he flings himself to his father’s shoes, and you scrunch up your lips to the side, a sore attempt at mimicking his expression. You can’t ask Mando not to leave. This is his job. You’re lucky he didn’t let you get taken out by either of the men that tried to hurt you, or leave you for dead on Nevarro, or kick you out on Coruscant.

But stars, you want to.

Somehow, he breaks the silence first. “I’ll be back within a few days.”

Your heart sinks. “Days?”

He looks at you, the visor suddenly impenetrable. “She’s dodgy. I’m not expecting to be gone more than three.”

“What if you are?”

Silence swells up in the air around you both. Your amateur handling of the Razor Crest on the last planet was only possible because you barely had to get anywhere. Jakku was huge, and incredibly desolate, and you didn’t trust yourself enough to figure out exactly where Mando was if there was a dire emergency. And he’d never told you what kind of quarry he was tracking before, which gave you a sinking suspicion that he wasn’t confident that he’d come back completely unscathed.

“Here,” he says, finally. His voice is softer through the modulator. He hands you the commlink again, and you wrap it around your wrist, intentional. “Remember—”

“Only for emergencies?” you interrupt, and give him a soft smile. You can be lenient. You can pretend that you won’t be staring at it for days on end, waiting for his deep voice to crackle across the stars to you.

“Good girl.”

He turns, quickly, like ripping off a bandage, which is probably for the best, because you don’t want him to see your knees going weak at his two words, or how that heat he gives you rushed deep down in between your thighs, warm and wet enough to line your underwear. You stand there, mouth open, just gaping at his retreating figure as he walks out into the sand.

The baby pulls at your leg, and it takes you an embarrassingly long time to yank your jaw off the floor and pay attention to him. He’s started begging for lullabies now, with his big bug eyes, and so you oblige, singing past the devastation and tingling that the Mandalorian has left behind in his wake until the kid is finally asleep. You think he does it so much to self-soothe when his daddy leaves, because he’s usually always awake in his presence. You usually don’t like when the little guy fades off when it’s just the two of you, because at least while he’s awake you can talk out loud to him and not feel like you’re going crazy being cooped up inside the ship, but right now…right now, you have other priorities.

You make sure that the kid is sleeping soundly, and you walk up the ladder as quietly as you can, trying to get snug under your blankets in the makeshift bed you’ve made in the corner, and when you finally get yourself comfortable, you play the words good girl over and over again in your mind while you slip your fingers down your pants and into the slick between your legs. You try to picture him in your mind, the way he looks under that mask, his eyes trained on you—what color were they?—and rub tight little circles to the sound of his voice, etched in your memory.

Nothing comes. You can feel it building inside you, that gold rush that sends sparks down your body when you usually orgasm, but right now, it’s like you’re teetering right on the edge. You throw your head back in desperation, in frustration, and you remove your shaking hand for just a second to refocus on him, and when your fingers return to your clit you think this is it, this has to be it—Nothing.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” you exclaim, pressing both hands to your eyes as if the stars to explode there instead. You can feel it building, still, even while there’s absolutely nothing in the way, and no matter what happens, you can’t cum.

You’re frustrated. You’re very frustrated. In every version of the word. You huff, yanking up your pants too roughly and pacing around the ship’s dark hull. This is all you’ve wanted for days, this small moment of release, and he just gave you the words to get yourself off by just thinking about it, and…nothing? Really?

You pace and then slide back down the ladder. Maybe you can get outside, just for a few seconds, feel the heat on your face, and maybe that’ll force it to come somewhere else, and you’re tiptoeing past the baby and getting your blaster from the armory, and then you pass the alcove where Mando’s cot is hidden away in, and you’re about to open the airlock—

Wait. Mando’s bed.

Your heart catches in your chest, skips a couple beats. This is not good. This is wrong. This is a horrible, dirty, depraved, very bad idea.

But before you can stop yourself, you’ve pressed your trembling fingers to the button that reveals his bed, and the doors fly open. You throw yourself in quickly, as if that’ll lessen the impact, and you throw yourself down on your back, looking at the ceiling.

It’s so dark in here. It smells like him. It’s like his soap has scrubbed down the bed, the way it’s wafting through the air. In here, it’s like a holding chamber. If you close your eyes hard enough, you can imagine he’s right there with you, his body large and uncloaked of armor, his skin exposed everywhere but the helmet, his hands on your hips while you’re straddling him like you did the other day to patch up his wound, him saying good girl as he moves inside you—

Well. Your fingers didn’t even have to slip back into your pants for you to cum this time.

You bite down on the back of your hand as it ripples through you, your ears absolutely deafened by the way your body vibrates like static. You clap your other hand over the one you’ve sunk your teeth into to simply drown out the sound in hopes that it’ll recede.

It takes probably five minutes. You sit there, in complete darkness, shell-shocked. The embarrassment and the shame you feel of getting off in someone else’s bed doesn’t even compare to the feeling of doing it. Maker, you’re going to bad places when you die. Bad, dark, awful places. The internal chastising you’re trying valiantly to give yourself fades off into the background as you relive it over and over, imagining him telling you you’re a good girl again, back in this bed, wearing considerably less, when he comes back to you. Visions of him telling he’ll never leave you again dance through your head when, suddenly, you fade off into nothing.

You didn’t mean to fall asleep. You don’t remember doing it.

But you wake up, and you’re still in Mando’s bed. You’ve pulled his blanket up around your shoulders, and it’s rough and tattered compared to yours, but you don’t even care. Your skin easily irritates when it’s against fabric that hurts, but you’ll take on the rash for this. You are so snug, so warm, and then it hits you that you’re sleeping in his bed, the same bed that you came all over last night, and you sit up in a panic.

You check the sheets, and there’s no mess. You haven’t really disturbed the bed at all, really, come to think of it. You lay back down, still groggy with sleep. He said he was going to take a few days. There’s no reason why you couldn’t sleep here tonight, too, maybe you’d even take the baby in here with you—

The baby. You shoot back up in a panic, suddenly completely awake. When you throw open the door, and launch yourself out of the bed, you find him toddling around on the floor, with that little silver ball he loves so much in his adorable stubby fingers.

“Baby.”

He turns to look at you, making noises of recognition when you fall out of his father’s bed, and you pick him up, swinging his tiny green body through the air.

He coos at you, pulling on the blanket that is somehow still around your shoulders. Dank ferrik. That wasn’t supposed to come with you. You gingerly pry it from his grip. He looks at you, back at the blanket that’s been put back into the alcove, and then his big eyes well up and he starts to cry.

“No,” you whisper, and then, louder, “no, it’s okay, baby! You don’t need to cry! I’ll—here, I’ll sing you some nice little tunes, and we can dance—”

At this, he wails even harder, and you wipe away the array of tears with your free hand. He claws towards something, and you pull him into your chest before you realize he wants the blanket. You pull it back out and drape it around his tiny body. “Hey, bug, it’s okay.” You swaddle him the best you can, and then he wipes his tiny nose against the tattered thing, and you try to pull it away before you realize he’s not wiping his nose. He’s sniffing the blanket. The blanket that smells like his dad. And, more recently, you.

“It’s okay,” you say, soothingly, swinging him from side to side, bringing those big eyes in towards the crook of your shoulder. He clings to it, just a little, but it’s enough to know he wants to stay nestled up there. “You miss your daddy, huh, sweetness?”

He coos, muffled, against your neck.

“Me too,” you admit, with no one but the kid and the dark hull of the Crest to hear you.

Another day passes. Then another. You’re starting to go a little stir crazy. If Jakku didn’t scare you, you would have gone outside and taken the baby for a little walk, but you’re still nervous, jumpy leftovers from the last man who had boarded the ship, not to mention that it’s a desert, foreboding wasteland everywhere you could possibly go. You bring him outside at least once a day, though, not even fully on the ground, just down the gangplank, so that you can both have some fresh air and touch something that isn’t shiny metal or whatever scraps of food you’ve been feeding to you both.

You like the baby. Love him. He rocks. He’s the cutest thing in the entire world. You had sworn off starting a family back when your parents died, because missing them hurt too much and you didn’t want another possibility to make that hurt permanent, but you would sign adoption papers tomorrow if you meant you got to care for the little one forever. His dad was just the bonus, you’d almost convinced yourself, to satiate that hungry, aching, nervous pit in your stomach that grows bigger and bigger every hour Mando’s still not back.

You’ve cleaned the interior of the ship. Three times. Yesterday, you used the fresher twice, simply for the acoustics of that room, so you could sing and pretend you were giving a show at a cantina, and okay, maybe a little bit for the smell of Mando’s soap on your skin.

His bed is much more uncomfortable than the nest you’d been sleeping in on the floor, but it smells like him, and it’s warm, and if you close your eyes and push up against the wall, you can imagine it’s him in the beskar enough to get you to sleep. Worry aside, you’ve slept better the past two nights than you have in what feels like years. It’s partly because you’re imagining he’s there, partly because you know you’re safe in here, and partly because this place feels more like home than any other one you’ve ever belonged to.

You’re starting to get worried, though. You know he insisted that the commlink was only for emergencies, and you didn’t want to distract him on his mission. Or bother him, more likely, the Mandalorian wasn’t a man who got distracted easily, but still, you thought about it. Distracting him. The baby wakes up sometimes, and you pretend to be completely engrossed in attending to his every need, because when he falls asleep or shows more interest in his ball than you, the silence and fear creeps back in.

Another day passes before you’ve gone on long enough without hearing word.

“Hey,” you whisper into the commlink. You’re in his bed. Again. You’re not proud of it, but you can’t pry yourself from it. “I don’t know if you can hear me, but—it’s been four days, and she’s dangerous, and I—the baby misses you.”

You press the button. You hope that’s sufficient. You just sit there, staring at the artificial light in the darkness, tummy flipping over every second that passes where you don’t hear from him.

It’s been full minutes, and you lay back down. You pull his itchy blanket up to your shoulder, huddle on your side. You’ll keep your wrist next to you in sleep, so he can talk in your ear and wake you up if he needs to—

“Are you there?”

His voice is quiet. Through the modulator and the link, you have to strain your ears in the vibrating nothingness to make out the shape of his words.

“I’m here,” you answer. It spills out of you, too fast.

“No emergencies,” he says, and you can feel your cheeks flush with the reprimand before you realize it sounds more like reassurance.

“No emergencies here either,” you manage. “The baby is still as cute as ever. You parked near a good radio station. I’ve been singing to him—”

“Careful,” he warns, and your heartbeat quickens before you can ask what. “The first word that comes out of his mouth is going to be sung, not spoken.”

You giggle, the air cutting through the darkness. “Would that be so bad?”

He’s silent for a minute, and you relax back into his pillow, the commlink pressed up against your face.

“I don’t think I could handle having both of you singing,” he says, and his voice rumbles through you in a way you can’t place until you remember the baby is fifty and hasn’t even spoken his first word yet. The Mandalorian is signing on for years with you, then, maybe full-on decades, maybe for life, with how slowly the kid progresses—you have to bite down on your lip.

“Maybe I’ll shut up when he starts.”

You can hear him shifting. He’s still so quiet. You wonder where he is. You wonder if he’s gotten close to his bounty yet, if she’s anywhere near him—that unfairly jealous part of you roils in your belly, and you push your fist into it as if to shove back the unreasonable thought.

“That’d be a shame,” he finally says.

“Do you like my singing?”

He’s quiet again. You listen through the silence. He speaks so sporadically, it shouldn’t surprise you, but being in anticipation of what comes next is almost as good as the words themselves. “I like your voice.”

Your voice. That could mean anything. That could mean your singing in the shower or the questions you ask him or the way he makes you giggle or the way you’d moan out his name, if you were ever lucky enough to learn it—you realize you haven’t spoken. “I like yours, too.”

He’s quiet. He doesn’t speak again. You know how late it is. “Have you slept?” you ask, quietly, just in case he’s fallen asleep.

“A bit.” You can hear him adjusting. “I’m close to town. I tracked her here.”

You nod, forgetting he can’t see you. “When do you think you’ll be ba—will have completed the mission?” you ask. You bite your lip in the surrounding silence.

“By sunrise,” he says. “You better fall asleep. I want you both awake when I return to the ship.”

Your stomach flips over in excitement, then in dread. “Do I have to hide from her?”

He’s silent. You slide your thumbnail between your teeth, breath bated in anticipation of his answer.

“Just be ready,” he finally says. “Don’t hide unless I tell you to.”

“I’ll anticipate it,” you counter. “I’ll be awake at sunrise.”

“Set an alarm.” His voice is quick, but you can feel the lightness to it. “Or three.”

“I’ll have you know,” you say sleepily, “that I can be wide awake at the first alarm when I need to be—”

“And,” he adds, interrupting you, “stay near my bed in case you do need to hide.”

Before you can say anything in response to that, the link clicks off. You’re in the darkness, again, that swell in your legs, the buzzing in your ears, the excitement in your heart. The last thing you remember before you fall back asleep is, he’s coming home.

Your name comes from seemingly nowhere, and you jolt up from where you’ve been sleeping. Very comfortably. You wipe sleep from your eyes as you fumble around from the source of it.

It’s the commlink. Of course.

“I’m here,” you manage, through your very groggy morning voice.

“I’m almost back.”

You dig a heel of your hand into your eye before all the moving parts click together in your mind. That’s Mando’s voice, and it must be close to sunrise, because if he’s heading back, he’s definitely got the bounty.

“I—where should I go?”

You don’t hear anything for a long moment, and you hurriedly slide out of his bed, trying to arrange the blanket and pillow in the same formation that it was before you defiled it, and can’t remember enough what it looked like almost five days before but you hope that Mando’s memory has been distracted enough by his hunt that he won’t notice. You find the baby, place him back in his egg, and shake your head firmly when he gives you his big eyes pleading to get down.

“Where are you?”

You sleepily survey your surroundings. “I am against the wall.”

He sighs. “Which wall?”

“The one across from the fresher. Near your bed.” You feel your cheeks flush with that admission, even though he can’t possibly know that you’ve holed up in there since he’s been gone.

“And the baby?”

“He’s beside me.” You pull your gun out, too, and loosely holster it in the belt around your leg. “And I have my blaster.”

“Good,” he says, and no girl follows it, and despite the circumstances, you feel a twang of sadness.

“How close are you?”

The link goes silent. Again. It’s become his modus operandi to just leave you in the lurch, right when you’re on the edge of the conversation, and while it’s hard to get frustrated with him when that pull of sureness inside you is always tuned to the highest frequency, you want to whine about it.

You cut yourself off. Nope. He’s bringing back a bounty. You cannot get distracted, not now, no matter how bad you want him. Not the time. On a whim, you run into the fresher and you splash water on your face, enough to wake you up and keep you alert.

There’s a noise outside the ship, and you immediately push the baby’s floating cradle behind you, fingers on your blaster. You could handle whatever was happening. You actually had your fingers on something tangible, and you were a good shot when it came down to it.

It turns out, the reason why the Mandalorian didn’t tell you how soon he’d be coming back because he was already pretty much there. You tense, then relax upon the first glimpse of the beskar on his helmet you got, and then tens again when the gangplank is lowered down to the hot sand of Jakku.

She…looks dangerous. She’s a Twi’lek. Long, and slim, a very dangerous shade of purple. The first thing you notice isn’t how alien she looks in comparison to the sand around the gangplank, or how she moves with a confident, seductive swagger, but the way her tongue dances in circles around her teeth. Her canines are sharp, pointed, hungry.

You didn’t scare easily. You had worked hundreds of jobs with people who had every intention to double-cross and discard you. You faced off against the intruder on the ship with your only instinct to protect the baby in mind, not your own safety. That’s why Mando had brought you aboard.

But you look at her, and you’re scared. It’s her teeth and the way her eyes lock onto you, immediately, dangerously, like she knows she could intimidate you. And then probably flog you within an inch of your life and leave you for dead. You’d been there before. You knew how it looked.

“What do we have here?” she purrs, turning around to face Mando. He shoves her, once, roughly, and she steps forward so that his blow won’t hit as hard, tongue tracing the outline of her teeth. “You got yourself a little pet.”

Your eyes glance in fear to the baby, but the way he looks back at you makes you realize that she was talking about you, not the kid. You thumb your blaster, stepping forward, trying to remain impervious.

“Hello, there,” she whispers, and you could feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You didn’t want to look away from her—you can just tell, instinctually, that she could strike instantaneously, just lying in wait for a moment of weakness—but you can’t help it. You look at Mando, hoping your raised eyebrow signals your fear and your level of discomfort, and the way his visor locks on you is enough to know he had calculated the risk and knew he could beat her. His hand is still outstretched, slightly, as she meanders over to you.

“Look, Mando,” she hisses, pointing back and forth between the two of you. Instinctually, you push the baby’s cradle back even further, putting your full hand on your blaster. You glance up at him again, and then catch a flash in the low light of the ship, and realize she’s handcuffed. Even shackled, though, you can see how her sharp teeth glint, how her eyes hold venom you’d never even seen. “Have you taken your helmet off for her yet?”

He stands there. You have absolutely no idea what you were in the middle of, but suddenly, it felt like you were the outsider here, not her. Your stomach flipped over with the possibilities. Had he taken his helmet off for the bounty? Had he betrayed his creed for her? You swallow, grit your teeth, loading your tongue behind them just in case whatever she gave you next could be responded to.

“She’s pretty,” she appraises, tongue finding her canine, and before you can react, she lunges close to your face, close enough that you can feel the hot wash of air, clicking her teeth menacingly right in front of your nose. You don’t jump, but the flinch of closing your eyes felt bad enough. You knew it was the wrong move the second your eyes squeezed shut. “Aw, look at that.” She sniffs. You don’t move. “She scares like a little Ewok, Mando, is that why you keep her locked away on the ship—"

Suddenly, a flash of beskar moves through the air between you two, and the Twi’lek is snapped back, recoiling and hissing at how hard he hit her.

“I don’t need to remind you that I have no issue bringing you in cold.”

You recoil at that, how detached and distorted his voice seems. You know that the modulator evens it out, for the most part, and that you tend to imagine his voice comes out softer and warmer to you than anyone else. But right now? Right now, his voice is stone cold. He sounds murderous. Dangerous. Scary. The kind of threat that scared off the man on Nevarro. The kind of threat that you know he gives to his bounties. The kind of threat he’s never once showed to you.

You swallow.

“I dare you,” the Twi’lek says, and she turns from you, just for a second, to slide up to him. So much of her skin is reflected in the beskar that it’s turning the entirety of the interior of the Crest purple. “Try to kill me. We both know you need me, whether you like it or not, that I’m still the best you’ve ever had—”

Before you can react, before you can do anything, the Mandalorian has a knife against her throat. You have no idea where it comes from. You want to react, to say something, to not sit there bumbling like a faulty droid, but you’ve got nothing. Zip. Zilch. Nada.

“Slice me with my knife,” she whispers, taunting him. “Do it. Put on a show for your little weakling girlfriend behind me and kill me. We both know you can’t—”

You unfreeze, suddenly, so quickly that you don’t realize what you’re doing, until you yank her slender shoulder back away from the knife Mando has in his grip and shove her headfirst into the carbonite chamber. She howls, but you press the button—that’s your one move, slamming your hands against things and miraculously making them work in the moment of truth—and her terrifying, hungry face gets swallowed up in the gas. You shove her backwards—well, the block of her—so that it slams into the other bounties that have been frozen in time in between your last trip to Nevarro, and it’s only when you’re sure she’s completely immobilized that you finally exhale, hands on your knees, chest heaving. The world around you is spinning. You check your arms and throat frantically, just to make sure she didn’t nick you with something sharp while you were frozen.

When your breathing regulates, and all your bumps and bruises only tally up evenly to the ones you had before today, you look up at Mando. He’s seemingly stuck, too, the sharp knife still in his gloved hand, completely immobile. You tap his outstretched hand to be sure you didn’t accidentally catch him with your fairly heroic carbonite rescue, and he only becomes responsive to your touch on his gloved one.

“Hey,” you say, softly, to not startle him anymore, “I’m okay—are you? Are you okay?”

“Thank you,” he says, gruffly, his fingers still clenched tight around the knife that came out of nowhere, and you just know that underneath his glove, his knuckles are white. You can hear it in his voice.

“What—oh. You’re welcome. I’m sorry I didn’t react sooner, that I let her go on like that—”

“I was going to kill her.” Even through the modulator, you can hear there’s something complicating his voice. You move forward, gently, trying to pry his fingers off the knife. Your body is so close to his, your neck straining as you look up from his hand to his helmet. You don’t know why this is so difficult for him to reconcile, when you’ve seen him take out at least twenty people, easily, since you came aboard. You don’t like the killing, but you understand his necessity, sometimes, and his disconnect from it. It’s what he does, it’s his job, his survival. You don’t know why this one was so different. “If you didn’t—I was going to slit her throat.”

You’re the one who’s silent, now. You have absolutely no idea what to say, especially considering that him needing solace over the thought of killing someone—not even actually killing them—is completely foreign to you. You inhale, exhale, and then take a half-step closer, moving his last finger off the knife. “You didn’t,” you whisper, earnest, slipping the knife out of his grip and reaching in closely behind him to put it safely in the armory. “You didn’t.”

He looks at you. Up and down. It’s dark in here, but you can track his visor. You have absolutely no idea what’s going on behind it. Despite all of this, despite the way you had both been moving in sync lately, despite how you felt the magnetic pull of the universe with him, he just went radio silent. None of this seemed in character. For the first time since you met him, you felt like you were in over your head.

“I was going to,” he repeats, and you nod, slowly. “She’s not worth anything to the Guild dead, but I would have done it in a second—”

“—You didn’t,” you interrupt, enunciating each syllable, “it’s okay, you can turn her in frozen like that, and we can get far away from her, you don’t have to be—”

“—to protect you.”

You come to a full stop, breath catching in your throat.

“I would have spilled her guts all over the floor in front of you—in front of my kid—to protect you. And then you protected me instead.”

You can feel your mouth falling open in shock. The baby, funnily enough, has decided to move his floating egg upstairs, and you’re glad he’s getting out of the line of fire. You swallow, looking back at Mando. “I did.”

“That’s not your job.”

You have whiplash. His voice has gone from detached to emotional to brash. You have no idea what you’re supposed to say to that, to say to any of this. You feel a familiar, dizzying rush, the beginnings of tears pinpricking at the corners of your eyes.

“Too bad,” you manage, finally, hoping that your voice doesn’t break, “you protect me, I protect you, give and take, Mando, that’s how this works—”

“That’s not your job,” he repeats, but now his voice is almost as ragged as yours is, and so you nod.

His helmet comes forward, slightly, and he presses it into your forehead. “What is my job?” you squeak out, trying to not go cross-eyed as you try to catch any glimpse of his eyes under the visor. You can’t, so you close yours, in desperate anticipation.

He removes his helmet from against your forehead, and you sway forward, already missing his grip against you, until, suddenly, his head is in the hollow of your neck. Your breathing hitches again. You try your very best to not imagine what his voice would sound like without the modulator, what his lips would feel like pressed up against your skin, when his hand drops from your chin and trails back down your body, past your scar, past the bruises on your belly, and then it pauses.

“To take mine,” he grits out, his voice swelling up against the skin of your ear, and then your body slumps against the wall, and before you can beg for it, for anything, his hand rises, meeting you in the middle, fingers fitting perfectly between your thighs.

***

IF YOU WANT TO BE ON A TAGLIST FOR EVERY CHAPTER, PLEASE REPLY TO THIS POST OR SEND ME AN ASK WITH YOUR URL! i’m not sure exactly how to do this, so i will try my very best to get it up and running from here on out (and if anyone has any advice send me an ask or DM me!) <3

(and if you don’t want to be on the taglist and i’ve tagged you here, please just message me!)

CHAPTER 5 COMING SATURDAY JANUARY 23RD EST!!!! i hope y’all enjoy!!!

#early update <3 #something more #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfic #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #fanfiction #mando x you #mando x reader #smut #reader insert

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milkacchan · 4 years

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Request for anon: Hi! Could you write hcs for poly bakusquad with a quirkless reader who has a serious independent streak but has recently been a target for villain attacks and got injured, but refuses to rely on anyone and tries to ignore their pain and take care of everyone else, please?

This is gonna be a little angsty

• First- it annoyed bakugou that you, someone /quirkless/ made it into the hero class

• On pure fucking spite and anger alone

• You didn't even particularly want to get in to UA

• It was just something you chose to prove someone wrong about

• and it fucking aggravated him- more than aggravated him

• Inspired Deku though, he hated that even more

• and he isn't surebhow- but he ended up talking to you and suddenly you're part of his friend group and he's /okay/ with that

• that irks him too.

• and a lot of things are uncovered when y'all are friendly w eachother

• and they learn pretty fucking fast about your independent streak

• and when you all started dating (crazy how they managed that) they thought it might go away- only it didn't.

• You never asked for help, regardless of what it was- you'd handle it on your own.

• You got hurt during training? Don't worry about it, I'm fine.

• Failed a test? You'd disappear for a few days to study and retake it.

• Didn't know what you were doing in a particular subject? You'd teach it to yourself.

• Aizawa had heard the words 'help' ONCE and he was limited to the help you'd allow him to give you .

• You trained your ass off everyday, you worked hard in school, you took no shit- it was obvious you felt like you had something to prove.

• Bakugou felt like he was a partial reason for that and it made him feel like shit.

• He wasn't exactly the kindest to you when classes started in first year.

• But he was concerned.

• They were all concerned.

• recently, you'd been stressed out. They could tell, even if you weren't giving them signs.

• On top of that, you'd become a big target for villains and no one knew why.

• it seemed like both you and midoryia were a magnet for assholes in masks

• And they tried talking to you about it, they do.

• Denki brings it up, he's holding your hand, Kirishima is threading his fingers through your hair and Seros behind you, holding your waist. Mina is in between your legs, resting her head on your chest and bakugou is at the end of the bed.

• And Denki asks if you need help- whether its coping with it- or dealing with it while its happening- or trying to figure out /why/ they're attacking you

• and you blow him off "it doesn't matter, i'll deal with it if it happens again."

"It's not a matter of if, it's a matter of when." Bakugou glares.

"Okay, then when it happens again, I'll deal with it."

"That's fucking stupid," he growls.

Kami squeezes your hand gently. "Maybe we should have a plan-" he glares at Bakugou.

"I was fine last time. Don't do this."

"Do what? Offer fucking help?" Bakugou snaps and Mina cringes. She grips your shirt. She knows what's going to happen, she knows you're going to stomp off to think- it could be a few hours or it could be days. Sometimes, if she held something on you, you'd stay. She hoped this was the case.

"Your fucking pity." You seeth. "I don't need it. I can take care of myself."

"Baby we didn't-" kiri starts but you're already sliding off the bed.

"Babe," Sero looks at you. "please come talk about it,"

You say nothing, and let the door close behind you.

"Fuck." Mina sighs

• Its 2 days.

• 2 days before you resurface, calm and collected, like nothing happened.

• but you're busy- you're training harder. Much harder, you're pushing yourself past your limits and its obvious

• they were already impressed. Theg already knew you could take care of yourself. Why couldn't you see that?

• you push and push and push

• and they don't see as much of you

• when they do see you at the end of the night, you always look exhausted

• and you put on the same fucking front each time

• you smile and laugh and kiss them goodnight but they can see you're in pain

• they don't even get a chance to talk about it with you

• because the next thing they know

• theyre in another attack and youre in the center of it

• You're fighting and you're holding him off but you aren't going to last much longer

• You were tired from the day before- you hadn't gotten proper sleep- and he was strong

• It's all kind of a blur, really, you're thrown a lot, youre bleeding

• he had you by the neck at the end, you were clawing at his hands and he was laughing

• your mates weren't exactly in the best shape either- after all, the attack had happened in the middle of the night

• A strong kick to the center of his nose seemed to do the trick. There was a sickening crack and his hand loosened and he fell back.

• When you regained youre senses you froze- he wasn't breathing.

• you /killed/ him.

• Your stomach churned and suddenly all the pain you felt increased ten fold.

• You scrambled to stand up, Mina was the first one you saw and you fell to your knees in front of her, cupping her cheeks. "Baby? Baby you okay?"

"M fine, but you're not, that's a lot of blood." She looked up at you her eyes wide. "Baby that's a lot-"

"I'm okay, I promise."

• She wanted to yell and scream and you, she wanted to hit you and telling to just accept help but you'd already stood up, moving to look around for the others.

• Denki was next, you met him with a hug and a short but desperate kiss. "You okay?" You whisper, brushing your thumb over his bruised cheek. Mina was behind you now, gently brushing her fingers through the blondes hair, but she stepped away when she saw Kiri and Bakugou.

"I'm okay, I'm okay," he smiked softly.

"Eiji? Katsu?" You mumbled.

"They're okay, they're fine. You don't look so good though."

"M- M okay.." you mutter. Youre tired now. Standing here is nice. You're dizzy- Ashido was right. That was a lot of blood.

Your eyes close and your weight falls.

"Hey- Hey- Jesus! Guys! Katsuki! I don't- I can't tell if she's breathing-"

• You wake up in the hospital 2 days later.

• Mina's in the bed with you, hand thrown gently over your thighs. Sero and Denki are on the left side, heads down, eye's closed and arms over your shin.

• Kiris got your left hand in his, another hand in Minas hip.

• Bakugous on the right side, arms crossed and head down.

• and youre confused because why the fuck are you here?

• what happened?

• you miss Katsukis voice next to you when it all comes back

• and you can't help but scramble to sit up and suddenly you can't breathe

• youre not sure how long you zoned out, but when you finally get back, there's two nurses

• ones replacing and IV bag

• and the other is checking your tempature, you think.

• theres another needle stick in your arm but you can't pay mind to it right now.

• the warmth around you was gone and you desperately wanted it back.

• they weren't in the room anymore

• and when the nurses cleared the room, the tears spilled over.

• your brought your hands to cover your face and your head fell back.

• five minutes? 10 minures? Later there was a gentle tap on your shoulder

• it was ashido

• your arms were around in her seconds

• "You okay?" She whispered as the others took their spots around the bed.

"No," you shook your head. "I killed him- and and I could've gotten you guys hurt because I didn't listen," your breathing had started to get faster again.

"Hey, it's okay. Just breathe," she soothes, thumbs stroking your cheeks.

"I can't- I- fuck /help me/-" you gasp out

• It takes awhile, but they managed to calm you down.

• Ashido just holds you, she lets you cry, and Kiri reminds you that you're okay

• they do most of the comforting usually

• when you're breath has finally started to even out, and you can feel the pain again, you know you'll be asleep soon from the pain meds.

"How bad was it?" You whisper, hands still gripling Minas shirt.

"Bad." Katsuki spoke. "You stopped breathing when we got you here."

Sero rubbed his face. "You needed a blood transfusion. They weren't entirely sure how it was going to end."

"You were...you were just standing in my arms and then you weren't moving. And then you weren't answering-" denki breathed. "There was blood everywhere."

"What about you guys?"

"Can you just stop?" Katsuki groaned. "Can you just let us worry about /you/? Let us help. Don't ask about us. You almost /died/ and your only fucking thought is us. Why?" He was crying, head down, hands gripping his pants.

"He's got a point. It's okay to ask for help," kirishima whispers. "So why don't you?"

• you're quiet for a few moments.

• do you go into detail.

• or do you dodge the question.

• ultimately, the fear of losing them outweighed any shame you would have felt

• "its hard not having a quirk." You mumble, eyes down. "Quirks are practically currency. And power is highly valued. I don't have that. I don't have any of that. I'm in a constant risk of being replaced and if I ask for help, they know I'm weak. I can't ask for help."

• And they all feel their hearts shatter a little bit.

• Bakugou had poked fun at you for quite some time in first year for not having a quirk.

• and Denki wasn't much better- neither was Sero. They'd make jokes about how fast you'd drop out.

• Bakugou would break a little bit, reminding you that you weren't weak. You still being alive was proof of that.

• and slowly

• slowly you get accustomed to ask for help.

• its not necessarily with words- sometimes they ask and you just nod

• or you ask in your own way.

• youre independent streak remains- but its not as bad.

#bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #my hero academia #poly bakusquad #bakusquad #poly bakusquad x reader #mina ashido #mina x reader #sero hanta #sero #sero x reader #denki kaminari #kaminari denki #denki x reader #kirishima x reader #kirishima eijirou #eijirou kirishima

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bothcreativitybois · 3 years

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The Mayor’s Sweet Treat Chapter 1

Description: Small town AU where mayor Remus knew everyone, until a cute baker opened shop in his town. Patton is struggling to keep open the small bakery while his mother is gone. Then the rambunctious and rowdy Remus appears and vows to save him.

Ships: Intruality

TW: Swearing, stress, crying, slight burn, implied past bad relationship, food (obviously), sexual references (it’s Remus)

Taglist (ask if you want to be added): @crazydemigod666 @star-crossed-shipper

The old green truck rumbled down the road. Remus rubbed his stubble and tried to neaten his hair out but it didn’t do much.

How did I miss the opening of a new shop? What’s wrong with me?

-A few minutes earlier-

“Uhg this meeting sucks.” Remus groaned and leaned back in his chair. “Why do we have to do them every Monday morning?” His coffee wasn’t enough. He contemplated where he could get something stronger.

“Be my assistant Virgil. I need you Virgil.” He mocked his employers past words.

“Remus, you’re the mayor.” Virgil reminded him. “I know you have trouble paying attention but you need to listen. For your citizens.” The assistant looked over his notes as his employer whined.

“I already know what everyone thinks.” Remus defended. “Mrs Patty needs more wheelchair access, the berry farms proposed an idea to work with the high school to get more workers and Janus was caught spray painting again. It’s not hard to keep track when there are only like 100 people.” Virgil smiled smugly and looked up from his notes.

“So you know about the bakery reporting losses?” Virgil asked. Remus sat up and looked at him dumbly.

“We have a bakery?” Remus was dumbfounded.

“It’s new. Opened 5 months ago.” Virgil informed as he threw some papers on the desk. “The owner asked if there was any assistance we could provide the- Remus?” Remus was already jingling his keys.

“I’ll be back soon.” Remus said as he left. Virgil sighed.

Remus thought as he drove. He looked at the store fronts trying to find what had changed. They all looked the same. General store, Salamander Silk clothes store, café he’d just gotten another coffee from, Sammy’s restaurant, the closed down florist- wait. The widows weren’t blocked anymore. Remus pulled up in front of the building and got out of his truck. He didn’t bother locking it, there was only one criminal in the town and it was his best friend. There were no new signs on the building, but the old signs were gone. The windows were uncovered but the door was closed.

Remus wasn’t sure where the bakery was exactly but there was only one street of shops so it wouldn’t be hard to find.

Maybe the Ahujas opened a bakery? I’ve always loved Nisa’s kaju katli.

“It couldn’t be here…” Remus said to no one. He trampled up to the door to check if it was unlocked, it was. He swung it open and was greeted with a sweet scent and bright colours. The walls had new light blue wallpaper and the old stone floor had a cute pink rug trying to cover the large crack. “Are you open?!” Remus shouted past the displays of baked goods.

There was a crash.

Patton worked lazily on the cake in front of him. He tried not to let his tears get in the lovely icing he’d just finished flattening.

No one is coming anyway. Why bother?

He usually could control these thoughts but this morning he was tired and stressed. He hadn’t had a single customer for a month, he was reaching the last of his back-up funds. Patton dropped the icing spatula and pushed away from the cake for a break, the rolling stool he was on slid to the wall.

It was a mistake. No one wants you here. I should’ve stayed wit-

A ding cut through the room. Patton realised he was now full on crying. His cheeks were warmer than the bread he’d made this morning. He stood shakily and walked to the oven, he couldn’t let them just sit there. He put on his green oven mitts and opened the industrial ovens. The muffins sat there, plump and cute. He slowly reached up to get the heavy pan out. Benefit of a large pan is being able to make two dozen at a time, the downside was carrying two dozen dense muffins at once. He’d built up a little muscle these past few weeks hauling the flour himself but it didn’t help much.

“Oh fuck uh…” The tall figure said, Patton hadn’t quite looked up to see them properly yet. Remus frantically looked around for something to help the man clutching his arm. A sink. Remus grabbed the small man’s good arm and dragged him to the large sink. The tall person pulled Patton to the sink and turned on the water for him. He let go of his arm and shakily took off his oven mitt and put his arm under the stream of water.

“Are you open?!” A voice shouted through the small building. Patton turned in shock, accidentally hitting both the pan and part of his arm against the oven door. He dropped the pan and clutched his arm.

“Ah!” He let out a small noise. There were heavy footsteps and a tall man appeared next to him. Patton felt his tears rise back up. Not from pain, he was used to burns, but he was overwhelmed.

“Can you get that pan I dropped?” The smaller man muttered quietly. Remus looked across the room to see a pan of what looked like muffins in front of the oven. Thankfully it had landed without sending any muffins flying. He walked over and picked up the still hot pan. Patton turned to warn the tall person the pan was hot but was met with Remus holding the metal easily. The tall man was wearing a green flannel over a black shirt and some ratty black jeans, a stark contrast to Patton’s light blue t-shirt and pink apron and pants. The man had stubble that thickened along his upper lip and long brown hair pulled back into a messy bun. Remus placed the tray down and looked at Patton, his cheeks were red and he could see tears clouding his eyes. He noticed how much Patton was shaking.

“Are you okay?” Remus asked, concerned. Patton turned away and focused on his arm.

“Yeah, you get used to burns.” Patton said weakly. He knew that wasn’t what Remus asked but hoped he’d get away with that answer. Remus knew what he was doing but decided not to press the man he’d just met. Patton took his arm out of the cold water and turned to Remus. “So who are you? A prince in shining cowboy boots?” Patton laughed weakly at the black square toe boots.

“Oh right.” Remus suddenly remembered why he was here. “I’m Remus.” He reached out a hand for a handshake. Patton took one look at the dirty hand then looked back up at Remus.

“I’m Patton.” He introduced himself happily. Remus realised his hands were dirty and pulled back. Patton giggled. Something about that giggle made Remus smile. “So Remus what do you do other than scaring innocent bakers?” Patton joked as he walked to his muffins.

“I scare innocent baristas.” Remus retorted, Patton laughed and wiped his face. “But if you mean work, I’m the mayor.” Patton looked up in a mix of doubt and surprise. “I’m surprised you didn’t know that. Actually I’m more surprised I don’t know you. Did you go to Mindville Public?” Remus referenced the public high school which was the only one in town.

“Oh no. I just moved here actually.” Patton answered. He began removing the muffins one by one. “Came here to start the bakery with my mother, but she had to go back to the city for some stuff so it’s just been me for a few months.” That made sense to Remus. It was unlikely that just one person ran this place. But he still wasn’t sure how he hadn’t heard of the bakery opening.

“I would’ve visited earlier but I didn’t know you were… well… existed.” Remus rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. Patton sighed.

“Yeah, it seems no one does.” Patton said dejectedly as he took out the final muffin. He picked up the now cool tray and moved past Remus to put it in the sink. Remus caught a sad look in his eyes as he passed, a look that even though they’d just met he could tell was not usual. Remus walked over and put a hand on Patton’s shoulder.

“Hey, you're one of my citizens now.” Remus stated and turned Patton to face him. Patton saw a sparkle of determination in Remus’ eyes. “I’d do anything to help my citizens.” They lingered close to each other. Patton began to tear up, then quickly wrapped Remus in a hug. Remus raised his arms as the small man squeezed his ribs, Remus looked down at Patton. He realised how tired he looked, he blushed as he buried his face into Remus. Patton pulled away and wiped his eyes.

“Sorry… it’s been hard these past few days and... “ Patton looked up at Remus, eyes catching each other. “Thank you.” Patton looked tired, sad and weak. Remus felt a sense of protectiveness rise in his chest. Everyone in town was rowdy and strong, that’s what happens when you’re raised in the country, but Patton was different.

“Remus!” A voice shouted from outside the building. The men looked out the windows to see a tall lanky man with dark hair falling over his face.

“Who’s that?” Patton starred as Remus began walking out of the kitchens. Remus sighed.

“My assistant. I have to go.” Remus said, then he stopped and turned to Patton. “How much are those muffins.” Patton beamed. He picked up one of the still warm muffins and threw it to Remus.

“They’re carrot cake and walnut.” Patton laughed. “Just stop by tomorrow and tell me what you think of them.” Remus nodded. He pulled out a card and a five dollar bill then put both on the counter.

“I’ll call you.” Remus winked. Patton felt his chest tighten, but in a good way. He waved as Remus walked out to Virgil.

“You can’t just drop out of meetings like that!” Virgil scolded as Remus walked out. Virgil saw an all too familiar crooked smirk on Remus’ face. “Oh no. No no no. What are you planning?” Remus took a bite out of the muffin, the aromatic flavours tingled against his tongue.

“I’m gonna save the bakery.” He said.

“Okay that actually seems reaso-”

“Then get the cute baker to grab my cake.”

“-there it is.”

#sanders sides fic #sanders sides au #sanders sides small town au #intruality #ts remus #remus sanders #ts patton #patton sanders #ts virgil #virgil sanders #sanders sides #thomas sanders #sanders sides fanfiction #platonic intruxiety #ts janus #janus sanders #roman took over

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zigtheeortega · 3 years

Text

hidden

pairing | blaine x mc

word count | 3.2k

warnings | smut. public sex. minors dni.

tags | @raleighcarrera, @pixeljazzy, @pixelsandkink, @natesewell, @choicesarehard, @empressazura

author’s note | alright i guess this is how my foreign affairs obsession begins. i had to do a bit of random world building since we’re only three chapters into this bitch so please just ignore it if any of this turns out to be out of character and refuted later or something. also i love blaine ! foreign affairs supremacy

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Her cheek slipped out of the palm of her hand, forehead smacking the desk, nearly jumping out of her skin at the abrupt awakening.

“Ow.”

She prodded the tender spot on her face, thankful her foundation was thick.

A soft snore caught her attention – next to her, Blaine was passed out. Leaning back in his chair, his head was thrown back, arms crossed against his chest, the textbook on its face in his lap.

“Hey, Blaine,” she whispered, barely audible over his snores, shaking his arm gently. “Blaine. Blaine –”

She shoved his arm, and he stirred, eyes popping open. He sat up too quickly, his knee hitting the edge of the table. “Shit –”

“Shhh,” she shushed him, jabbing a thumb towards the front desk, which was unoccupied. “I think we’re the last ones in here.”

“Huh,” he yawned, rubbing his eye with one hand.

“Hey!” She said, noticing the sound of crinkling in his lap. She snatched it up by the spine, furiously smoothing out the pages with flattened palms. “This is a priceless Rutherland book. There aren’t that many copies of this volume as is, and this is the original print. Be careful.”

“If you wanted to feel me up, you could’ve just said so,” he smirked, voice gritty and just the right amount of rasp to send a tingle up her spine.

“In your dreams.”

The last thing she remembered was skimming an old Ardonian textbook, fighting sleep as she tried soaking in as much as she could.

“Yeah, I saw you there, Carina,” he teased. “You were pretty wild.”

She rolled her eyes, flipping to a new page in her notepad, jotting down their textbook titles. “Do you remember where you stopped?”

“Nope. Most boring history book I’ve ever read,” he said, through another yawn.

Blaine was clearly a fast learner – he’d known how much the whole “Ardona versus Rutherland” thing had bothered her, so he set out to make that the one thing he teased her relentlessly about.

“Yeah, alright. You say that like reading about –” she flipped back a few pages, “‘Ardonian formal wear’ is somehow more interesting. If I have to read another page about the vast variations of lapels and cufflinks, I’m going to throw up.”

He shrugged. “There’s more exciting stuff. You just need to know where to look.”

“Okay, then show me.”

“Isn’t the library closing or something?” He stretched lazily, gesturing towards the empty desks and tables around them.

“Not for another…” she trailed off, shaking her wrist to readjust her watch. “Thirty minutes.”

“If it gets us out of here faster, I’ll assign you all the homework you want,” he said, scooting back from his chair, raising his hands above his head in a final, full body stretch, his hoodie lifting just above the belt of his jeans, her gaze roaming the thin line of hair below his belly button.

She averted her gaze, silently thanking herself for not being so obvious that he noticed her gawking.

She followed suit, trailing behind him with a stack of hardbacks in her arms, sliding them back in place as they stalked deeper and deeper into the maze of books.

“Right… here,” he said, dragging a finger across the spines, settling on a large, thick one right smack in the middle of the shelf.

He gently tugged it out of place, flipping the cover to show it to her. “This is a favorite.”

“Henrietta Hayes,” she read the cover, gently taking the book from his hands, ignoring the spark when their fingers brushed.

“Yep,” he said, leaning up against the bookshelf. “I much prefer biographies. More of a connection.”

She nodded. “Agreed.”

She turned the withered pages with a delicate touch, skimming as she went. “So you’re related to her?” “Yeah. She’s a great-great-great-great somebody,” he shrugged. “My parents didn’t have time to manually shove Ardonian history down my throat, so they settled for the next best thing – gifting me a stack of biographies for my thirteenth birthday.”

She grimaced. “That’s rough. You probably wanted a PlayStation or something, huh?”

He laughed breathily, the rasp from his sleepiness still lacing his tone. “Yeah, I wanted Mario Kart but I got endless Hayes’ stories. Don’t get me wrong, they’re interesting, but it’s proof they’ve been trying to groom me for the throne since I can remember.”

“So… why are you showing me this?” Carina asked, a bit confused. “What’s your angle?”

He shrugged again. “Trying to prove that we’re better.”

She sighed, snapping the book shut. “Alright, it’s been fun hearing about your ancient family members, but I’ll stick to the general information, thank you very much.”

His hand wrapped gently around her wrist, holding her in place. “You needed a reminder that I’m more than whatever you’ve been taught to perceive me as. I’m not whoever Henrietta was. I’m not whoever my parents want me to be. I’m just as lost as you are.”

She chewed the inside of her lip. “You’re right, but I can’t just ignore everything that’s been said to me. I’m supposed to hate you.”

“Well, do you?”

She sighed, staring at his hand, still holding her wrist. “I don’t hate anyone.”

“So, a non-answer. How diplomatic of you,” he scoffed, lip curled.

He was gorgeous, and infuriating. A horrible combination.

“You shouldn’t have kissed me or we wouldn’t be in this mess!” Carina whispered angrily, trying to keep her voice low despite her rage.

“You’re joking, right?” He shook his head, dropping his hand. “Carina, I don’t know what kind of revisionist bullshit you’re pulling right now, but if I remember correctly, you kissed me first.”

“Well – Well, my kiss didn’t count! It was a peck. I was coming down from an adrenaline rush. It wasn’t anything,” she shook her head, sliding the book back on the shelf. “You could’ve just left it at that, but you went in for round two, so you made it all complicated.”

��Yeah, I went in for round two because the first kiss sucked,” he said, emphasizing the last word.

She sucked in a sharp breath, trying to hold back a startled gasp. “If it sucked, you wouldn’t have gone in for another one.”

“Nope. Just trying to clean up after you,” he said, a hint of a teasing smile on his lips.

He was insufferable. Annoying. Unbearable. But he was gorgeous.

“What are we even arguing about? We’re literally just arguing to argue right now,” she huffed, flinging her arms in the air, letting her palms slap her thighs.

“You want to hate me, but you can’t. And you’re a bad kisser.”

She gritted her teeth, grabbing the lapels of his denim jacket, tugging him forward to smash her lips against his.

This kiss was a lot different than the last one – born out of frustration and anger and delicious sexual tension rather than exhilaration.

He groaned into her mouth, his hands grazing the hem of her skirt, slowly tracing the shape of her hips. He fisted the fabric there, pulling her closer, closer than they’d ever been.

The library was nearly silent, the dozens of rows around them completely unoccupied.

He slid his hands underneath her blazer, tugging at the hem of her skirt with a crooked finger. She could barely focus on what their mouths were doing anymore, considering he was two seconds away from copping a feel.

She pulled away, panting. “What do you think you’re doing?”

He laughed, just as out of breath as she was. “There’s nobody around. Live a little.”

“I can’t afford to ‘live a little’. You of all people should understand that, unless you’re just that dense.”

“Ouch. That almost hurt,” he smiled, hand snaking around her waist.

She smacked his chest with an open hand, her palm thudding inaudibly against the material of his hoodie. “Shut up.”

“Is this the part where you expect me to say ‘make me’? How cliche of you.”

“You’re the worst.”

“And you’re holding back because you think you owe people shit. You should let go,” he said, raising his hand to cup her chin. “I’ll be right here to catch you.”

Her lips parted involuntarily, a little dumbfounded by just how… suave this guy was. She was clearly immune to his charms in some capacity, but had just enough cracks in her exterior that he knew he could slip through.

“And you said I was cliched,” she said, running her hands down his lapels and smoothing them back in place. “I’ve, uh, never done this before.”

“Made out in a library? Weak –” He cut himself off at the look in her eyes, surprise flitting across his features before he wiped it away, the teasing back in place as quickly as it left.

“Guess I underestimated you,” he murmured, glancing around to check the surrounding area.

“That’s the best dirty talk I’ve heard in awhile,” she grinned.

He raised his brows at her, challenging. “You’re that easily impressed?”

He leaned in, so close that his lips grazed her earlobe, short whiskers scratching her jawline. “Wait till you see what else my mouth can do.”

She sighed involuntarily, eyelids fluttering. She really hated how her body reacted to his voice, low and grating, the bass of it sending shockwaves into her nerves. “Fuck…”

“Think I can make you cum before the librarian does her last rounds?” He said in her ear, hand splaying across the back of her skirt, gripping her ass, chuckling when she gasped.

“What about you?” She breathed, tilting her head to expose more of her neck to him, revelling in the way he sucked and nipped her skin.

“I know you’ll get me off. I mean, look at you,” he said, cupping her breast with his free hand. She sighed again, annoyed at herself for reacting – again.

His hands roamed, settling at the front of her skirt. “Is this okay?”

She nodded, rolling her lips to keep from making noise as his fingers slipped under her skirt, fingertips grazing the inside of her thighs. She sucked in a breath when he deftly pulled her underwear to the side, the pads of his fingers sliding against her.

“Don’t tell me auntie Henrietta’s got you this worked up.”

“Stop teasing me – no time –” she managed to get out, whining when his thumb circled her clit.

God, the act of being seen alone with him was enough to get her a headlining story, and kissing him would get her blacklisted faster than her mother could call her and chew her out – but fucking him? She’d never be able to show her face in public again.

But something about the rush of being with him, making her own choices, being spontaneous, was enough to make the decision for her.

“Just shut up and fuck me, Blaine,” she groaned, her nails digging into his shoulder, forehead pressed against him as she tried to focus on containing her noises.

“Turn around,” he ordered, spinning them around so she was pressed up against the bookcase. Thank god they were in the back, hidden by the edge of it.

She gripped the wood, trying to hide the trembling of her arms as he hurriedly shoved her skirt up over her hips, bunched at her waist.

He ran his hands over her hips, digging his fingers into her flesh. He toyed with the back of her thong, slipping his hand under the fabric before dragging it to the side.

“C’mon, stop staring. We don’t have all day,” she said, glancing at him over her shoulder.

“Goddamn, Carina,” he said, low and breathy. “Keep looking at me like that and it’ll be hard to stay quiet.”

She stared at the books in front of her, browsing the titles while he unzipped his jeans and rolled on a condom.

“You’re looking for books, even now?” He laughed, reaching his hand underneath her to stroke her clit gently. “You’re something else.”

“I was not –” she said, sucking in air when he expertly curled his fingers inside of her. “Jesus –”

“You sure you’re alright with this?” He asked, pumping himself slowly – she could feel his knuckles graze her ass and it was enough to make her breaths quicken.

“Yes, Blaine – please she could be coming by any minute now –” She was cut off by him sinking into her slowly, languidly, and she dropped her head, sighing into the crook of her elbow, arms already bent and shaking.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groaned, rasp still twinging his voice. He leaned forward, his left arm snaking to cup her breast, the right gently grabbing her chin to tilt her head towards him.

“Look at me when I’m fucking you,” he said, dragging his thumb across her parted lips while he pumped into her slowly, hips rolling deliciously slow.

“Oh my god – I –” Her senses were overstimulated – the way he was fucking her, talking to her, looking at her – she was already putty in his hands. She moaned an incomprehensible phrase when she grinded her hips, Blaine bottoming out inside of her.

“Use your inside voice,” he laughed breathily into her ear.

She opened her jaw, sucking his thumb into her mouth, revelling in the way his lids fluttered when she ran her tongue over the pad of it.

His pace quickened, hips snapping into her. He captured her earlobe between his teeth, breathing heavily through his nose, his low gravelly moans right in her ear.

As much as Carina wanted to scold herself for getting too comfortable with him that quickly, she couldn’t find it in herself to care.

She was almost grateful for the forced tension with him via their parent’s pressuring – it made fucking him much more gratifying.

It wasn’t hate fucking, because she really didn’t hate him. He was annoying, but not evil. It was definitely a twisted act of vengeance – their reputations wouldn’t survive being caught like this, but neither of them cared in the moment.

God, it felt so good for her to just let go of the million expectations that everyone had for her to chase the one thing she wanted. That level of spontaneity was addicting – she didn’t blame Blaine for rebelling so often.

“Fuck – you’re so good –” he said, tilting her head to press hot, open mouthed kisses against her parted lips.

Probably to keep her quiet, but she enjoyed it nonetheless. He tasted so sweet, so fucking sweet –

“Blaine, please, I’m close,” she said through soft gasps, lips still touching his.

“Tell me what to do.”

“Keep going like that, and touch me, please,” she said, whining way louder than she intended to when his fingers found her again.

He covered her mouth with his hand, slowing his pace so he could scope it out. It was seemingly quiet, still, their soft pants the only sound.

She wiggled her hips, smiling against his hand when he sucked in a sharp breath.

“Such a tease,” he said, before moving his hips again.

She braced her arms against the bookshelf, pushing against him. He set a relentless pace, the low thumps of her skin against his jeans just loud enough that they definitely could have been noticed by someone a couple rows away.

“So, so beautiful,” he murmured, the words of affirmation falling from his lips as naturally as his teasing did.

The familiar intense feeling washed over her, clenching around him while white lined the edges of her vision. She folded her arms on the edge of the shelf, dipping her head so she could catch her breath.

“Can I just say that you’re looking absolutely regal right now?” He smirked, pulling out of her.

“You didn’t finish though,” she said, weakly, still recovering.

“You can make it up to me later,” he said, lightly patting her ass before pulling her skirt back in place.

“No, this can’t happen again,” she shook her head, turning to face him completely, one hand still resting on the shelf for balance. “This was a one–time thing.”

“Oh, so you’re willing to admit defeat so easily, huh? I guess Ardonians are better in every way,” he shrugged, resituating himself.

There he was again – Blaine was back to teasing, his automatic default.

She gritted her teeth, pushing his chest with a pointed finger. “You not finishing isn’t some kind of competitive edge over me –”

“It is, but continue.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes. “I can’t with you. Bye.”

She pushed past him, heading back towards the tables to grab her stuff. Just as she slung her backpack over her shoulder, the door to the stairs creaked open, the librarian emerging.

“You’ll need to leave. We’re closing now.”

She nodded. “Have a great night.”

The air outside was warm, still, the last rays of sun long gone. The campus looked nearly abandoned, a few stragglers entering and exiting the residential buildings.

“Hey, Carina, wait – you forgot this –”

She turned, lips already curled in disgust. He really didn’t know when to stop.

“It’s your fancy fountain pen. Figured you needed it,” he said, tossing it to her.

“Thanks,” she said, reaching out to snatch it from his hand, but he pulled it out of her reach.

“Damn, someone’s annoyed. Turn around, I’ll put it in your backpack for you.”

“If it gets you away from me faster, sure.”

“Night, Carina. See you in class,” he grinned, giving her a solute before turning in the opposite direction.

Tatum approached her, brows furrowed. “You really shouldn’t be seen with him.”

“I know,” she sighed, tugging the straps of her bag tighter. She took off in front of him, briskly walking back towards her suite.

“Hey… stop walking for a second. I need to see something,” Tatum said, annoyance lacing his voice.

“Uh… alright,” she agreed, halting in place.

He closed the gap between them, standing right behind her. Her cheeks heated a bit, wondering if he sensed something off about her. His instincts couldn’t be that good, could they?

“What the –” he spat, the sound of light crinkling alerting her.

He circled her, holding something up. Her eyes widened when she realized what it was.

Blaine had slipped the condom wrapper into the clip of her pen before returning it.

Her hands balled into fists at her sides, wondering how the hell she got caught up with the son of her family’s nemeses, and why she loved the feeling of eating the forbidden fruit.

He was the flame, but she was the gasoline, for sure. She didn’t know how long she could fan the flame without being burned, but she found herself hoping for much, much longer.

––––

#playchoices #choices foreign affairs #blaine hayes #blaine hayes x mc #n*fw #my fic #jade writes choices fics #<- gonna get around to replacing that tag #very nervous to post smut but here i am ! JSKDFJKD #also sorry if i forgot to tag u i rly have a peanut brain

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spencersstrawberryjello · 3 years

Text

Forehead Kisses (Spencer Reid x nb!MC)

Summary: Caelan has to deal with the emotional aftermath of a case gone wrong, and Spencer comforts them when they have a breakdown.

Content: Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: Minor descriptions of violence in relation to the case they were on, mild panic attack (after a nightmare)

MC’s name and pronouns: Caelan (kay-len), they/them

Word Count: 1951

A/N: This was written at the request of a friend of mine, so that’s why it’s a bit more specific in terms of character traits/description.

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“Hey.” Spencer came to sit in front of me, elbows on his knees as he leaned forward and lightly put his hand under my chin, guiding me to meet his eyes. “You ok?”

“What do you think?” I snapped. He flinched a bit, and I felt immediate guilt flare up in my chest. “I’m sorry. I can’t… I just don’t want to think about it right now.”

“I understand,” He said softly, “Seeing this kind of stuff - it’s hard, even after years.”

I just nodded, trying to force the thoughts of the case out of my mind by staring at the floor, allowing myself to zone out. Spencer’s touch brought me back to reality, squeezing into the airplane seat next to me and wrapping his arms around me. I shifted a bit so that my head was buried in his shirt, letting him hold me as I tried to avoid thinking about the horror I’d just witnessed. I heard footsteps come from near the cabin, pausing near us just as Spencer spoke to someone nearby.

“Case was hard for them. They’re not really answering me about anything.” I assumed he thought I was asleep as he spoke to whoever was standing next to our seat.

“Are they going to be ok?” It was Hotch.

“They’re strong, at the very least. I think they just need to go home, clear their head. I’m going to try to stay with them tonight, just to make sure they get to sleep alright.”

“Good,” He said it in the definitive “Hotch” way, like they were just discussing a case. It almost made me laugh, but I stopped myself before I gave away that I was awake.

I felt Spencer nod and heard Hotch’s footsteps retreat before Spencer leaned a bit closer to my ear.

“I know you’re awake, Cae.”

“Dammit,” I muttered in response, and he laughed softly.

“You're dating a genius, remember? I could tell based on your breathing that you were awake, dork.”

“Excuse me, I don’t think you can call me a dork when you’re the one who knows Star Trek front to back!”

“In my defense, I know everything front to back.”

“Oh shut up,” I lightly hit his arm, and he laughed again.

“You’re ok with me coming home with you tonight, right?” He clarified. I grinned, my face still hidden against his sweater.

“Dr. Reid! Being a bit bold, aren’t we?” I teased. I didn’t need to see him to know he was blushing. I guess knowing I was asexual still didn’t keep him from getting all flustered at the mention of anything remotely sexual; it was sort of adorable.

“I - I mean no I know that you don’t like that stuff, I would never try to -”

“Babe. Relax. I was only teasing. Of course I’m ok with you coming home with me.” I leaned my head back to look up at his face, “I’d really appreciate it, actually.”

“Ok. Good.” He sounded relieved, relaxing a bit in the leather chair as he held me a bit tighter. We spent the rest of the plane ride in silence. I’d felt a bit better joking with him, but the minute I allowed my mind to wander again, the gore I saw earlier flashed through my mind. I buried my head further into Spencer’s chest, trying desperately to block out the rampaging thoughts, and he picked up on it, pulling me closer to him and whispering again.

“Hey. It’s ok. You’re safe with me, babe.”

I nodded against him. “I just want to get home.”

“Tired?”

“Exhausted. But I’m worried I won’t be able to sleep.”

“It wouldn’t be surprising if you had trouble with sleeping after what we all saw today, I mean -”

“Yeah. I know.”

He lightly rubbed my back in comfort, placing a soft kiss on the top of my head as we felt the plane start to descend.

“Baby. We’ve gotta go,” Spencer prompted as the plane bumped to a landing. I groaned, reluctantly getting up and grabbing my backpack while he grabbed his bag from the chair in front of us. He slung it across his chest, and I grinned.

“I love that little satchel.”

“I know, right? It’s really effective -”

“It’s adorable.”

“It’s a bag.”

“You make it adorable.”

He laughed at that, though I saw a blush coloring his cheeks. We got off the jet, heading back into the office.

“Reid,” Rossi called Spencer from across the room, making both of us stop and turn in his direction. Rossi jogged over to meet us, lowering his voice to ensure the rest of the team wouldn’t hear.

“I’m going to give them some paperwork to fill out, just to debrief. I trust that you two can get caught up tomorrow? Hotch told me that they were… not doing great.”

“You can talk about me like I’m here, Rossi,” I half-joked. I’d quickly realized joking about it was the best way to keep my mind distracted.

“Sorry. Just wanted to be clear.”

“Yeah, we can catch up tomorrow morning. I’d rather just get home,” Spencer answered. Rossi nodded resolutely.

“Sounds good. I expect it. Caelan… you did good today. Really good.”

I offered him a half smile - a habit I’d surely picked up from Spencer - and we made our way out of the office, Spencer guiding me to his car and letting me get in the passenger seat.

We drove back to my apartment with only the sound of music playing softly through the car radio. At some point, Spencer reached over and took my hand, holding it gently and giving it a light squeeze as he drove us to my house, parking and letting himself in before leading me through the hall and into my bedroom.

“Wait wait wait,” I stopped him, turning back towards the door. He let me go as I went back to the front door of my apartment, double and triple checking that the door was locked and the alarms were set.

There’s only so long you can go in this profession without becoming at least a little bit paranoid.

“Ok. Ok, I’m good,” I said, returning to the end of the hall. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I get it, babe,” He put his arm around my shoulders, walking with me to the bedroom. “Do you want to change?”

I nodded, and he opened my dresser, pulling out a pair of soft pajama shorts and an oversized sweater, one of his own that he’d given me after we first started dating. He unbuttoned the button-up shirt I’d been wearing, shrugging it off my shoulders and slipping the sweater over my chest, leaving a soft kiss right on the base of my neck as he did so.

“Can you stand up for me honey?”

His voice sounded soft, and I was already starting to let my mind wander again. I knew he could tell; he wasn’t trying to make any kind of further conversation, just letting me process the events of the day in whatever way I could.

Spoiler alert: it was not going well.

I stood up off the bed, letting Spencer help me undress the rest of the way and change into shorts. Once I had, I finally climbed into bed, allowing the warm comforter to envelop me as Spencer quickly slipped off his shirt and dress pants, grabbing the light brown sweatshirt and grey sweats he’d left here and climbing into bed next to me.

“Are you ok with me holding you?”

I nodded again, and I felt him immediately wrap his arms around me, pulling me close to him. I could feel his chest rising and falling against my back, and one of his hands ran lightly through my cropped hair as he pressed another light kiss on my jaw. He peppered my upper body with soft kisses, continuing to run his hand through my hair, and I felt my eyes starting to get heavy. I blessed him for giving me something to think about besides today’s case, and I kept my conscious thoughts focused on him as the gentle touches quickly lulled me off to sleep.

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

You know, it’s really not fun to wake up screaming.

“Please. Please stop just put the gun down please -”

“Caelan! Baby - Caelan wake up!”

Spencer’s voice jolted me out of my sleep, but it wasn’t much relief. I woke up in a cold sweat, immediately feeling a familiar nausea gnawing at my stomach. I wasn’t sure if I was going to cry or throw up, I was still trying to comprehend what was real and what was solely from my nightmare.

The only problem was that the nightmare was spawned from reality.

“Hey,” I heard Spencer talk, but it was distant as I tried to bring myself back to reality. “Baby, look at me.”

I turned to face him, and he gently placed his hands on my arms to stop my body from shaking, trying to ground me. He reached one hand up, brushing away tears I hadn’t even realized I was crying, whispering soft reassurances to me as I got my bearings.

“Caelan, you’re at your apartment. You’re safe - I’m here. You’re safe with me.”

I nodded, slowly processing his words as I blinked in the dim lighting. I knew Spencer didn’t like the dark, so the bathroom light had been left on with the door cracked, providing just enough light that I could see his face as he held my arms still in his grasp.

“You had a nightmare. Based on what you were shouting before you woke up, I’m assuming that you were relieving what happened in the field today. It’s not surprising, I mean, the same thing happened to me; usually it helps if you just -”

He went on another one of his tangents, his voice helping to calm me down as I sucked in deep breaths, bringing my heart rate back down to normal. The panic had mostly subsided, being followed quickly by a crushing wave of grief.

“Spencer…” His name was all that I could say as I practically fell into him, prompting him to move his hands to hold me in a tight embrace, knowing I was less erratic now. I clung to his shirt, letting all of the emotions I’d been struggling to process go as he held me steady.

“It’s ok,” He whispered as I sobbed in his arms. “You’re ok. I’ve got you.”

“I should’ve stopped him, Spencer - I could’ve stopped him! Before he - he -”

“I know babe,” He held me a bit tighter, “But you can’t blame yourself for what happened to that girl.”

“She was innocent! And I just stood there and watched her die!”

“Caelan, there was nothing you could’ve done that would’ve stopped him. He was a devolving iradomaniac, he would’ve shot her no matter what you said.”

“I could’ve knocked the gun out of his hand! Or shot him! Or -”

“Honey, listen,” He pulled back from the hug, cupping my face with his hands, “You cannot do that to yourself. You’re going to make yourself crazy if you go down that spiral. This was not your fault, understand?”

I sniffled, nodding as he pulled me close to his chest again, letting me bury my face in his sweatshirt. Even after being at my house, the smell of his cologne still permeated his clothes, and it made my heart swell.

“I love you so much baby, you know that?” He pressed a soft kiss to the top of my head.

“I love you too.”

He wiped the tears from my ears, and we sat together, holding each other close as the sun came up on a new day.

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honestlyhappyharry · 3 years

Text

Chapter 11

Changes

Chapter 10

Sunday mornings were something you were accustomed to spending alone for many years. But now Harry lay next to you and it was the best feeling in the world.

The sun streamed through the shutters and dusted over his face. The early morning rays highlighting those sharp cheekbones people obsessed over. You noticed how his jawline slightly bulged as he clenched his teeth in his sleep. The warmth of the house left him in only boxers, showing off his tan, toned, inked chest which had stayed so similar all this time.

His skin looked flawless and you mindlessly found yourself tracing the inked shapes while he was asleep. His long, black eyelashes rested heavily under his eyes while his perfect curls sat on his forehead, looking blonder in the morning light.

As you continued to admire Harry he stirred and wriggled around so you ducked your head so he wouldn't wake up to your eyes staring at him.

"Knew you were looking at me, ya know?" His rough morning voice came from next to you and made you blush. Even through closed eyes, you could see the smirk on his perfectly pink lips. It was something he did whether you were nervous or embarrassed.

"Was not." You mumbled, voice also rough from the hours you hadn't talked for.

"You were totally checking me out." Harry teased in a sing-song tone, making your cheeks redder.

To cover yourself from the embarrassment you put your hands over your cheeks and eyes.

"S'not my fault you look so gorgeous in the morning sun." You mumbled. knowing if you said it louder his ego would inflate bigger than you were willing to let it be.

Harry placed his hand to your hands and peeled them away from your eyes. "You're not allowed to compliment me until I tell you how beautiful you look." He told you as he held your face.

His face was so close that you were sure if he had a single flaw you'd be able to see it. Still, there was no evidence of that.

"You're still beautiful." You replied before painfully slowly closing the gap and letting your lips fall onto his, slowly.

"Can we have a serious talk about something?" Harry asked after you had spent a few minutes kissing and cuddling.

Your initial reaction was to gulp and pray that he wouldn't be giving you bad news. As you nodded you felt your heart speed up and your breathing fall out of sync. There were a few silent breaths taken to calm yourself down before Harry started talking.

"I know we haven't already gone the right way but I really like where we are now and I just want to be a part of your and Lily's lives every day. You just both mean so much to me. So there are two things I want to say." You felt your nerves rising once he said that. "I don't even know what order to do this in or how to say this." He sighed and you giggled at his adorable nature. He raised a finger to his lips to think. It was honestly so cute when he did that.

"Say it, Haz, it's just me." You weren't sure how much more you could take.

"Iloveyouandwillyoumoveinwithme." He blurted out and your eyes widened but you can feel your lips pulling up into a smile.

"Harry." You say as you place your hands on his cheeks. "I love you so so much and I would love to move in with you." He just smashed his lips onto yours and pulled away while you're both in a grin.

"I'm not sure where we'll move, I only have a bachelor pad but I'll find us the best home money can buy." He promised.

One of his words stopped you. "Hey, you're not a bachelor!" You squealed and rolled his eyes, still grinning. "But I don't need to have the most expensive house, I just want somewhere we can wake up in the morning and cook chocolate chip pancakes together. Somewhere I can get annoyed at you for taking too long in the bathroom and somewhere I'm excited to come home to." You gushed, excited by how exciting the idea of moving in with Harry was.

He just laughed before his jaw dropped. "Wait, we can't move in together. I haven't even met your parents." Harry suddenly said and you had to stifle a giggle.

"Do you have amnesia? Because you have met them before." You joked remembering when you had this conversation with Harry before Lily met his parents. Once again, Harry rolled his eyes.

"Haha, you'd be very sad if I actually had amnesia." He sarcastically laughed and you nodded, in agreement. "What I meant was I haven't seen them in so long and when we saw your mum last she was asking if we'd come to visit them."

You nodded. "Yeah, I'm sure Lily would love to see them again." The last time she had seen them was a while ago. Although your mum said you should all catch up but Harry wasn't there. "Oh, I'll text her." You told Harry and reached for your phone before pulling up your mum's contact number and typing a quick message.

"Let's look for houses!" Harry yelled excitedly before quickly getting out of bed, putting on a pair of pants and going to get his charging laptop downstairs.

Now that your personal heater was gone, you got up and pulled a hoodie over your frame before you followed Harry downstairs.

He had apparently already found a perfect house. "Look at this one!" He said as he pulled up a picture of a massive white house with 9 bedrooms and 14 bathrooms.

It was insanely big and definitely a bit over the top. "Harry, that house is worth 28 million dollars." You said wearily.

"So? I want a nice house and I've got enough money. I just want where we live to be nice." He told you, sincerely and you nodded.

"Alright, but seriously price limit of 15 million." You told him and he nodded slowly, although you were pretty sure he wasn't agreeing. His efforts to find the best house were appreciated but it didn't matter. Any house you got to live in together would be perfect.

Harry continued his search while you sat beside him and checked your emails. Ding. Your text message notification sounded and Harry glanced over at you, unsure of who you could be texting at 8 in the morning.

"It's my mum." You told him and he nodded, swivelling on the kitchen island stool to face you. You briefly read the message before relaying it to Harry. "They're in Hawaii until next weekend." You sighed.

Harry looked a little defeated until his head perked up. "Best idea ever!" He announced, it made you giggle. "We could decide on a house, take a private jet to Hawaii and see them then come back and by the time we're back here they can have everything moved from here to our new house." His suggestion made you laugh. "I'm serious." Your heart dropped at how rushed out it sounded. Clearly, he wasn't used to the lifestyle you were.

Of course, you wanted to move in with Harry but it would be much more convenient if it didn't happen until Lily was on summer break.

"Harry..." How would you phrase this? "If it were just us then I would jump at the idea but we've got Lily and I can't rip her away from school and her life here." You tried to explain. Lily hadn't even been told of this yet.

"I'll drive her over to pre-K every morning." He promised. "And any time she wants to have play dates, I'll bring her." Another promise.

"That's sweet of you, H. But it's so rushed finding a house and getting moved so quickly. Can't we wait until the holidays?" You stuck to your point, maybe because you were stubborn but maybe because you thought it was stronger.

"The holidays are in 4 weeks, that's a whole month. I can have us a house by tomorrow so why wait?" He whined. "What if Lily takes the remaining 4 weeks off pre-K and then we spend some time in Hawaii, or anywhere you like." He bargained.

"I don't know, Haz." You honestly told him. "What about we look for a house and try to get moved in as soon as possible. We'll wait till my parents go home through LA and they can stay in the new place and have dinner." You told him in a tone that he knew meant it was the final plan.

It caused him to pout. "But, baby, I wanted to go on a family holiday." He continued to whine.

"Okay, let's go to Europe in the break then." You suggested and a grin quickly appeared on his face.

"Can I show Lily my hometown?" He cheered and you nodded. "I can't wait to show her where I used to live, the school I used to go to, the park that I used to play in and that one tree I used to snog all the girls under." He said as if it was his glory days.

You scrunched your nose at him. "Maybe skip the tree bit." You suggested and he nodded. "Plus, I don't want to think about you kissing other girls." You knew he had, obviously, you just didn't want to think about it.

"There was really only one girl." His smile widened and you felt bitter jealousy fill you from head to toe.

"Yuck." You rolled your eyes and you knew he could tell it was getting under your skin. "I bet she was like 20 years older than you with kids." You made your own snide comment at him, knowing his type.

"She does have a kid but I'm a little older than her." You felt sick as you talked about it but Harry looked like he was having a lot of fun.

"You kissed someone with a kid?" You asked, you wanted to guess who it was and considering you knew a lot of Harry's friends you thought you had a good chance.

"Well she didn't have one back then, she does now though." He explained and you nodded, your mind still racing as to who it could be.

"Was she with the father when you kissed her?" You asked, this had almost turned into an interrogation.

All he did was grin and the air in the room changed. "Yes."

"So she was cheating on him?"

"Nope."

A bad feeling set into your stomach, twisting it uncomfortably. "So you fathered a child?" All you could feel was shock and you couldn't even breathe.

"Do you have amnesia? Because we have a kid." He started laughing once he could see your panic and mimicked your words from earlier that morning.

Finally, you were able to get a breath back in. "Fuck, Harry. Don't freak me out like that." You managed to get out in between the breaths as it all clicked together. Harry was still cracking himself up and there was no way you could be mad at him after hearing that sound.

"You're too easy to freak out, baby." He told you before going back to his house search.

Harry didn't do anything lightly, by the time Lily was downstairs he had already been on the phone with his real estate agent and had booked some houses to see today while you made breakfast for everyone.

"Morning, Lils." You smiled as you picked her up and hugged her. Once you put her back down she went over to her breakfast stool, next to Harry.

"Hey, where's my hug?" He whined as she smiled at him before sleepily falling back into his arms.

"There." She told him once she sat up again, ready to eat.

"Lily, we have something we wanted to talk to you about." You told her and she nodded, still eating. Harry was paying more attention to her now, desperate for her reaction. "How would you feel about moving into a different house with Harry?"

Her face turned sour and she glared up at you. "No, no, no! I want to live here!" She screamed at you which confused you.

"Lily, don't yell." You warned but she was far past caring about the rules.

"I am not moving house! I like this house and I want to live here forever!" She yelled, loudly as she got out of her chair. "I do not want to move!" That was the last thing she yelled before she got off the stool and stomped away,

Only a minute later you heard a loud door slam. Wow, her teenage years were going to be fun if this is what she was like at 5

"She got your drama queen temper." You joked to Harry, but he was wearing a serious face.

"Y/n, she doesn't want to move. What are we going to do? You can't move her if she doesn't want to." He told you and you shrugged.

"She'll be fine. She's just adjusting, it happened when I asked if she wanted a big girl bed. She had a big tantrum and then begged me to get her one the next hour." You explained and he nodded but still looked concerned.

It had been a good 20 minutes of the two of you eating breakfast and looking at houses until Harry asked about Lily. "Can I go talk to her? And you come?" He asked one question quickly followed by the next. It was cute he wanted you to be there.

"If you want." You shrugged as you got up to go up the stairs. Harry followed but overtook you to get to Lily's room first.

Knock, knock. He gently tapped on the door. "Lily, can we have an adult talk?" He asked. You could tell he was anxious by his clammy hands that were shaking.

"Yes." She sighed and he breathed out before he opened the door.

Once you walked into her room she sat there, on the bed with her arms crossed. Harry sat down at the end of her bed while you hovered in the doorframe.

Harry stalled as he tried to start the conversation, twisting the rings on his fingers. "What's wrong with moving?" He asked her.

"I like this house and I liked my room and I like my school and I like my friends and I like the beach." She listed, briefly looking up at him.

"Okay, what do you like about this house?" He asked and she took a little longer to think of an answer.

She was kicking her legs back and forward. "It's got a pool, a tv, my room and it's where I have always lived." You did understand that it was hard to ask her to move from the only house she knew.

"What if I promised you a pool, tv and new bedroom in a new house?" He asked and she waited while she thought about it. "I know that you only remember this house but I really want us to all live together in a nice, big house. I promise we can make lots of new memories." He promised again but Lily still hadn't answered. "I'll even invite your grandma around." He told her and she immediately looked up.

"And grandpa?" Lily asked hopefully.

"And grandpa." He confirmed. "Maybe we can see some of these houses and then if you hate them so much that you never want to live in them, I'll find a better house for us."

"Yes, please, I want to see them." She agreed and you could feel Harry's smile radiating around the room.

"Thank you." He pulled her in for a hug and you walked over to join them.

"Wanna hear something else cool, Lils?" You asked and she nodded, looking up to break the hug. "We're going to visit your Nana and Pop in the place Harry grew up." You told her and she started grinning widely.

"Oh my gosh! Can I see Auntie Gemma!? Will we go on a plane!?" Her questions came at a million miles an hour as she jumped around on her bed. "Wait." She stopped and sat down. "Where did you grow up?" She asked him.

He stood and walked over to the world map on her wall. "This place right here called Holmes Chapel in England." He told her as he looked at the map and her face turned into a frown as she got up to see the map herself.

"Is England is this one?" She asked as she pointed to Russia.

"Look to your left and it's the islands in the sea." You told her and she ran her finger along until she ended up at England.

Lily looked very curious. "It's tiny. How will we get there?" She was very concerned.

"By plane." You told her before Harry jumped in.

"Private plane."

"We didn't discuss that." You warned but he just shrugged and you glared at him.

"What's a private plane?" She asked and you snapped out of your glaring.

"It's when it's only you and the drivers and the seats are massive and you can play around as much as you want," Harry told her and she grinned. She'd only been on a few planes and it was never in first class.

"Yes, please, can we do that, Mumma?" She asked eagerly. She started to give you the puppy eyes as Harry caught on and copied her actions.

It freaked you out how alike they looked. "Fine." It was all they needed to confirm their victory and hi-five.

The houses you were going to see that afternoon with Harry were more than beautiful. They reminded you of the types of house you and Harry used to party at together all those years ago.

"Lil, we're here." You said as you leant into the back seat to unclip her sear belt so she could get out.

Harry had already raced around to open your door, in his usual gentleman fashion. Every time you looked at him it was like you felt love bursting out of you. His basketball shorts and tank top looked anything but basic on him.

After you got out of the car he opened Lily's door for her and she hopped out, quickly gawking at the massive house in front of her.

"You like it?" Harry asked her.

Her face was quick to change from shock to absolute euphoria. "Is this the house we're moving to?!" She squealed as she ran in circles around his legs. It made both of your giggle and Harry reached his hand out to give you a hi-five.

"Maybe, depends it's right." You told her and she nodded before leading the way inside. You followed with Harry a step ahead, going to the real estate agent to shake hands.

They talked about the houses advanced features while you took Lily to look at the front garden. The real estate agent took a phone call, leaving you three to go explore the house.

Harry led you upstairs to look at the bedroom. "Lily, this could be yours." He said as he opened the door to a massive room that she would struggle to fill if you brought her everything she'd ever wanted.

"Wow!" She cheers as she walked over to the window and looked at the LA skyline. It was a nice view but you knew the master bedroom would have an even nicer one.

"I can see that pretty brain working overtime, what are you thinking?" Harry said into your ear as he snaked his arms around your waist and rest his head on your shoulder. The two of you stood there, by the doorframe, watching your daughter.

You twisted your head so you could smile up at him. "It's really nice." There was a slight pause. "Lily loves it but I think she's going to love any house so that's not really a concern. I'm excited to see what other houses we're going to see. What about you?" You told him honestly.

"I love the kitchen and lounge but I think we need more bedrooms. And the pool isn't that big." He remarked and you looked at him with raise eyebrows.

"6 bedrooms isn't enough?" You questioned and he shook his head. "Lily, you and I only need 2, plus one for visitors. So that's 3, maybe 4." You explained.

He shook his head again. "What about when we have more kids?" He asked and your mouth fell open.

The two of you had never spoken about this before, but you hadn't even spoken about having Lily. At least 5 years ago he had said he wanted a few. As soon as Harry realised what he said he shut his mouth and you could see him thinking about what to say next.

To make it better or to take it away.

Finally, you had to pluck up the courage. "You want more?" Harry was now blushing furiously as he tried to think of something to say.

"Honestly, yes. I want to be there to raise them with you." He admitted. He had spun you around now so he could look into your eyes and have an honest conversation. "But it's not a deal-breaker." He quickly clarified.

It was the best answer you could have heard. "Harry, that's exactly what I want." You watched the huge smile appear on his face and he struggled to not wrap you in his arms.

"So, what are your thoughts?" The real estate agent asked as he walked up the stairs. Lily rushed out of the hidden room she had found with a huge smile on her face.

"I love it." She told him, which made him chuckle.

"It's nice, can we give you a call later once we've seen some others and decided?" Harry asked and the real estate agent nodded before you all left the house.

The rest of the day consisted of looking at 4 other, just as grand, homes, getting lunch and Harry subtly driving past one of the top private schools in the whole country in an attempt to get Lily to see it. Luckily for you she didn't, only because there had been no prior discussion between you and Harry about where she would go.

"So, team. what house do we think?" Harry asked around the dinner table later in the evening, ready for an inaugural family meeting.

"Second one!" Lily quickly yelled. The second house was built with two wings of bedrooms and a kitchen/lounge area in the middle. It was Lily's favourite because in the kid's wing there was a massive rock climbing wall.

"But would you like to be that far away from us every night?" You asked, knowing what problem was going to occur later.

She shook her head reluctantly. "No." She confirmed and Harry crossed that one off his list.

One down, four to go.

"So that means no to the 4th one."

Two down, three to do.

"Okay, now we're going to decide what is most important for us." You said, taking charge and reading over the features of the remaining 3 houses. "Do we want a spa?" You asked and Harry nodded quickly. A bit too quickly. "Not going to ask why." You said as you sent Harry a wink.

That decision crossed another house off. Three down, two to go.

"Okay, so 8 bedrooms and 3 lounges or 7 bedrooms and 4 lounges?" You asked Harry and Lily who looked at you like they were watching an intense sports match.

"7 and 4." They both said at the same time. Four down, one winner.

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3pirouette · 3 years

Text

Fic: Fighting Doesn't Make You a Hero (2/?)

Title: Fighting Doesn't Make You a Hero

By: TriplePirouette/3Pirouette

Disclaimer: They're not mine.

Distribution: AO3 Anyone else please ask first :)

Story Summary: StuntCoordinator!Steve meets Actress!Peggy, who is an absolute menace when it comes to stunts.

Chapter Summary: Steve falls hard for Peggy (figuratively) while Peggy falls hard (literally).

A/N: Here’s some more of the story I tried so hard to write last year when I put this little AU out. Also, this is the “more” that I think only one person actually asked for. Hope you like it, anyway. I’ve always loved this idea, the rest of the story has just alluded me until now. For Steggy Week ’21 Day 3: Favorite AU.

Apparently, there will be more of this, because my brain has FINALLY figured out how this is supposed to go, and it’s not just one chapter’s worth. Sheesh.

Also, if it is not clear (it should be…) I know nothing about stunts or stage fighting. Completely made up. Please enjoy.

~*~

Chapter 2: Thrust and Parry

It was hard to be nice to her when he was waiting for the next injury to occur. He was professional, clear, and concise. They rehearsed for hours straight on Wednesday for a long, single shot of her moving through a room full of stunt men for one of the climatic battles.

Though no one got seriously hurt, there were a few bumps and bruises that shouldn’t have happened.

It was hard not to be harsh with her, not to be demanding. He could see moments of beauty in how she moved, but then she’d go too far and make contact. He had to find a way of breaking her of it, if not for his own safety, for that of the stuntmen around him.

~*~

It was an early call for the shot they’d spent the entire previous day rehearsing. He was bleary and chugging coffee as quick as he could stomach it. Peggy was already on her way out of hair and make-up as he passed the trailer. She gave him a shy half smile as she passed him, being ushered from one trailer to the next to be slid into her ridiculously tight costume.

On one hand, he got it. He couldn’t deny that she looked absolutely gorgeous in that costume. (How long he’d spent thinking last night about her in that costume and what she might be able to do with that Lasso of Truth absolutely was not relevant…) But from a practical standpoint the costume wasn’t realistic at all, and she wobbled horribly on the stilettos. They had to stop rolling often to keep her taped into the thing.

The stuntmen around him were warming up, and he even heard a few near him joking about wearing cups. He gave them a sharp look, waiting until everyone was quiet before he reviewed timing and patterns while they waited for her to come out to set.

The director wasted no time once Peggy was on set. They made minor adjustments to the cameras and rolled on the first run through. He was proud as he watched them all, every move was timed right and it looked fantastic. He waited, with a smile, for the director to give his notes.

There wasn’t much for his team, but the director took Peggy aside and gave her quite notes and reset the scene quickly. He shot it over and over, from new angles and with different lenses, and by the time it was over, there were three black eyes and a cracked camera lens.

Peggy’s assistant ushered her off set as soon as they cut the last take, the star unable to look him in the eyes as she walked past.

~*~

The director decided, after a short break, he wanted another go at the capturing the pattern. Steve reluctantly went off in search of Peggy, hoping to figure out where she’d gone wrong that morning. He couldn’t find her in her trailer, and her assistant only pointed vaguely towards the parking lot.

He found her in a far hidden corner of the lot, sitting on the edge of a flower pot, crying. He was startled by a side of her he wasn’t prepared to see. He thought maybe he’d be coming out here to find her sneaking a smoke or a flask of rum. He’d heard she was dangerous, a bitch, a tough broad who didn’t care about the stunt men that she hurt. This didn’t really fit with all the stories he’d heard. “Peggy?”

She moved to wipe away her tears, manicured fingers moving swiftly and carefully around the fake lashes and caked on make-up. “I’m sorry. I’ll be right there. He wants another take, right?”

Steve crouched down next to her. “Are you… are you ok?”

She laughed, watery and weary. “Oh, good lord, no, but I’ll be there in a minute.” She waved her hand at him. “I’ll have to stop in make-up first.”

Steve stood hesitantly, astonished at how she pulled herself together so quickly. “Is there… is there anything I can do?”

She looked up at him, taking a deep breath. “I don’t mean to hurt anyone, I promise. I mean, I know I have a reputation, but… I’m not an action hero. I’ve never been physical. I’m not good at it.” She shook her head. “I’m a Shakespearean actress.” She stood, wiping at her mouth and pacing. “Give me Ophelia or Bianca or Beatrice. Hell, even give me a sword fight. I can fence, you know. But one time I get a tiny part in an action film and all of a sudden, I’m being type cast as some action hero and no one ever even taught me how to do any of this!” She was pacing quickly now, the rant spilling from her lips like a waterfall of words she couldn’t stop if she tried, her weariness evident with each syllable. “Not once was I instructed on the how, just, ‘punch here’ and ‘kick there.’ And it was fun so I kept doing it. I thought it was worth it, you know? But I should be saying no. The sane thing to do would be to say no to all of this but I mean, who says no to Wonder Woman?!” Peggy stopped, her face morphing as she realized all she’d said, her hands coving her mouth for a moment before she forced herself back into a stoic, hard shell. Her chin wobbled, betraying her hidden emotion as she pushed past him towards the make-up trailer. “Just know I don’t mean it. And I’m sorry.”

He watched her move away, stunned in her wake. He didn’t quite know what to do with that information, but he was quickly starting to feel a soft spot for her forming. He moved quickly back to set, relaying that she would be there soon and watching the team of stuntmen around him stretch to perform the scene once more.

She was back on set, looking fresh and happy, in just minutes. He ran them through the pattern again, and watched closer this time.

Once he’s shed himself of expectations, it was easy to see that she really didn’t have any idea what she was doing. She was a natural mover, to the point where he figured she was probably a good dancer, and that went a long way to hiding the technical flaws. But she was jerky when she tried to pull her punches and she wobbled off balance when she held back power in her kicks. She misjudged force when blocking constantly, and it put her on her heels, literally.

She was on her back in a blink when she shouldn’t be, coughing and sputtering. She had the air torn from her lungs with the impact, and everyone froze in place.

Steve bounded over, pushing through his stunt team to kneel by her side. Her eyes were closed, pressed tight. “Peggy, are you ok?” She was gasping, trying to get the rhythm of breathing back. “Slow in through your nose, slow out through your mouth, ok?”

He lifted her hand in his as she nodded, sputtering once more before slowly getting a deep breath in, and then another. He squeezed her hand tight. “Good, good.” He smiled when she blinked her eyes open, her breath starting to come back. “Better?”

She nodded, but he could see the frustration and fear in her eyes, welling tears following quickly.

“Let’s get her checked out,” the director called. “We got what we needed anyway.”

Peggy tried to sit her up, but Steve pushed her back down. “Wait until the medic gets here, ok?”

“I’m fine,” she argued, having tamed the tears quickly.

“Be that as it may,” he smiled, whispering, “You know what the protocol is.”

It wasn’t quite a smile, but it was the closest he saw to one today as her hand held tight to his. “Fine. Just this once.”

He moved away mindlessly when the medic came in and started talking to her, checking for a concussion or cervical injury, eyes still on her face.

Forget about the Lasso of Truth, her smile would be what was haunting his dreams tonight.

~*~

He met her in the rehearsal gym, bright and early the next day. He was on the floor, warming up, when she came in, hair pulled back messily and no make-up on, thermos of coffee in her hands. She was pretty much the exact opposite of the made-up, costumed bombshell from yesterday, but he was no less enthralled with her.

He couldn’t help it: he smiled.

Her smile back was half hidden behind another sip of coffee. “Good morning,” she said softly in her lilting English accent that she covered up for her movie appearances.

“Morning,” he stood, wiping his hands on his pants. “How are you feeling?”

“Bit of a headache,” she replied, setting her coffee down and pulling off her jacket. “Are the rest of the team coming?”

Steve hung his head, bashful. “Uh, no. I had them stay last night and run through tomorrow’s scene with your double.”

“Oh.” Peggy froze, the word slipping out softly. She started putting her jacket back on, trying to hide her disappointment. “I didn’t get the message. I thought I was doing the scene.”

“You are!” Steve corrected quickly, holding his hand out. “I just thought…” He sniffed and cleared his throat, trying to sound as professional as he could. “After I found you yesterday, I watched you do the scene again. I mean, really watched you. And you’re right. You’re missing a lot of the basics.”

Peggy wrapped her jacket back around her, crossing her arms. “Yes, well, like I said—”

“You weren’t taught,” he supplied quickly and gently, eyes kind and open. He shrugged and tried to smile. “I thought we could spend some time on that this morning. You already know the scene, so if we go back in and fill in some of those blanks you have…” He trailed off, hoping she’d understand.

She licked her lip slowly, thinking. “And you told the other stuntmen to stay home because…”

He wasn’t sure what she thought he was going to say, but he could imagine how some of his collogues might have treated her and couldn’t say that he almost expected her surprise. “I don’t want you to feel like they were watching you, or judging you. It’s not your fault no one taught you this, or that whoever you’ve worked with before didn’t take the time to make sure you were doing it right.”

She bent, grabbing her coffee to try to hide the shock he saw. She took a long swing and then nodded, pulling her jacket off again. “Alright then.”

He waved his hand, signaling her to follow him to the middle of the cushioned floor.

She was a quick study, and he’d been right as she eventually reveled somewhere in their discussions of balance and force, that she’d been a dancer before she became an actress.

“ACL surgery,” she replied, pulling up the leg of her legging and showing him the scar on her knee that he was sure must have been covered by make-up every other time he’d seen her. “Retore after the first surgery, and I never danced the same after.”

The melancholy that had started to disappear as they’d been going through their first few lessons returned, and Steve swore he’d do anything to see a smile on her face again. After a moment, he pulled up the sleeve on his t-shirt and showed her the crisscrossing pattern on his shoulder. “Cool scar, but I think this one wins.”

“Ohhh,” Peggy reached out, her fingertips lightly brushing over the flattened lines. “What happened?”

“IED just outside of Fallujah. Caught our caravan off guard.” He turned, pulling the shirt back more to show her the back of the shoulder. “Two bullets, six pieces of shrapnel, three torn tendons and almost a year of physical therapy.”

She let her hand run down his arm in a gentle way that made his heart pound. “Is that why you got out?”

He shrugged, stepping away and pulling his sleeve down. “It’s why they wouldn’t let me back in, so yeah, I guess you could say that.”

“Do you miss it?” Peggy asked, truly interested.

He paused. He wasn’t sure anyone had ever asked him that before. He must have been quiet long enough that she took his lack of an answer as not wanting to answer, because she started rambling, stepping over to get more coffee.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. I only asked because,” she paused to sip, taking a deep breath. “Well, because I didn’t really get to choose to stop dancing, my body chose for me. And as much as I love this…” she paused, her voice growing quieter as she looked down at her coffee, “sometimes I miss it.”

Steve softly stepped towards her. “This can be a lot like dancing, you know.” He held out his hand.

Peggy set her coffee down and took it, a smile on her face. “Really?”

He nodded, giving her a gentle pull that pulled her towards his body. “Think of it less like moves and add beats to it.” He started counting softly in fours, walking them through the pattern they’d just practiced: step forward, step back, parry, swing and miss, swing and block, swing, connect, turn under and sweep the leg.

Peggy laughed with delight as they stopped, standing. “That was… so much easier!”

Steve couldn’t help but smile back, she looked like an excited child on Christmas morning and he wanted more of that. “See? I told you. You just needed to understand it a little more. To figure out how to make it make sense to you.”

She bounced on the balls of her feet, excited. “Can we try the second pass?”

He nodded, stepping in front of her. He started counting again as she squeaked with happiness behind him. Push, pull, drop, jump, punch, punch… they moved through with the fluidity he knew she possessed but had somehow never understood or tapped into before. He smiled at her as they finished the set: her wrists in his hands, held over her head as they stood face to face.

They both smiled, but didn’t move. Steve could feel his heart pounding, and if the look on her face was any indication, the moment wasn’t one sided.

But he was here professionally, and it did no good to lean in and kiss her breathless like he wanted. He started to pull away quickly, but Peggy grabbed his hands, keeping him close. “Thank you,” she whispered, eyes shining with an emotion he didn’t want to think too hard about.

He didn’t understand. “For what?”

“For this.” She shrugged, twining her fingers with his. “For not just believing I’m a dangerous bitch who doesn’t care who she hurts. For taking the time to actually teach me,” she smiled, “and get to know me.”

It was still between them, and he could tell what they both wanted, but he couldn’t give in. Not while they were in the middle of the movie and he knew she’d still need so much more help if she was going to make it to the end of all of the complicated fight scenes and wire work. Instead, he redirected, smiling wide. “Don’t thank me yet. We’ve got to do all that again, but this time, in the heels.”

Peggy frowned, but didn’t let go of his hands. “Bloody hell, I hate those fucking things.”

#steggyweek21 #Steggy Fic #3P's Fic

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detectivesvu · 3 years

Text

A Woman of Style

—

Rafael Barba x Fem. Reader

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 934

“But I must ask, where did you acquire these shoes?”

—

He knew before you even opened the door that it was his girlfriend trudging down the hallway to his office door. You suddenly appeared in his doorway, hands on hips, and an apparent annoyance on your face.

“Well, hello, counselor.” He said with sarcastic tone not looking up from his desk.

You growled;

“Do you know why I’m here?” You asked closing his door behind you.

He didn’t look up from his work, thinking that you were being overdramatic about something;

“You were 10 minutes behind on your usual commute and you missed Lin Manuel Miranda on the subway?”

You sighed;

“No, I would’ve gone ahead and jumped off a building if that happened,” You said taking a seat in front of his desk, “My case was declared a mistrial,”

His head suddenly snapped up at your words. Every prosecutor’s worst nightmare;

“A mistrial?” He asked in disbelief.

“Yes,” You sighed heavily, “One juror. One person on the jury opposed guilty.”

You were unbelievably frustrated. This was by far one of the biggest, most draining cases of your career. The trial had lasted almost 3 months and you were determined to throw the bastard on death row. Nothing else would satisfy you or the victim’s family.

“How? You had the most concrete evidence you could possibly have,” He said putting his work aside, “This was supposed to be a landslide.”

You threw your head back, feeling the worst headache beginning to form;

“It was. I don’t know what happened. How am I going to take this back to court? I argued everything I had to offer.” You said feeling dejected.

He felt terrible for you. He had experienced mistrials before, but never for such an extreme case. He could tell how exhausted you were. You were giving it all you had and it wasn’t proving to be enough. You were nervously chewing on your nail, not really even listening to him anymore. However, his next question did snap you out of your daze;

“What’s the next step?” He asked curiously.

“I’ll meet with the victim and her family to explain the process,” You stated.

Rafael nodded, briefly turning back to his work. He knew you wanted a few minutes to think and him staring at you wouldn’t help much. Your mind was reeling as you thought of all the possible outcomes of the next trial. God only knows how long this would take. Before you knew it, you could possibly be spending 6 months to a year even trying to get a guilty verdict let alone a sentencing order. Your anger slowly was turning into fear;

“Rafael...” You said with a slight crack in your voice.

At the sound of your soft, scared tone, he looked up at you again.

“What if the verdict is not guilty? What if this case carries into next year?” You asked feeling terrified, “What if I can’t win this case?”

His heart broke at your words. He never wanted you to feel scared. He surely never wanted you to lack confidence in your skills as an attorney.

“[Y/N],” He said softly, “You are a damn good lawyer. One of the best. You have to ride this out, because you can win this case. You will win this case,”

You shook your head. It was so hard to believe that when you had to redo everything. You decided you didn’t want to talk about it anymore;

“Can we just talk about something else, please?” You said rubbing your temples.

He quickly scanned the room for some sort of topic changer. That’s when he noticed the new pair of heels on your feet;

“Nice shoes there, Dorothy.” He joked referring to the cherry red stilettos accompanying your black blazer and pants.

You looked at your shoes and clicked them together with a smile;

“You like them?” You questioned.

He smirked;

“I do. But I must ask, where did you acquire these lovely shoes?” He said peeking over the front of his desk.

“Early Christmas gift from Dad,” You replied, “He always complains about how hard I am to shop for, so I think Mom told him to send me shoes.”

“Uh-huh. I like them. They’re very you,” He said letting his eyes examine the shoes, “They really make you stand out.”

You blushed at his compliment, shyly looking down at the shoes;

“Well, you know me. I’m not the most stylish woman to ever live, but I can pull off a pair of heels.” You replied.

He grinned, walking around to the front of his desk and perching against it. He couldn’t take his eyes off of the fiery heels. They were just so...shiny.

“Beautiful shoes for a beautiful woman.” He said offering you his hand.

You took his into yours as he gently brought you to him. You were comforted by his touch, his familiar scent relaxed you. He kissed your forehead, cupping his hands around your face. He hated that you were feeling so discouraged and dejected. He could attest that he had been there one too many times before. He knew how hard it was to accept that your best performance might not be enough. He had full confidence in you though.

“You’re going to be just fine, mi amor. I know you will.” He purred.

You only smiled softly in response, your head never leaving his chest. He knew this was your battle to fight. There wasn’t much he could do to positively change the outcome. But he knew one thing for sure;

He’d be there with you the whole way. One step at a time.

#rafael barba #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba imagine #law and order barba #law and order svu #law and order fanfiction

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welllpthisishappening · 3 years

Text

But Once a Year (5/5)

This is a trick.

It has to be. Something Pan planned, or some nonsense only possible in Neverland, because one second Emma’s sitting outside the Echo Caves and wondering how exactly things could possibly get worse, and then the world decides to take her up on the challenge. She’s not where she was. Or when she was, either.

And the future isn’t entirely what Emma expects it to be, but that might not be entirely horrible and Christmas with a husband and a family that quite clearly loves her is only kind of messing with her head. God bless us, every one.

————

Rating: T Word Count: 10K — canon had to catch up, and stuff had to happen, and happily ever after requires some adjectives AN: Guys! This is a completed story! One I had absolutely no intention whatsoever of writing. For that am even more grateful than usual that you all clicked and read and said very nice things. It’s always an absolute joy to write about these two idiots falling in love. I hope your holidays were fantastic, and January is very kind to you, and I am taking suggestions as to what I should write in 2021. (Or: if I should just post a bunch of fic I’ve already written, there’s so much fic already written)

Ao3 links in the reblog, because Tumblr’s tagging system is something of a colossal joke.

————

She’s got no idea where Killian went.

Especially impressive since they haven’t left the house yet, but the house is also fairly massive and there are a lot of people and some of them have magic, and most of them have weapons, and one of Emma’s knees cracks when she crouches in front of Hope.

Who is wearing pajamas that match Lucy’s, and holding a stuffed animal whose right arm appears to be holding on by a quite literal thread, and has absolutely no idea what’s going on.

It’s a strangely positive thing.

“You’re going to be ok,” Emma tells her daughter, which she hopes isn’t the lie it feels like. “Everything’s going to be ok. We’re just—we’ll be back soon, alright?” That’s not really a lie, either. Depending on how the next ten minutes or so, go. And part of Emma expects impatience — from the other adults nearby, magical or otherwise, but a quick glance over her shoulder only shows Mary Margaret wiping away tears, and Regina’s lips have all but disappeared behind her teeth, and the overall tightness of David’s jaw cannot possibly good for any of his teeth.

Taking a deep breath is an exceptional challenge.

“For presents?” Hope asks, and it takes Emma a moment to understand the question. Nodding hurts her neck. And, like, her heart.

No one turns off their Christmas tree in this future, it seems. Colors splash across one of Hope’s cheeks, what feels like several thousand emotions and at least a dozen internal organs twisting in Emma’s center and she barely manages to rasp out, “yeah, of course,” before there’s moisture in her eyes and her vision is going blurry and at the very least it’s comforting to know that one of the steps in her parent’s house creaks too.

“Emma,” Regina murmurs, and she’s nodding again. Hair brushes the hand that’s landed on her shoulder, as warm as ever, but there’s tension in the move as well and Killian’s lips don’t shift when Emma tilts her head up.

Something’s going on. More than the obvious. And she wants to ask, she does — but the worry churning in her gut moves to the center of her throat, and makes it impossible to voice questions or demand anything more than what he’s already given, and they’ve got no idea how to get her back. Except for—

Killian’s eyebrows lift. Ever so slightly, barely enough movement that it should even count, but Emma’s become something of an expert on his face in the last few days, and she can’t blink away the tears fast enough. Mourning something that’s happened and hasn’t, and absolutely needs to.

She can’t ruin this.

Plastering a wholly unnatural smile on her face, Ruby lets out a huff of air as she marches forward and scoops Hope into her arms. “For presents,” she repeats, “Mom wouldn’t miss that, would she?” Emma shakes her head. Seriously, every inch of her aches. With those pesky emotions and magic, and she cannot fathom how she manages to stand back up without falling over, but then there are fingers tangled up with hers and she’s brushing strands of hair away from Hope’s eyes, and leaning forward to kiss the bridge of her nose and—

“I love you.”

Whispers flood her ears, soft enough that for a second Emma truly believes she imagines them, but none of this has been the dream she’d convinced herself it had to be, and the sound isn’t as terrifying as it should be. Is like the excitement borne of picturesque Christmas mornings, and a ridiculous number of cookies, and magically-maintained snowmen.

Killian’s eyes widen, ever so slightly. Part two.

“Dor and I’ll stay here,” Ruby says, seemingly unconcerned with whatever’s happening between Emma’s ears, but Killian’s staring again and Emma’s barely breathing and she probably nods if the movement of her hair is any indication.

More instructions are doled out, plans Emma only half listens to while also trying to stay conscious and it’s only after the screen door slams behind them that she realize she doesn’t actually have a weapon. She’s fairly certain she won’t need it.

Because she’s absolutely positive this is going to work.

Well, she hopes at least.

“Don’t let go, ok?” she mumbles, mostly into Killian’s shirt and he kisses her hair. More than once, like he’s trying to reach a quota and that’s only kind of depressing, but then there’s magic stretching around them and inching up the back of Emma’s calves and she hopes she hears what she thinks she hears.

When he mutters “never” in her ear.

If there were any doubts that they were dealing with the disintegrating fabric of reality, they’re all immediately dismissed as soon as Emma opens her eyes. Trees bend in the middle of their trunks, broken branches littering the ground as what feels like genuine electricity crackles in the air, sending sparks that occasionally rain down like they believe they’re drops of water and allowed to do that.

Clouds that look suspiciously familiar, but lack that hint of magically-induced purple, blot out any sort of light in the sky. They’re puffier than they should be — the clouds, and also Emma’s eyes because she might be crying again, and she’s not particularly knowledgeable about meteorology. Still, she’s seen more than one curse broken and this isn’t quite the same. The lack of color dries out her mouth, although that may also be because she suddenly can’t catch her breath.

Magic tugs at her brain and her muscles, rising up in defense and something that isn’t really bravery. More like fear, at what the clouds can do and what they’ve already done, and the soft whoosh of Killian’s sword leaving its scabbard is far more comforting than it should be.

Wearing those pants with the sword belt is something Emma doesn’t want to forget. “Kinda looks like they’re eating everything in their way, doesn’t it?” she breathes. “Like, it’s—pulling everything up out of the ground, wrecking it at the foundation.”

“Not exactly ideal, is it?”

“You’re making jokes.” “If I don’t know, I’m fairly certain I’ll fall over.”

Scoffing, Emma licks her lips, and that doesn’t do anything except momentarily wet her lips, but her heart’s also trying to explode and the pop of Regina’s teleporting ability is loud enough to make both of them flinch.

“Oh shit,” Henry mutters, wielding his own sword. Both of those things are going to take Emma some time to get used to. Which she doesn’t have.

Not when tiny whirlwinds explode around her ankles, caking her jeans with leaves and dirt-filled snow, and she briefly wonders if that’s because of her or just bad timing on their arrival. Feels like an insult all the same.

“So, uh,” David says slowly, “what do we do about this, then?” Rolling her whole head seems like an entirely excessive response, but Emma supposes Regina’s never been one for subtlety and it is still kind of impressive when she does the flame thing. Fire jumps between her fingers, like one of those bouncing balls on sing-along VHS tapes, and really the answer is pretty simple. “Emma needs to leave. Weeks ago, if we’re being frank, but—” “—We’re not being frank, are we, Your Majesty?” Killian interrupts, low and a little more pirate than he’s been since Emma woke up here. Regina tilts her head. Her neck muscles don’t appear to be dealing with the same limitations Emma’s are.

“How do we do that, though?” Ella asks. “We’ve—I mean, we’ve tried just about everything haven’t we? Zelena’s spell didn’t work.” Regina hums. Looks a little smug, but with a hint of worry that’s also oddly comforting in a slightly vindictive way and there’s no warning before Tinker Bell appears in front of them. Smaller than usual, with wings that move as quickly as a hummingbirds and Emma’s eyes widen so quickly they manage to water even more and it’s easier to hear Killian’s soft laugh when he pulls her against his side.

What looks like sparkles, but may actually be pixie dust floats in the air, Regina’s sigh of impatience barely passing her lips before Tinker Bell is a full-sized person again and that full-sized person looks as terrified as the situation demands and— “Wonderland’s gone too,” she announces. “I only just got out.” Emma’s eyes are going to fall out of her face. It will be gross and undoubtedly uncomfortable. “Out. What does—what does that mean, exactly?” “What it sounds like. It was—” Shuddering, Tinker Bell wraps both arms around her middle, as if she’s trying to ensure she doesn’t fall apart either, and guilt appears to be the prevailing emotion threatening to sever Emma’s spleen at the moment. She’s only partially confident as to where her spleen even is. “Those,” Tinker Bell continues, pointing up at the clouds advancing on them, “they’re…cannibalized versions of magic.” “Oh,” Henry says, “gross.” Mary Margaret sniffles before she kisses him on the cheek. He’s holding Ella’s hand very tightly.

“It is,” Tinker Bell agrees, “because it’s all wrong. Broken, even. The opposite of what you’ve created here. Anything unified is gone, shattered from the inside out and—” “—That won’t stop, will it?” Emma asks, already knowing the answer. It’s been the same since the start, but it was so easy to fall into this start and live this life and she’s hardly noticed Regina. Lifting her hands towards the clouds like she could fight them, or stop them and her electricity metaphor had been almost accurate before.

Lightning explodes from Regina’s palms, feet a bit wider than usual while a muscle jumps in her temple, and the first brush of Killian’s thumb against Emma’s wrist makes her flinch again.

The clouds pause. For a moment.

Seem to shudder against the force of Regina’s power and strength, but there’s another crack and a branch that slams into the ground with an alarming speed, shaking the ground under yet a different pair of Emma’s boots, and, well—

That’s that, as they say.

Only they don’t ever mention the shadow-type vines that also explode from the ground. And for a breath, Emma’s not there. She’s sitting on different ground, in an entirely different realm, while her sword half hangs from the makeshift belt on her back and lights dance in front of her eyes. Blinking doesn’t do anything. Breathing heavily only makes the sound echo in her ears and air heave out of her lungs, and Emma can’t get her bearings. Is being twisted and torn until she’s certain she’ll be ripped apart. Right there, in the in-between, and—

No.

Giving in isn’t an option. She’s got people to save, and a kid to get back and a life to live. And the hand squeezing hers is tight enough to pull her back from a variety of edges. In any version of reality, she’s sure.

Head falling forward, Emma slams into something solid and that’s probably not another metaphor. Blades flash at the edge of her vision, both David and Henry moving quicker than she’s ever seen, while Mary Margaret slings arrow after arrow at something that isn’t entirely substantial and Killian’s hook moves under Emma’s chin.

At one point she might have thought that was a threat. She’s the world’s biggest idiot, obviously.

“No,” Tinker Bell replies, far later than is conversationally acceptable, honestly. “It won’t. Nothing will last if you don’t go back, Emma. It all hinges on you. That’s why Pan did this in the first place. He knew what you meant, to the whole world.” She groans. Like a goddamn hero.

“That might be a little heavy, Tink,” Killian mutters, and Emma makes another noise. Disbelief and charmed and wholly endeared, plus that other thing that she knows will make all the difference and at least eight of her knuckles crack. When she curls them into his shirt.

Patterned, naturally.

“Are you quoting things?” He nods. “You think it’s very cute.” “I’m not sure you could ever really be cute.”

“Is this honestly happening right now?” Regina snarls, sweat dotting her brow and Emma barely notices. Can’t really pull her eyes away from Killian when he’s smirking at her like that. “Flirting at the end of the world?” “Seems as good a time as any, doesn’t it?” Emma challenges. More pixie dust falls on the forest floor, shining brightly for a few prolonged seconds. That’s something of a confidence boost.

For Emma. And her feelings. And her plan, half-cocked as it may be.

“Expand on that for me,” Killian grins.

Keeping her head lifted is one of Emma’s more major successes. At least recently, and while her muscles don’t entirely appreciate it, the jut of her chin makes it easier for Killian’s fingers to ghost over the edge of her mouth and push into her hair and—

“Your eyelashes are unnaturally long,” she says, and the grin widens. “It drives me nuts.” “Does it just?” “Yeah, from like—the get, really. At first I thought it was a fairytale thing, y’know…have to be painfully attractive to be part of the story, but—” “—You end up in the book eventually.”

Heart explosion is not nearly as painful as Emma assumed it would be. If anything, it just makes her feel like she’s floating a bit and her magic gives her a buoyancy that leaves her lighter and softer and she turns into the palm cupping her cheek. “Spoilers,” she chides. “What do you—what do you think happens?” “When you go back, you mean?” Emma nods. Doesn’t really want the answer. Might actually be terrified of the answer, because the timeline is as knotted as it’s ever been and time travel is way more trouble than it’s worth. She’ll probably kick Peter Pan too, just to cover all her bases. “Will you,” she whispers, and holding Killian’s gaze is something of a rather disappointing miracle, “will you all—” “—I don’t think so.” “You don’t even know what I was going to ask.”

One side of his mouth tilts up, eyeing her with passing amusement and that other emotion and his fingers trail towards the chain hanging around her neck. “Between the vaguely twisted compliments and the actual insults, I’m not entirely sure this is going to work, love.” “What isn’t going to work?” Henry asks sharply, swinging his sword through a shadow.

Grunting, one of Regina’s knees buckles as she continues to fight against the cloud and Ella’s back pressed against hers only just manages to keep her standing. “Get on with it, already,” she hisses. “Or at least try it.”

Nerves explode under Emma’s skin, racing up her arms and threatening to drown out the magic that’s as strong as it’s ever been because the magic is clearly smarter than her, and it’s unreasonable to think she’d be able to deal with that exact shade of blue in Killian’s eyes.

“You make sure I’m alright.”

He blinks. Fair, honestly. Words keep tumbling out of Emma without much thought, but she needs him to know this and this might be the crux of everything else and she’s nodding again. “Over and over,” she continues, “when we’re on the Jolly, and I’m—” “—In the crew’s quarters doing pull-ups.” “You remember that?”

“I’m rather attracted to you, you know that right?”

Laughing with tears in her eyes is as patently absurd as it is nice, and the shadows inch closer. “Could probably do with some reminding every now and then,” Emma admits, “but I, uh—that’s what happened before, too. Sitting outside the Echo Caves and you were supposed to be asleep. Showed up anyway, to make sure I was alright. You always do that.” “Something of a habit.” “So you’ve mentioned.” Humming, there’s not really any way for Killian to get closer to her, but he certainly tries and Emma hopes she doesn’t forget that either. She’s not entirely sure how her memories will deal with everything they’ve been through in the last few weeks. And, like—her life, but that sounds kind of melodramatic. “You don’t need me to take care of you,” Killian says softly, “but it’s—making sure you’re alright is like…making sure we’re following the right course.” “Am I the star in this analogy?” “Several times over,” he replies, “and it’s easy to follow.” “Oh, what was that about backhanded insults?”

Warm air brushes her face when he exhales, nosing at the tear stains her over-abundant emotions have left behind. “I have no idea what will happen,” Killian whispers, as if he’s speaking only for Emma and she supposes that’s at least partially true. “I doubt we’ll disappear, not when it appears time’s much less of a straight line than I originally anticipated, but Her Majesty was right. Nothing’s set in stone, love. That’s half the fun.” “Sounds like a hell of a gamble too.” “Aye, but you’ve also got a pirate who’s rather willing to cheat on your behalf.” “Did you use weighted dice?” He kisses her hair. The edges of her eyes. Down the bridge of her nose and just above her mouth, which is really a very cruel tease, but if they were running out of time earlier, then they’re operating on borrowed minutes now, and Emma’s calves almost audibly object when she pushes up on her toes.

“Just sleight of hand,” he says, “it’s very impressive, I know.” “Something like that, yeah.” “This wasn’t fair to you, Swan. To—to be thrown into this, and I can’t…”

Shaking her head, she’s never actually let go of his shirt, so Emma doesn’t have an excuse for how much her fingers tremble. “No, no, no, if you apologize I will step on your foot, I swear to any God you can come up with.” “Several, actually.” “Nerd,” she insults, and it’s as far away from that as it’s possible for a four-letter word to be. Killian’s eyes have gone glossy. “This wasn’t what he thought it’d be. Pan, I mean. He—he thought he’d take me off the board, keep me locked here because I’d be so tempted to stay and I—” A tree branch falls dangerously close to her right foot. “Well, obviously I was, but…” “But?” Emma presses her lips together. Ignores the ache in her legs and the area directly around her heart, taking more pleasure than she should in the overall circumference of Killian’s eyes while her magic practically sings. Soars out of her, until the ends of her hair light and the shadows don’t retreat, but they freeze for a second and that’s all she really needs. “Seeing it all,” Emma starts, “living it, that’s why I can go back. Because I want to live it. No cheating, no advancing to Go. God, fuck—am I really making Monopoly jokes right now?”

He beams. Stares at her like she’s that star, and a few other constellations for good measure. Possibly the Sun too, but Emma’s the one who’s all too willing to orbit around the whole lot of them, and she kisses him before she can think better of it.

“You make sure I’m alright,” she repeats, “ten-thousand times over, until I end up here. And it’s just not better, babe, it’s—it’s a life, a real one. The kind I used to think was some great, big joke, but that house is so big and our kids are so good, and it’s—” Killian wipes away the tears. For the best, really. Since Emma isn’t entirely sure she can unclench her fingers. “I love it,” she breathes, “I love—”

In any other situation, she’d almost resent being interrupted. As it is, being interrupted with the press of Killian’s mouth against hers is one of the better things that’s happened to her. Like, ever. And she’s already pressed up on her toes, so really the whole thing is pretty practical.

Tilting her head, Emma’s grip threatens to rip his shirt and her spine isn’t all that pleased at the arch she’s put it in, but his hand is flat against her back, the kind of steady presence she’s sure she could build everything around. They’ve gotten better at this, she thinks — less frenzied than it was in Neverland, but somehow even better, like they’re sitting on simmer, a low heat that simply exists and isn’t as overwhelming. She’s not sweating, at least. She’s wrapped in cashmere blankets, and comfort and some other word that starts with ‘c’ because Emma’s ability to linger on the alliterative in times of heightened feeling is actually pretty impressive.

At least until Killian’s tongue swipes the seam of her mouth, and they drift a hint closer to frenzied, and somewhere in the realm of desperate and she genuinely does not notice the first band of light.

Or the second, quite frankly.

It isn’t until the colors arch over them, and several people gasp, that Emma realizes they’ve done something fairly tremendous. Beams of glistening magic curl around them, some hanging from the bend of Emma’s elbow and the curve of Killian’s hook, draping either one of their shoulders and falling off the sleeves of their respective leather jackets.

“Holy shit,” Emma breathes, fully expecting Killian’s smile and hoping for his laugh and she’s done more hoping now than she has in the first twenty-nine years of her life.

Henry clicks his tongue. “Oh you can say it, huh?” “I’m your mom, that’s how it works.” More laughter, as out of place as ever, but the light doesn’t disappear immediately and Killian’s jaw has gone slack. “Has that not happened before, then?” Emma asks him.

“You called me babe.” Regina groans again. Henry snickers, ducking his head into Ella’s shoulder, and Emma’s not sure what her parents do, but her mom is definitely crying and she’s crying and there’s something shimmering on the other side of Tinker Bell.

“Told you it’d work,” she says with a knowing smile. “She just needed to get there. And, y’know, be willing to walk away. Which doesn’t sound as romantic as it is, now that I think about it, but might be kind of in the spirit of Christmas.”

Killian rolls his eyes.

“Yeah,” Emma nods, “that’s—” She cuts herself off that time, Killian’s fingers lacing through hers so he can give her hand three quick squeezes and that number was probably random. Maybe. True Love’s goddamn Kiss.

“Falling in love with you probably isn’t very easy, is it?”

The tears fall. Drop from the corners of his eyes onto cheeks, one of which has a scar on it and Emma wants to know how that happened. Wants to learn every single thing about him, and them and collective pronouns don’t quite terrify her anymore.

“Not always,” Killian agrees, another strange way of doing it, “but I do always think it’s worth it. For everything we get.” “This?” He nods. “And then some. Because you’re the single most stubborn lass I know, and Pan’s an absolute fool.” “Call me lass again, and see if I kiss you anymore.” “I’m almost confident on that front.”

Smiling doesn’t hurt. Doesn’t affect the muscles in her face, or the overall state of her heart, and that may have something to do with its exploding tendencies from earlier, but Emma’s eyes keep flickering towards that portal and everything ahead of her, and the wave of determination that crests her consciousness doesn’t take her by surprise.

She’s going to get this all back.

Like a Christmas present, waiting under the tree to be opened, and another promise and Killian squeezes her hand again. Before kissing her once more, in a way that doesn’t feel like a farewell, but has a hint of promise and expectation and Emma hugs Henry. And her parents. Glances at Regina, and goddamn Tinker Bell, and hugging Henry again simply makes sense. “Come save me, huh?” he murmurs into her hair. “That’s the plan,” Emma promises. Twisting her neck, Killian’s not more than an inch behind her, but the shadows threaten again, making it difficult to see him and eventually she’ll argue that’s why she doesn’t entirely notice when his hand moves, darting towards her pocket and back so quickly it’s not much more than a blur, and her lips barely brush his before they’re pulling away from each other.

To get back to each other.

“I’m going to love you an absolutely ridiculous amount,” Emma promises, and Killian’s eyes brighten. Brand themselves on all those memories, and even more feelings. “More than I do now, even.” “I look forward to it.”

Bumping her chin against her chest when she nods, Emma’s next inhale is shaky at best, but her steps are sure and she doesn’t feel anything when she falls backwards, or notice the way Regina’s hand shifts ever so slightly.

Her feet slam into the ground. Ground that hasn’t exploded with glowing, vaguely evil plants yet and that’s all it takes to set her plan into motion. He hadn’t remembered, after all. And Emma can only sort of remember now.

Smoke on the water, her thoughts drift through a haze that’s far more metaphorical than she entirely appreciates, and she makes it all of eight larger-than-usual steps before those same feet land on boots and she barely stops herself before she collides with Killian.

A Killian who looks at her like he’s surprised to find her there, but not entirely opposed to it, and whatever thoughts continue to cling to the forefront of Emma’s brain know what else he wouldn’t be entirely opposed to, and that’s not bad, might even be good and great and she can’t remember why her lips feel like they’re tingling. That’s—

Strange, that’s strange. As is the number of times she blinks, and his hook flies to her waist. To keep her steady. Or something. Magnets, maybe. “Swan, are you—” “—Fine, fine,” she breathes, only just able to keep from kissing him. Hard. His lips part slightly when she keeps staring at him, eyes tracing across his face like she’s recommitting it to memory, and she supposes she is, and he was coming to find her. All over again. “You’re here though, right? This isn’t…this is real?” Hair threatens to fall into his eyes, head at an angle that Emma is sure simply exists to torment her. “Why wouldn’t it be?” “I—I don’t know,” she admits, and it only sort of sounds like a lie. Emma shakes her head. That doesn’t help, really. “Is my mom still ignoring my dad?” “Very much so. You shouldn’t be out here, you know.” “Neal’s not dead, though?” “No,” Killian says, lips forming a perfect circle on the second letter. Emma’s staring at his lips. Again, or always. Or whatever, honestly.

“Ok, ok, that’s—that’s good, well maybe not the ignoring part, but we’ll figure that out and we’re going to figure this out.” “Wasn’t a question.” “No it wasn’t.” His eyes narrow, neck remaining at that angle. “Good. It shouldn’t be.” “Awfully confident of you.” “No, no, I’m only confident in you, love.” Something flutters at the back of Emma’s brain — part memory and even more desire, and this feels like something they’ve done already, but that can’t possibly be true and those particular words in that particular order are as honest as Emma’s heard. She must have fallen asleep.

“C’mon,” Killian continues, hand reaching for hers and she doesn’t pull away. She lets his fingers tangle with hers, and every squeeze against her palm is enough to settle her pulse and her magic, and he doesn’t let go of her until they get back to camp. Neither one of them mention how she doesn’t pull away, either.

They plan. Plot, and discuss and Neal’s something of an issue — as is her mother’s pointed and unnecessary romantic advice, but Emma knows her objections fall on deaf ears, especially when that same mother keeps ignoring her father, and she’s not sure she’s ever known fear like she feels in Dark Hollow.

If asked — and Emma can’t imagine why she would be, but she’s at war with her own thoughts and some sadistic childlike-monster who’s already fucked with her more than he should be capable of — she’d argue it was because of what Killian tells her. When I win your heart plays on loop in Emma’s brain, but it’s also because, somehow, she knows he will and does, and fire bursts out of her in the middle of yet another shadow attack.

“How did you do that?” Neal asks, sounding far more surprised than he should and something in Emma’s center recoils at the tone. “Regina. She’s teaching me magic.” Not entirely a lie, not really. But Killian’s eyes snap towards her, and she’s apparently just as good at ignoring things as her mother. “She’s teaching you magic?”

“Yeah,” Emma nods, gripping the coconut in her hand a little tighter. Six months ago, that would have felt like the most absurd sentence in the world. Now it just pisses her off. “I guess she is.”

There’s more, because of course there is. Wendy Darling and Neal are something of old friends, and she’s somehow an even worse liar than Emma, but the truth means Henry’s death and she can’t breathe. Can hardly stand, but is also standing closer to Killian and she keeps calling him Killian. In her head.

His hand squeezes hers; exactly three times.

“It’ll be fine, love,” Killian murmurs. Naturally, it’s not.

Watching Henry hand over his heart is a nightmare Emma will see for the rest of her life, wholly unprepared for the way her kid drops to the ground and the strength of her ensuing magic threatens to blind her.

Regina’s not much better, honestly. Her mouth opens, but nothing comes out and then there’s magic and a wave of her hand, and—“He’s not dead yet,” she tells Emma, like that’s acceptable, but she’s got no idea what else to do and the growing feeling that she’s forgotten something very important.

Preservation spells are as freaky their name implies, it turns out.

Henry doesn’t blink, doesn’t move, but he also isn’t dead and Emma figures that’s at least one positive. While she’s attacked by a tree, and taunted by Pan and Regina’s admission leaves her reeling just a bit. That is until it turns out Peter Pan is also Gold’s father, and the absurdity of it all makes Emma want to scream and cry and they somehow save Henry’s heart.

In Pandora’s Box.

Really, the rest is a blur — adrenaline mixing with magic and an above-average amount of gasping, and Killian offers Henry the captain’s quarters. Emma doesn’t think before she walks, leading the pair of them towards the door, and there’s a shadow trapped in the sail and they’re on a flying pirate ship, so honestly her knowledge of that pirate ship’s layout should be the least of their worries, but something, something…open book.

“You want to tell me what’s going on, now?” Killian asks, finding Emma what feels like a lifetime later. Hours, actually. Most of which she’s spent leaning against the railing, while trying to breathe in as much salt air as possible and Regina’s still in the cabin with Henry.

“Aside from the obvious?” “Whatever’s got you staring so intently at the horizon.” “It’s calming,” Emma reasons, and there’s some truth to that as well. There’s also something in her back pocket, a piece of clothing that miraculously isn’t totally destroyed with mud and the after-effects of fighting for their collective lives.

“It often is, although you’re thinking so loudly, I can’t help but—” “—Do you think you’ll stay in Storybrooke?”

Killian tenses. He’s close enough that Emma can practically feel the way his muscles tighten, but there’s more to it than proximity, and it’s got to be nearly his turn at the helm. Neal can’t stay up there forever.

“If you think that would be a good idea.”

Rolling her eyes makes her head hurt. She might also be dehydrated. The knowledge that there’s a flask of rum stashed somewhere under the cot in Killian’s cabin is one of the few things keeping Emma conscious. Captain’s cabin. Semantics. She has no idea how she knows that. “That’s not really what I asked,” Emma argues. “Do you—is that something you’d like?”

She shouldn’t be as nervous as she is.

The future is suddenly blurry, and not entirely uncertain, but she fought like hell for it and now there’s this growing sense of optimism taking root in her. Like it’s the foundation for everything else, strong and certain and that’s a rather daunting change of pace for her. The certainty, not the adjective choices. Gold made it so David could come home too. They all get to go home. So, Emma doesn’t move very quickly when she turns, just presses her lips together and—

Hopes.

Pixie dust requires a certain amount of belief to work, after all.

“I would,” Killian breathes. He leans forward, or Emma leans forward, and it genuinely does not matter because there are mouths and hands and it’s over before it really begins, the rail of a flying pirate ship threatening to dig into her back. She’s never been more comfortable. “Ok,” Emma says, footsteps coming towards them, “that’s good.”

“You saved him, you know.”

“Motivation’s a funny thing like that.”

“Certainly is,” Killian agrees, “and you had that in spades. I just—” He smirks. The bastard. “Telling you I knew you would makes me a bit of a cad, doesn’t it?” “More than a bit, maybe.” He chuckles, letting his head drop closer to hers. “Why’d you know where the blankets were in that cabin?” “Far too perceptive for your own good.” “I prefer to see it as an acute observation.” “And you’re more than just a pretty face, huh?”

“Sounds suspiciously like you think I’m pretty.”

“Occasionally,” Emma says, standing on wobbly knees again and they’re dancing without music. “I don’t know, really, but we’ll get there, I think.”

Leaning back, Killian’s eyebrows shift and his thoughts practically come with cymbals, but he doesn’t press her anymore and Emma doesn’t actually believe she fell asleep. Outside the Echo Caves, but all of those thoughts feel like dreams now, and Neal doesn’t ask any questions — which is either a victory or a crushing disappointment, depending on which way you look at it, but Emma can’t bring herself to leave the railing, even when the wind picks up and goosebumps prickle her arms and the something in her back pocket is a tiny slip of paper.

Torn at the edges, like the person who grabbed it was pressed for time and flush with determination and she’s never actually seen his handwriting before. It doesn’t make an ounce of difference. Swooping letters linger on the looseleaf, no matter how many times Emma blinks, the words the same and she tries very hard not to rip it. Holding it as tightly as she is makes that easier said than done.

Still, it doesn’t change.

I love you.

As clear as the tears that return to her eyes will allow, and Emma’s not surprised to find him already looking in her direction. She smiles, and goes below deck.

They don’t make it very long before something else gets fucked up.

They barely make it like—two weeks. Pan isn’t dead, and Henry’s not Henry and the whole thing is a disaster that frequently ends with Emma slumped against the nearest wall she can find, the hand gripping hers squeezing at regular intervals, like Killian is trying to remind her of something, but she might just be hoarding every touch and every feeling and it figures.

Standing at the town line, Emma’s not sure how she’s going to get in that car and drive away from this town and these people and her mother kisses her forehead. Softly and almost reverently, and David’s hand finds the back of her head, holding her as tightly as he had in Neverland and Emma knows he’d like to do that forever, but that won’t be possible in five minutes and she’s not going to remember.

Any of them. At any point.

She’s still not sure why the timing of it all seems so important.

“That’s quite a vessel you captain there, Swan.”

Smiling is the only way she stops herself from kicking him, or possibly kissing him and she’s not prepared for what Killian says next. If she ever gets to remember this, that will seem vaguely ridiculous. All things considered.

“There’s not a day that will go by that I won’t think of you.” He means it. Emma knows that, too. As much as she knows she should have said something — a string of words that’s still a little overwhelming, but the sheet of paper basically lives in her jacket pocket now, and for someone who feels as if she keeps bouncing around time, or at least realms, she also continues to run out of it.

“Good,” she says, and one side of his mouth moves. Tugs up while he stares at her, and struggles to step back and everything disappears. Behind a cloud of purple smoke, and a line that’s brushed away as easily as if it had never been there at all, and Emma forgets.

Most of it, at least.

Some guy knocks on her door, knows her name, and immediately tries to kiss her. It’s not the strangest thing Emma’s ever encountered, but that’s because bail bond’s a weird gig, and he keeps showing up. Gives her a note with handwriting that looks suspiciously familiar, and proves even more than that and her hand shakes. While pulling a weather-stained piece of paper from the folds of her wallet, and she’s got no rational reason for keeping it. Not when she’s got no idea why she has it in the first place, but every time she considers throwing it away, something tugs between her ribs and flutters at the back of her brain and the swoop on the top of his ‘o’ is exactly the same.

She doesn’t mention that before she drinks the potion. And she only balks slightly at the word potion , so that’s another victory and— “Killian,” she breathes, memories flying back. Some arrive quicker than others, while a few hang in the shadows and she knows there’s more to the sheet of paper than she’s willing to admit. Magic fights with her, trying to piece together things that don’t entirely make sense, and she can remember things that don’t make sense. Pirate ships, and flashing swords, and a house with enough windows that it likely sets a record.

And a hand slipping a sheet of paper into her back pocket.

“Miss me?”

It’s a joke. A bad one, at that. Especially coupled with a smile that barely reaches his eyes, but Emma finds herself nodding all the same and he doesn’t stumble backwards when she launches herself at him, hugging as tightly as she can.

The paper goes back in her wallet before they leave for Storybrooke.

She’s going to leave. Get back in her car and go back to New York, and raise Henry like a normal kid, but Emma can’t shake the feeling that there’s something inherently wrong with that plan, and it doesn’t have anything to do with wicked witches or newborn brothers, but maybe deja vu for something she hasn’t lived yet, and Killian’s eyebrows fly into his hairline. When she does the unthinkable.

“Come with us, then.” “You’re not serious,” he challenges.

“Like a heart attack, maybe. I just…none of this is safe, and New York was, I mean…you could be part of—” “False memories, based on magical nonsense.”

Shoulders slumping, Emma can’t come up with an argument to that. Only kind of wants to, but she’s not in the book, and Henry doesn’t want to leave. The dreams she keeps having make sleep something of a pipe dream. And she’s something of a mess, but Killian’s a much better dancer than she expected him to be.

And she’s not surprised to find him rounding the corner of Regina’s dungeon, although it’s nice to be saved, even when she’s perfectly capable of doing it herself. But then his arms threaten to crack several of her ribs ten minutes later, and Emma has a few theories about that. None of which she voices, far too busy memorizing the way his thumb feels when it brushes her cheek, and her mother’s not dead.

Doesn’t remember her, but time travel beggars can’t be choosers. Another burst of deja vu rattles through her, and there’s no magic to jump in her veins, but Killian glances her direction all the same and the wand is heavy in her hand. One that’s magical again, a portal home because it is home and you trade your ship for me isn’t much more than a whisper on warmer-than-usual wind. He doesn’t blink when he answers. She’ll think about that for quite some time.

After she stops thinking about how good they are at kissing, because they are exceptional at kissing and it’s very simple. To fall into this head first, the feeling and the emotion and Killian chuckles when Emma’s magic begins to thrum under her skin.

She tells her parents about Neal.

About what he did, and how he did it and their eyes widen so often she wonders if they’ll get stuck like that. Killian’s hand doesn’t leave her shoulder.

They announce the change two days later. Prince Neal is Prince Leo and he’s still as cute as ever, with a tendency to spit up on whoever holds him.

“Are you alright?” “You’ve asked me that like ten times.” Nodding, Killian doesn’t move and Emma can’t imagine what kind of damage this is doing to his knees, but he doesn’t seem inclined to stand up either and she’s finally starting to get some feeling back in her toes. Fingers, too. Which makes it easier to drag the tips of them over his cheek, and his eyelids fluttering shut is a jolt of confidence she’s going to cling to. “And yet,” he drawls, “I’m still very curious.”

“I’m fine,” Emma says, not for the first time and she knows it won’t be the last. He shifts the blanket draped across her legs, tucking it under her side like—“A mother hen pirate.” “That’s rude, love.” “You’re going to give yourself a coronary.” “I don’t know what that means.” Laughing softly, her lips are still a bit chilly when she presses them to Killian’s skin. Warm, like always. Some joke about her own personal sun, and something else about walls made of ice and she doesn’t think before she mumbles, “you want to lay down, or something?” “Your father might challenge me to a duel.” “Not confident in your own sword skills?” “I’m very confident in my skills, but—” “—C’mon,” Emma interrupts, ignoring Killian’s protest when she pulls her arms out of the mountain of fabric covering her, “you’re warm, anyway.”

She realizes she loves him before she says it.

Well before, honestly. And she wonders why that feels inevitable, almost like it’s already happened, somehow but that’s—well, that’s impossible. She should rid that word from her vocabulary. And the inevitability of telling Killian everything she’s feeling isn’t totally surprising, either. Has been coming on so gradually that don’t you know, Emma, it’s you doesn’t knock her entirely off course. Might right her, actually. Direct her back towards some star or something else nautical and decidedly sentimental, and she cannot rationalize how quiet she is when he falls.

Dies, really.

This alternate version of him that still managed to rescue her, and she couldn’t save him and that’s not right. Two-way streets operate in both directions, but she didn’t tell him and everything feels like it stops. Not long enough. Time refuses to linger the way Emma needs it to, lungs threatening to disintegrate, and this isn’t real, can’t possibly be real and Henry’s pulling on her sleeve, telling her they have to go. He’s right. They’ve got to get out of here. Fix it, and give Emma more time, and she doesn’t spend any of it thinking before she rushes up the loft stairs and clings to him tightly enough that they fall over.

That will feel poetic later.

Standing in the center of Main Street, with a dagger in her hand and magic in the air and it’s familiar all over again, another burst of deja vu, and the exact opposite. Wrong, on a fundamental sort of level that she still can’t ignore and she closes her eyes. Thinks of what could be, or what she hopes will still happen, and then she tilts her head up and meets eyes that are far too blue to be fair and it’s easy to give voice to the words she hadn’t before.

That’s nice, she supposes.

Being as consistently confused by her own thoughts is one of Emma’s biggest pet peeves. “I love you.”

“Getting more and more difficult not to tell him. Isn’t it, dearie?” Sighing, Emma doesn’t bother glancing up from the half-finished dream catcher in her hands and Killian’s not going to be happy that he fell asleep. He likes to think he can protect her better while he’s conscious. As if he could protect her from her own mind.

“Do you even remember it?” Rumplestilskin continues, and it’s not really him. She has to keep reminding herself that. “Can see into your thoughts, y’know. And I don’t think you do.” “Shut up.” He doesn’t, of course. “The Queen did something. Changed something, somehow. Can feel the dregs of her magic, clinging to your memories and—” He leans forward. “—So can you, can’t you? Wonder why those scenes that appear behind your eyes every time you blink, feel so real. All that fairy tale fodder, and another thing you’ll miss out on. Strange how that version of your personal prince charming never mentioned what happens to you, isn’t it? Almost as if he’s keeping secrets. Maybe that’s a sign.” “Shut up.” She doesn’t mean to say anything. Responding only ever eggs the apparition on, and Emma’s head feels as if it will split in two. It might help if it did.

Every one of Rumplestilskin’s teeth is on display when he smiles. Like a goddamn crocodile.

“You could likely get your memories back. If you wanted. All that power surging through your veins. Or maybe,” he continues slowly, “part of what you’re feeling isn’t anything more than fate."

"No, that’s not true."

"Sure of that? Absolutely positive? Anything is possible, after all."

And the idea takes Emma by sudden and overwhelming surprise, part of her hating even the thought, but her feet are already moving and she might be running if the stretch of her legs is any sign, and Merlin doesn’t look up. When she slams open his door.

“You know, don’t you?” “Everything you’ve forgotten?” he asks lightly. “Yes, I do.” “What do I do about it?” “Would you like to do something about it?” “Did Regina do something to my memories?” Emma presses, leaning against the door as soon as it shuts behind her. One of his shoulders lifts. “He—the voice in my head…keeps taunting me about it, and I don’t—is any of that possible? That life?” Finally lifting his gaze, Merlin looks exactly as he did in that movie theater Emma only half believes she actually remembers, and time travel continues to be one of her least favorite things. “Depends,” he replies, “on you, and your next question.”

“I shouldn’t know. Right? Shouldn’t remember, I—he was looking at the house. The one I remember us living in sometimes, and I don’t…it’s impossible. To get back to that.” “He already told you it wasn’t,” Merlin argues.

I’ll never stop fighting for us.

Emma licks her lips. Coming up with anything else to say is difficult, and she’s still holding the goddamn dreamcatcher. That makes it easier. To give into instinct, and she’s broken. At her most basic level. Ripped apart and stitched back with pieces that don’t entirely belong to her, and remembering any of it feels like a cruel trick.

Lifting her arm, the whole thing only takes a few moments. Nothing more than a soft pull, and what feels like a soap bubble popping.

“Feel better?” Merlin asks, gaze dropping back to his table and his task and Emma nearly growls at him.

“What are you talking about?” “That’s what I thought. It won’t all disappear, though. Magic’s got a way of leaving a mark, especially magic like that.”

She leaves before he can make any other cryptic announcements, and Dark Ones don’t really need sleep. Emma sits on the bed for the rest of the night.

Dreams happen occasionally.

In the few days between — after the blade broke apart in her hand, and the decision that she won’t take this lying down, fuck whatever the world says about death and Dark Ones — visions start to creep into Emma’s subconscious. Sometimes they aren’t good, are a startling reminder of how it felt to fall to the ground, and the exact way dew soaked through her jeans, or how cold he was when his hand fell away from hers. And then sometimes they’re…not that.

They’re bright, and laughter rings out in the space Emma can’t quite define. Like it’s somewhere she’s been before, lived in even. Happily so. Scents hang in the air, a mix of salt and sweet and there’s almost always an arm curled around her waist, whispers in her ear and the steady press of kisses along her neck. Soft footsteps echo down carpeted hallways, and there’s garland wrapped around the staircase railing. Lining their ridiculous number of windows, and draped across branches of a tree.

For Christmas.

Emma isn’t sure how she knows that, but the snow outside is a good clue and it’s that — the growing desire to make this dream something closer to a reality, and no one questions her decision. To go to the Underworld. The same way she doesn’t second guess her steps as she races towards Killian, blood on his cheeks and nothing at the end of his left arm and he’s heavier than she remembered. Slumped against her chest with his breath in her ear, and it’s not quite the same as the dream, but they’ll get there.

They’ll get there.

Emma repeats the phrase — over and over, stumbling down a path she’s only passably confident will lead them outside, and he squeezes her hand. Three times.

Sometimes they dance.

In the kitchen. In the living room. She’s got this habit of hoarding records, and Killian’s far more interested in antiquing than he’d ever be willing to admit. Emma makes pirate jokes about it.

If only because it inevitably guarantees that spark in his eyes.

The one that makes her shiver, and reminds her of something she can’t quite remember and—she gasps, a hand spinning her on the kitchen floor. Away from the sink of dirty dishes and anything remotely responsible.

“I’m going to get your shirt all wet,” Emma grumbles, but that doesn’t appear to concern him very much. Or at all.

“Good.” “Good?” “Was that confusing?” Killian challenges, metal already working under the hem of her shirt. There are flowers on it.

“You think you’re very funny.” “I think I’ve got fantastic rhythm, and I can hear you thinking from across the room. What’s got your magic so loud?” Without stopping, Emma’s magic responds in kind — a symphony of possibility, and the growing sense of want that sits like a nearly-comfortable weight in the pit of her stomach, and sometimes she tells him. About the dreams, and the scenes that feel like she’s lived them before, and Killian never tells her she’s crazy. Even when Emma wonders if she might be. Instead, there’s simply this look of his own want, crinkling the skin near his eyes and she kisses away the pinch between his brow. Which makes it easier for her to ask— “Why this one?”

“Excuse me?” “This house,” Emma clarifies, and the conversation’s a little late. They’ve been here for years. Watched Henry grow up, and taught him how to use a sword, and watched movies until they could quote them back without a single mistake. So, really she should have figured it out before, but Emma’s had her suspicions. It’s only now that she’s greedy enough to ask about them.

“You know why.” “Would love to hear you say it.” “Pirate,” Killian accuses, without any insult and Emma giggles when he pulls her back to his chest. “And I—well, it’d be nice, don’t you think?” “Yeah, it would,” Emma says. The agreement tumbles out of her with ease, partially because of that aforementioned greed and the memories she can’t shake and Merlin said something to her. About magic’s tendency to leave something behind.

There’s a sheet of paper still hidden in her wallet.

“So,” she continues, “great big house, with lots of rooms and—” “—It’s your choice, Swan.” “That’s not how it works, and you know it. A combined team of planning and feeling and—” He dips her, she tries very hard not to giggle again. Fails miserably. “—Self-proclaimed rhythm. We just…this isn’t just about me, this is an us thing.” The music doesn’t stop. They only kind of do, Killian leaning back with a glint in his eyes that’s different than it normally is and Emma’s not sure when she started breathing through her mouth, but it’s drying out her lips and that’s not the first time she’s said that.

She doesn’t think so, at least.

“I’m a rather large fan of that string of words,” Killian says. “And you.” “Seems like a requirement of marriage.” “And parenting?” “Yeah?” “Yeah.”

Kissing him is really the only reasonable option. And Emma considers herself fairly reasonable, although her magic nearly makes a light bulb explode a few hours later and it’s difficult to be annoyed by the smug look on Killian’s face when he’s not wearing any clothing.

“What about Regina?”

Half a dozen heads snap towards Emma, some of them sporting bemused expressions, while others wear flat out disbelief and she doesn’t blink. Her fingers tighten, under the table where she’s gripping Killian’s hand and she can’t seem to get comfortable.

There’s way more of her than she’s used to, and the books claim she’s in some stage called nesting. Which Killian uses as an excuse to make Swan jokes at every opportunity. It might be driving her insane.

So, Emma will use that as an excuse. “What do you mean, Your Highness?” Grumpy asks her, and Killian can’t quite mask his laugh. Even with his teeth pressed distractingly into his lower lip.

“I mean,” Emma starts, “that if we’re going to combine all the realms, maybe having Regina in charge might not be the worst idea. She’s got queenly experience.” “Wow,” Regina says slowly, “that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” “No it is not!” “Top five, at least.” “You’re ruining this.”

Scrunching her nose is not a normal Regina reaction, but Emma figures it makes sense considering the circumstances and it’s a lot of responsibility. Uniting all the realms is a pretty daunting prospect, that will require enough of her own magic that Killian’s already freaking out just a bit, and somehow Emma can’t bring herself to be frustrated with that. Endeared, maybe.

And absolutely certain this will work.

She doesn’t know why. She looks at the slip of paper in her wallet, like four times a day.

“You’re sure?” Regina asks, Emma nods. “Alright, then I’d uh—it’d be my honor.”

They buy too many gifts. Hope is a baby. One who won’t have any memory of her first Christmas in this absolutely massive house, with a tree that Anton gave them a discount on.

“For milestones,” he reasoned, and Emma resolutely refuses to admit that she cried. But Killian brings it up more than once, and that gets her to roll her eyes and smile against his mouth when he ducks his head to kiss her and Snow White went above and beyond this year. Decorations line Main Street, cookies shared from every business and every person and all those people keep smiling. At her, and them and their kid is way cuter than her brother was.

Emma doesn’t mention that.

Killian does, at least when he whispers it to her while Leo tears apart another paper-covered box, and Hope gurgles in the crook of his arm. And Emma figures this is as good a time as any. To tug the folded envelope out of her pocket, flipping her wrist at the expectant and slightly confused look on Killian’s face. “What’s this?” “A gift,” Emma snarks, barely twisting out of the way to avoid him nipping at her nose. Like some twisted and very attractive Jack Frost. There’s some silver in his hair now.

He uses his hook to open it.

Emma clicks her tongue. So as not to push into his mouth. That might scar the kid.

“I don’t—” Killian says, pulling the scrap of paper out of. He holds it like it’s precious, and it is for Emma, but she also doesn’t entirely understand it and it’s kind of a selfish gift. “This is my hand writing. Why…I don’t remember writing this.” “And I don’t know when I got it. But I have it.” “I can see that.” “No, no, you don’t understand. It’s—I’ve had that for as long as I can remember. Since before New York, at least.” Killian’s eyes flash. To her and possibly through her, and Emma’s shrug is half-hearted at best. “Memories don’t always stick in this town,” he reasons, but it sounds like an excuse. For something she still doesn’t entirely understand.

“Yeah, I know. But it’s been there. Was in my wallet, and I had it in Camelot, babe. Used to pull it out sometimes, when you were—” “—Dead?” “God bless us, every one.” His laugh lacks any real amusement. It’s not very festive. “I’m going to ask you something,” Emma says, fully prepared for the way his lips curl.

“Eventually you’ll bypass the proclamations, Your Highness.” “Why do you squeeze my hand? You do it all the time.” “Do I?” Blotches of pink appear on his cheeks and he might want to lie, but his ears can’t and that’s not as weird a sentence as it should be. “Only three times, you realize?” “Don’t insult me like that.” That laugh is better. Purer, more like him and Emma’s magic flickers when he kisses her cheek. He’s constantly kissing her cheek. And her hair. Temple. Anywhere he can reach, like he’s always looking for a reminder and proof, until Emma knows she depends on it just as much as he does.

“Made it easier,” he says, “saying it without actually using words.” “And the words were…” He doesn’t really glare — that’s against the rules at Christmas, Emma’s sure, but his head lolls and his lips quirk and magic jumps. In her. To him. Whatever, really. “I love you,” Killian says, easy as some other cliche and Hope squirms between them. When they start kissing.

To suggest that what happens next happens suddenly, also makes it seem like Emma is paying attention to anything outside the little bubble of family and feeling, and neither one of those things is true. So she can’t say that. Her mother can.

Gasping and yelping, and there’s color everywhere — rivaling the lights that hang all over, because no one does holidays and milestones better than Her Royal Highness Snow White of Storybrooke. Emma curses.

Like a goddamn princess.

Remembering something that hasn’t technically happened yet threatens to make Emma topple over, but she’s really good at standing now and Killian’s arm is around her anyway. That helps. Perpetually.

“What the hell was that?” David demands, with as little grace as any of them can exude.

Emma shakes her head, refusing to blink. Despite the moisture there, and the feelings and she remembers. Has this whole time, kind of. The semantics probably aren’t important, at least not as much as the light is and was and will be.

Perpetually.

She doesn’t answer. Not her dad, anyway.

“I love you,” Emma tells Killian instead, and it takes some time to explain it all later. True Love and its somewhat inconsistent if not equally wonderful tendencies, and while that future in the past may not happen exactly as it had, this is somehow better and Emma was right.

They got here, eventually.

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #cs fic #captain swan fic #but once a year #festive fic a thon 2k20 #agh sorry for the incoming reblog but i'd like this to work

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themagicalmysticalboy · 3 years

Note

Iveneverrequestedanaskbeforesryifimlikeawkward

Anyways can you write a mclennon and theres a thunderstorm or something and the power goes out and one if them gets all scared and clingy to the other and they’re scared and it ends with cuddles? I love your writing btw <33

a/n: ah! thank you so much! hope you like this one too! ended up being a lot longer than i thought it would lol

Going to Kansas City...

Going to Get My Baby Back Home

The last note of Long Tall Sally tore from Paul’s throat and blasted into the exuberant crowd as the concert came to an end. He was smiling like mad as he looked between his bandmates and the people in the stadium. It was strange to not see every seat full but he didn’t care at all. There was too much adrenaline coursing through him to give it a second thought. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet as he sent a few thank you’s into the mic.

John held his shoulder and waved with him before going towards the speakers so they could prop their instruments up with the other equipment. “Fucking fantastic,” he yelled close to Paul’s ear.

“Aye, Eppy looks satisfied,” Paul yelled back and nodded to just off the stage where their manager stood.

With another smile and a pat on the shoulder, they both broke into a trot to the locker rooms, George and Ringo on their heels. Paul was still waving the whole way until they descended into the tunnel. Cool air hit his face like a blessing from above. They slowed to a slow stride to catch their breath.

Everyone was soaked in sweat and panting. They had every right to be dead tired but the electricity of the performance wasn’t about to wear off. Paul surmised they had a good 30 minutes before they were absolutely dead on their feet.

“Was weird hearing our own music. ‘Bout forgot what we sounded like,” George said as he wiped at his forehead with his sleeve.

“Small crowd and we still got paid out the arse for it. Screw a day off.”

Paul thought a day off still would have been nice. With it raining like it was when they landed, though, there wouldn’t have been much to do. Might as well make some more money. Maybe that’s why the crowd was so small - all that rain and wind kept people from arriving. It didn’t really matter -money wise- if 30,000 or 10 people came, though. The deal was at a set rate and they got paid the same either way.

“Glad to hear it was worth it, John.”

Paul turned on his heels, walking backward, to find Brian trailing behind. “Aren’t you glad we kept saying no? Got us far.”

“We should start refusing things more often,” Ringo chimed in, tapping the air with his drumsticks.

“All fab and gear and whatever,” George came up and grabbed Paul, jumping to put all his weight on Paul’s shoulders before turning him around and pushing him forward. “but let's get the hell out of these clothes and get some kip.”

There was a general agreement between laughs and jests. They set off to the dressing room while Brian went to ready their ride to the hotel. When they finally found the room in the maze of a stadium, the airconditioning was even better than in the hallways. A fan in the corner hit them as they walked in and sent Paul’s hair on end. He collapsed into a chair at the first opportunity and yanked off his boots, not bothering to unzip them. Taking the boots to the clothes rack, he undressed and hung his outfit up accordingly. When he was happily redressed in a t-shirt and jeans, he looked on at the mess John and George were creating.

George’s clothes were on the floor, surrounding a chair that managed to not so much as catch a sock. Whereas John’s clothes trailed from the door to the vanity. He was mostly undressed, wearing only unbuttoned pants and a tie, as he searched for his clothes. Paul eyed him indulgently as he moved about the room, feeling something between annoyed and pleased. At least Ringo had made a good faith attempt, clothes messily placed on their hangers with boots sat beside Paul’s.

Paul marched over and untied the tie around his neck. “How did you even manage that?”

“I like to keep a mystery.” John’s eyes were soft and dream-like.

“Save it for later, you two,” George exclaimed and made a fake vomiting sound.

Rolling his eyes, Paul leaned into John and picked up his discarded suit jacket, revealing John’s pile of plain clothes. “Looking for these?”

John laughed mockingly and snatched up his jumper. He had just pulled the thing on when the lights flickered out. The breath of the building cut out before wheezing back to life and illuminating the room again. John let out a low woah as they all eyed the ceiling.

“Mal blow a fuse unplugging the speaker,” Ringo joked, his gaze still fixed on the lights.

They stood there for a moment longer before going back to getting dressed and lounging. John got himself together and dressed rather quickly. Paul watched him closely but didn’t question him. When George and Ringo took a seat on either side of Paul, John was pacing the floor and tapping his thighs.

“I’m going to look for Brian. He’s taking too long.”

Paul stood. “John,” But he was gone before any protest could be made. “Great. I’ll go and get him.”

George propped his feet up on the table, taking one of Ringo’s drumsticks to spin between his fingers. “He’ll be alright. Maybe he’ll even get Eppy to tell us what’s going on.”

Paul weighed his options and dropped into the seat at the vanity. “Would be nice to know what’s keeping him.” Tapping at the maroon-painted wood, he noticed John’s glasses wrapped up in his tie. Paul held them up, pulling the tie off. “He’s got his contacts in, hasn’t he?”

“Took ‘em out, actually.”

“The git. He’ll never find his way back here if he doesn’t run into Brian.”

“Probably couldn’t find his way back with the specs. They’ll find each other though.”

Ignoring the advice, Paul was half out of his seat when a nerve-rattling bang sent him falling back. His breath hitched in his throat, his muscles tense and pulling against his skin. Ringo and George were just as stunned, leaning forward on the couch. Slowly, as if they might evoke more banging if they made a sound, the three walked to the door. Howling screams echoed outside, becoming more clear as Ringo placed his hand on the knob. When he opened it, a gust of warm and humid wind rushed into the room. The low howling wind whistled up in pitch.

There was a small set of stairs to their left that led to double doors. They were flung apart like unfolded lungs, rushing all its oxygen into the building. Outside, the parking lot was shrouded in a haze of heavy rain that made the street lights radiate a halo’s glow. They, consequently, did nothing in the way of providing actual visibility.

“That’s probably not very good.”

The lights flickered off and on again, making Paul grip the back of Ringo’s shirt. “No. Probably not.” His mind was a racehorse running through a blank expanse.

George pulled him back into the room. “Come on before we get sucked out the door.”

Steadying himself and pulling back the reins on his mind, he pointed to the other two. “I’m going to get John. Stay here in case Brian comes ‘round.”

“Can’t recall a single time when splitting up has been a good idea,” George said with a raised brow.

“Well, John’s already gone and done it. I’ll make it an even split at the least.”

No further argument was made and Paul went into the hall to find a few staff members going towards the open door. They took no notice as he went the opposite way. The once comforting cool of the hallway moved from humid stuffiness to icey cold in a matter of a few steps. He turned at the first opportunity and heard both doors close with a clank. At least that was handled.

Once he knew he was on the path to where they had originally come into the stadium, he called out, “John! You around?” There was no reply. Down the next corridor, there was another employee sliding a bolt into place at the exit doors. They rushed off, leaving Paul alone. He called out for John again.

“How the hell did I get back here?” John was standing behind Paul, one hand on his head, the other on his lower back. “I went in a circle…”

“These might have helped.” Paul brought over the glasses and slid them on John before grabbing his shoulders. “Better?”

John stuck his tongue out and shook off Paul’s hands.

“Aye, welcome. Now come on. Eppy’s probably this way.” The doors at the far end of the hallway banged against their bolts, rattling from the forceful wind that pushed through the cracks. “Let's pick up the pace, yeah?”

John only nodded, speed walking ahead while Paul struggled to keep up. He was a good 6 feet in the lead when the lights cut.

“Fucking hell.” Paul was getting tired of this finicky electricity.

“Paul?”

“Yeah. Haven’t disappeared.” He might as well have. The dark that blanketed the building was dense and consuming. He had no way to see anything at all.

“Where are you?”

“I’ve got my arms out. Just walk back towards me.” Having the clack of their boot heels would have been nice at the moment. Their sneakers were far too quiet to make out the location by. Regardless, John’s strong grip wrapped Paul’s bicep. “There we- oh-”

John’s arms wrapped underneath Paul’s, pulling them together by the shoulder blades. His head was buried into the crook of Paul’s neck. More banging echoed somewhere in the distance and John held tighter.

“Hey,” he gently rubbed circles over John’s back. “We’re alright, y’know.”

“I don’t like this.” John shook his head against Paul, trembling in his arms. His heartbeat was wild in his chest, thumping against his ribs so forcefully that Paul could feel it too. He had seen John like this before but only a handful of times. It sent Paul’s alarm bells off. “Paul, I can’t- I-”

“Okay… Okay. Let's sit, then.” They parted briefly and Paul led him to a wall so they could slide to the floor. “Come here.” John pressed against him, head on his shoulder and hand in hand.

Without the hum of electricity, the wind completely filled the deafening silence, only interrupted by the bang of doors and distant footsteps from the level above. Though that did let them know other people were somewhere, it gave an already ominous atmosphere that last nudged into horror. Paul might have been scared himself but he couldn’t think of anything other than John’s panicked breathing and shaking hand.

“I’ve got you, okay? We’re not going anywhere, neither of us.” John didn’t respond. “You need to breathe, love. Take a deep breath for me, please.” They breathed together - slow inhale and even slower exhale - over and over. “That’s good.”

He was shaking less when he fell into Paul. “Shouldn’t there be backup lights?”

Paul chuckled softly. “You’d really think.”

“You think it’s a tornado? Mal said this was part of Tornado Valley… Or was it Alley?”

“Tornado Alley? Only in America, I swear.” His fingers were still tangled in John’s hair, lightly massaging his scalp. “They got a state-designated for hurricanes too?”

“Actually, I think they do. Maybe Florida.”

Paul let out a wholehearted laugh. John slowly worked his way into one too. “Can’t wait to be back in England. I’ll take rain and no sun every day over whatever this all is.”

“Yeah…” Another clatter of metal echoed from the dark and John tensed.

Paul gave a reassuring squeeze of his hand. “And we will get back. In one piece too. Storms can’t stick around forever.”

They settled into a mutual silence as the aches of sleep crept into their bones. John ran a hand up and down Paul’s thigh and Paul held his head against his shoulder. They both jolted every now and again but were fairly still for the most part. Any footfall that was above them stopped some time ago. At least that had calmed John’s nerves a bit further. Though Paul found it more frightening now that they were gone - not that he’d dare to voice that.

He was too tired to be scared anyway. The nonstop concerts and traveling exacerbated the stress of all of this and left him numb. It was safe to be numb now. John felt slack against his shoulder, finally at peace. A weird tranquility slipped through his skin and sunk into his bones. The darkness deepened as his eyes fluttered shut.

“What are you doing on the floor?” A drawled voice drifted into his dream. “Paul.”

He grumbled and opened his eyes, only to be attacked by searing light. He sucked in a pained breath and shielded his eyes to look for the source of the voice. Squinting, he could make out George coming down the hall. He blinked away the sting and stretched a bit. John’s head was on his lap, still fast asleep.

“Morning,” he mumbled on instinct, rubbing any leftover sleep from his eyes. “John, love. Wake up.”

“Come on before someone sees you both all snuggled up like.”

John copied Paul’s wake routine down to the “Morning.”

“Yeah, yeah. Morning, morning.”

After some much-needed stretching, George hauled John to his feet though it was more for show than actual help. Paul followed, leaning on the wall as pins pricked at his sleeping legs. “How long have we been gone.”

George was taking the lead. He turned his head back to say, “Well, it’s past midnight. They just got the power on not even 15 minutes ago. I’d say you’ve been missing for three hours.”

Both men only grunted a response, swaying sleepily as they walked.

“Wish it was longer,” John groaned.

“Aye. I’m still wiped.”

“The storms passed enough to get to the hotel. Both of you can get back to your snuggling soon.”

A smile twitched at Paul’s lips. “Good.”

#read on ao3 #johns-diqi #the beatles #paul mccartney #john lennon #george harrison #ringo starr #mclennon #fan fic requests

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freebooter4ever · 3 years

Text

Kangaroos

You can blame my roommates' friends in Australia for this. Short fluff with Eugene and Snafu being cute:

Snafu and Eugene arrive in Texas three days prior to the wedding. Coming all the way from Oregon, they travel the farthest of Burgie's guests (Florence's relatives don't count, nowhere is as far away as Australia), and Eugene is having fits worrying about whether they'll make it across the mountains in time or be delayed due to snow. No matter how many times Snafu reminds Eugene of his skills as a mechanic should they experience car trouble, Eugene's typical southern boy fear of snow persists and eventually Snafu gives in and books the motel for an extra few days.

Once they’re in Texas, Eugene proves to be equally nervous about meeting Burgie's family, as well as seeing Burgie himself for the first time in two years.

"Calm your ass down, Sledge," Snafu grumps as he desperately tries to figure out the proper configuration of the damned sweater vest Eugene bought him for the occasion.

"You put your head through an armhole again," Eugene points out as he twists his ring on and off his finger anxiously.

"Fuck," Snafu grumbles, "Fucking, fuck." He rips the thing off his head and tries again.

“Backwards,” Eugene corrects him. The asshole offers no help beyond his words of direction.

Snafu keeps the sweater bunched around his neck as he rotates it, so he knows he got at least one hole right.

"We need to look respectable," Eugene says and hands Snafu his tie.

"I think they'd treat me the same whether I was wearing a sweater with sleeves or without," Snafu says. He eyes Eugene's fingers which won't leave the ring be. "You're not gonna take it off, are you?"

Eugene immediately drops his hands to his sides and looks guilty, "No..."

"Gene, we're in farm country Texas," Snafu pulls him close and gives him a kiss, "Burgie already knows and no one else is gonna even notice, I promise."

"They're gonna notice if you go around doing that all day," Eugene says and wipes Snafu's sweet tasting chapstick off his lips. Eugene bends down to retie his shoelaces because one string is longer than the other.

"No more kisses, I promise," Snafu swears and crosses his heart.

Eugene straightens with a slightly alarmed look, "I mean...not...not ever again...right?"

"Never again," Snafu sing-songs obnoxiously, "Never ever ever..."

Eugene grabs Snafu’s crooked tie, drags him into a kiss, and makes sure to get all his lustful urges out of the way before they drive to the ranch.

Burgie's ranch is somewhere in the countryside where the closest town is too small to even have a motel. They have to drive two hours just to get there. Snafu sings ‘These Wedding Bells Are Busting Up This Old Gang of Mine’ the whole way. And everytime they fill up, Snafu complains about having to stop at watered down podunk gas stations.

"We own a podunk gas station, Snaf," Eugene comments.

"Yeah but we don't dilute our gas," Snafu states proudly, "Look at the mileage I'm getting right now. Ain't no way that was high quality gasoline back there. I know my car, Gene."

By the time they do reach Burgie's ranch, Eugene is already exhausted. He is not prepared for how calm and collected Burgie is.

"We've actually been married for the past nine months," Burgie shrugs as he sits in his parlor while the rest of the house is chaos around him, "This is just a party, really. Went down to the courthouse and made it official the minute Florence arrived in Los Angeles." He raises his hand and wiggles his fingers to show off his ring.

Eugene puts his own hands in his pants pockets.

Snafu, meanwhile, can't pay attention to a word Burgie is saying. All he can focus on is the baby kangaroo happily playing in Burgie's lap, as if it's the most normal thing in the world. Snafu waves at it and tries to get it's attention, but the baby kangaroo does not care.

"Sorry," Burgie says to Snafu as the kangaroo bops it's head against Burgie's shoulder, "He only has eyes for me. The other kangaroos couldn't care less, but Joey's gotten attached."

Florence pokes her head into the parlor while on her way to the kitchen and tsks, "Had I known, when I asked to bring some of my family's kangaroos with me from Australia and you said yes, that you would turn into a big softie and let them in the house, I would never have brought them." Burgie grins at his bride, and they share a quick moment of fond eye contact before she's called away for a flour emergency.

"She's lying, she's the one who feeds baby Joey at the table with a bottle," Burgie tells Snafu.

"Can they be trained?" Snafu asks curiously.

"Not really," Burgie laughs, "The only ones we let into the house are the babies that we hand rear. And even then only till they are old enough to eat solid foods. I swear half my life is cleaning up mess..."

"Huh, maybe I want one," Snafu says. He reaches his hand out tentatively to the kangaroo and smiles. The kangaroo shows mild interest in the shiny ring on Snaf’s finger. Burgie shows interest in it too, but he’s too polite to comment.

"No," Eugene says flatly.

"Yeah. You’re probably right," Snafu drawls and leans back in his chair to look at his own blushing husband, "What do I need a kangaroo for when I've got my Gene-Boo right here."

Eugene is turning beet red.

Snafu gestures for Eugene to come closer, "Take your coat off and sit down, Sledgehammer. Stop holding up the wall over there, Burgie'll think you don't want to be here."

Burgie snorts and watches with amusement.

Eugene takes a few steps closer to Snafu, eyeing him warily.

Snafu reaches his hand out and gestures again.

Eugene entwines their fingers together and stands next to Snafu's chair so he can hold his hand.

But that's not enough for Snafu - he knows exactly what he wants. He twirls Eugene around to the front of the chair and tugs him down till Eugene plops into his lap.

"Yup, no kangaroo necessary," Snafu announces, “My lap’s full up.” He loosely closes his arms around Eugene's waist and leans his chin against Eugene's shoulder. Eugene crosses his own arms so he can hold onto both of Snafu's hands. Their wedding bands clink together. Snafu couldn't grin any harder if he tried. They never had a wedding - they did it the old fashioned way, just an extra name in a bible and a vow. The memory still makes Snafu the happiest he’s ever been in his entire life.

Burgie, on the other hand, is trying very hard not to laugh.

Eugene sighs and thinks about what succulents he needs to purchase for his garden back home before they leave the southwest.

Florence pops back into the parlor, peeling her flour covered apron off and brushing her hands clean. "I apologize for the chaos - had everything gone as planned we would have been all set days ago..." She falls silent when she sees her husband sitting with a baby kangaroo on his lap and her husband's old war buddy sitting across the room with a Eugene on his lap.

Without missing a beat, and with comedic effect almost as flawless as Eugene’s, Florence turns to Snafu and asks, "Would you like a bottle?"

Snafu cracks up laughing. Eugene jumps to his feet like someone lit a fire under his ass. His face glows a lovely fire engine red.

"Only if you can fill it with whiskey," Snafu jokes to Florence in response.

"I certainly can," Florence says.

And Eugene makes sure Snafu only drinks from his whiskey-bottle for the rest of the night as penance.

#sledgefu

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zukoskataraa · 3 years

Text

the one where zuko streams

merry christmas everyone! here’s a quick oneshot i made just in time for christmas, although it isn’t related to the holiday at all. hope you guys enjoy!

“Zuko? Are you home?” Katara asks as she walks through the front door, taking off her shoes. She puts her bag down on the counter and unties her hair from her bun, sighing. She hears Zuko laugh, and sees him peeking through the doorway from his office/game room.

“Hey, babe.” He’s gone as quick as he appeared, and Katara frowns. “Ah, that was my girlfriend, guys. She just came home.” Zuko says and Katara heads towards the room where Zuko’s at. “You guys want to see her? I’ll have to ask her first if she’s alright with that.”

“Zuko? You’re streaming?” Katara asks from the doorway, hidden from the camera. Zuko pauses his game and adjusts his headphones as he looks at her, smiling.

“Yeah. Everyone wants to see you, babe. If you’re cool with that.” Zuko says. Katara bites her lip as she slowly walks towards Zuko. Zuko chuckles and grabs Katara’s hand, gently pulling her towards him. She yelps as she lands on his lap. Zuko laughs and swirls his chair back towards his computer, their faces on the top left of the screen.

“This is my girlfriend! Her name’s Katara.” Zuko says proudly, wrapping his arms around her waist, resting his head on her shoulder. Katara looks at the right side of the screen, and Zuko’s chat stream is immediately filled with heart-eyed emojis and heart emojis.

Katara smiles and waves awkwardly, and Zuko gives her a peck on the cheek, making her blush. “How long have you been streaming?” Katara asks.

“About an hour or so. I should be done by 11.” Zuko says and Katara nods. It was 10:24 now.

“Oh, you’re playing Genshin Impact?” Katara asks, finally noticing the game on the screen.

“Yup. Just farming.” Zuko replies. Katara looks at the chat.

“Do you play Genshin, Zuko’s girlfriend?” She reads aloud someone’s comment and giggles.

“Katara doesn’t play Genshin. I’ve been trying to convince her though. She’s a tough egg to crack. But I think she knows a bit about it.” Zuko replies, completely distracted now that Katara was with him.

“They’re so in love wtf I wanna experience that.” Katara reads aloud, blushing as she reads a comment and she smiles. Zuko chuckles.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll experience it soon.” He says in reply to the comment that Katara just read.

“Easy for you to say. You already know how it feels.” Katara jokes and Zuko chuckles.

“You’re right. And it’s the best feeling ever.” Zuko replies and Katara smiles, reading another comment.

“Your girlfriend is so pretty, I’m jealous.” Katara says, blushing. Zuko smiles.

“She really is pretty. And sweet. And kind. And I love her.” Zuko says and Katara blushes even more. There are more heart emojis in the chat now.

“Look at you, being all sappy right now.” Katara teases and Zuko chuckles.

“I can’t help it. When I have you with me, it’s hard to keep my emotions in check.” Zuko says and Katara giggles. “Sorry for being sappy on the stream guys. It’s not every day that Katara is here with me, streaming. She’s really busy since she’s a clinician at the hospital. So, I try to spend every minute I can with her.” Zuko explains, hugging Katara even tighter. Katara blushes.

“You say that, yet here you are streaming.” Katara jokes and Zuko chuckles.

“Well, at least I have you with me.” He replies. “Are you gonna go to bed now? Or do you wanna stay here with me and stream?”

“Oh, I don’t wanna disturb your time with your fans.” Katara says. Her eyes are stuck on the right side of the screen, reading the chat.

“Nonsense. Guys, it’d be okay if Katara streams with me, right?” Zuko asks, looking at the chat stream. It’s flooded with ‘yeses’ and thumbs up emojis. “See, everyone loves you. But if you’re really tired, you can sleep babe.”

“I mean, what’ll I do if I stream with you?” Katara asks, smiling when she sees a comment saying ‘I came here for the game but I’m staying for these two lovebirds.’

“Well, I guess you can sit on my lap and look pretty. But, that’s what you’re already doing.” Zuko replies and Katara blushes. “Oh, you can read the chat aloud while I play.”

“Okay, yeah. That seems doable. But won’t it be hard for you to play like this?” Katara asks and Zuko smiles.

“I’ll manage.” He says as he moves his chair a bit closer to his desk. “Alright! Let’s head back to the game now, guys.” Zuko resumes the game, and starts to move his character towards a small group of enemies.

“What are those?” Katara asks.

“These are fatui. I hate fighting them, but I need their rewards to level up my characters. So I don’t have a choice.” Zuko replies, eyes now focused on the screen.

“You should fight an ocea… oceanoid?” Katara says, reading a comment out loud. Zuko chuckles.

“Oceanid. It’s the water boss.” Zuko replies, furiously clicking the mouse. Katara looks at the screen to see which character he was using.

“Oh my god, you’re using Diluc. Is that the correct person? That redhead.” Katara says and Zuko nods.

“Yup. This is Diluc. How do you know him, though?” Zuko asks.

“Toph.” Katara replies, looking at the chat.

“Ah, right. Do you like Diluc?” Zuko asks and Katara smiles.

“Well, he’s handsome. His ponytail is also cute.” Katara replies, teasing Zuko. Katara can see Zuko pout on screen and Katara laughs when she sees a comment saying ‘OMG she’s trying to make Zuko jealous.’

“I should dye my hair red and make it longer. Is that what you’re saying?” Zuko asks. Katara giggles.

“I’m not saying you should. But your fans want you to cosplay as him.” She says, reading the chat.

“Well, I better not disappoint my fans. I’ll see what I can do guys.” He says, giving them a wink on camera.

“I would love to see that too.” Katara says and Zuko rolls his eyes, smirking.

“Are there any other Genshin boys you like, Katara?” Zuko asks, jealousy clear in his voice. Even the viewers can tell, as they’re all saying ‘Katara, please stop making him jealous’ or ‘Zuko, don’t get jealous over a video game character’

“If I were Katara’s boyfriend. I’d be jealous too. I mean, have you SEEN the boys in the game? They’re hot.” Katara reads a comment aloud, and laughs. Zuko chuckles.

“I’m not jealous, okay?”

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that big guy.” Katara says, patting Zuko’s hand.

“You never answered my question.” Zuko says and Katara hums.

“Well, I only know Diluc. But I’ve seen pics of this dude online. That ice boy with the eyepatch. I don’t know his name though.” Katara says. She reads the chat to see everyone immediately say ‘Kaeya’ with others putting heart emojis with his name.

“Kaeya. Got it.” Zuko replies, collecting the rewards in the game. “Alright guys, I have an agenda now. I’ll go fight the oceanid, as someone said. Then I’ll do the pyro boss. And I guess I’ll do the cryo boss, if I have enough resin.” Zuko says, all serious. Katara smiles.

“Ah someone’s asking why you won’t do co-op.” Katara says. “Whatever that means.”

“Co-op is like where you can play with other players and fight bosses and stuff.” Zuko explains. “I don’t do co-op since I don’t want people to farm in my world. I just need the resources, that’s it. And I don’t really like going to other people’s worlds too. I don’t know why.” Zuko says and Katara giggles.

“You have Venti right? Why don’t you use him?” Katara reads a comment aloud. “Who’s Venti? Isn’t that a cup size at Starbucks?” Zuko laughs, and Katara can see the stream chat flood with laughing emojis.

“Venti is indeed a cup size, Katara. But he’s also a character in the game. And I do have him. I’ll add him to my party now since I’m about to go to the water boss. I’ll switch… Childe for Venti.” Zuko says and shows his team on screen.

“Wow, you have a lot of characters. Yeah, I agree with that person. You have a lot.” Katara says after she reads a comment as she looks at the screen.

“Well, I scout and get lucky.” Zuko says, shrugging. Katara hums as she continues to read the chat as Zuko plays.

“All right. It’s already 11 guys. I should go now. Thanks for watching the stream! And thank you all for your continuous support. And for my new viewers and followers, welcome!” Zuko smiles. “Do you have anything to say, Kat?”

“Um. Thanks for watching Zuko’s stream, everyone! I might be new to genshin and streaming, but you guys are really amazing. It’s nice to know that you all love Zuko. I appreciate your support as well.” She smiles. “You should come back on his next stream.” Katara reads a comment aloud.

“No promises about Katara being back soon, guys. She’s a clinician, as I said earlier. But I’m also hoping that she’ll be able to stream with me again soon.” Zuko explains as he wraps his arms around Katara. She blushes, biting her lip. “Anyway, that’s it for this stream guys! Thanks again for watching. My next stream will be on Sunday at 9pm. See you all soon!” He smiles and ends the stream. People are still flooding the stream chat, and Katara smiles. Zuko takes off his headphones and ruffles his hair.

“I missed you.” Zuko says as he gives Katara a peck on her cheek. She smiles and stands up. Zuko follows.

“I missed you too.” She says as she leans up to kiss him, putting both hands on either side of his face. They smile as they pull away, slightly panting.

“Are your legs dead? I feel like they are. You were sitting down for almost an hour with me sitting on them.” Katara says, worried and Zuko laughs.

“My legs are alive, thank you very much. How was your day?” Zuko asks as he turns off his PC. Katara sighs.

“I am so tired. I just wanna cuddle.” She says, stifling a yawn. Zuko walks towards Katara, wrapping her in his arms. He gives her a quick peck on her head. Katara smiles as she hugs Zuko back.

“I’m sorry for making you stream with me.” Zuko says, pulling away. He grabs Katara’s hand and they walk towards the living room.

“No, it’s fine. I had fun. Your viewers are really nice.” Katara replies, as she sits down on the couch. Zuko chuckles as he sits beside her on the couch arm.

“They really are. Why don’t you stay here, and I’ll run you a warm bath. How does that sound?” He says, giving her a quick peck on her forehead.

“That sounds wonderful.” Katara replies. Zuko smiles as he stands up and heads towards the bathroom. Katara sighs in content, thinking about how lucky she was to have Zuko in her life. A minute later, Zuko walks out of the bathroom with her robe in hand.

“Here ya go, babe. I also lit a candle in there because I know you love them.” He says and Katara stands up, smiling.

“Thanks, Zuko.” She leans up to give him a quick peck on the lips.

“Do you want anything for a midnight snack? We can order takeout, or I can make some ramen or whatever you want.” Zuko says, walking towards the kitchen.

“Ramen sounds good. Can we just share though? I’m not too hungry.” She replies and Zuko hums.

“Got it. Take your time, babe.” He replies, grabbing the ingredients he needed. Katara walks to their room and starts to take off her clothes. She wraps her robe around her, and puts her dirty clothes in the laundry basket. She walks outside and sees Zuko in the kitchen, facing the stove. She quietly walks up to him and wraps her arms around his waist, burying her face in his back.

“I love you.” She says, voice muffled. Zuko chuckles, and she feels the vibrations on her face.

“I love you too, babe.” Zuko replies. She gently bites his shoulder, and Zuko laughs. “Hey, no biting.”

“Sorry.” She pulls away. “I’ll be back.” She gently pinches Zuko’s side, making him yelp. “Sorry!” She giggles as she jogs to the bathroom. Zuko catches her wrist, and she giggles as Zuko takes her in his arms. “Ah! Let me go!” Katara giggles as Zuko buries his head in her neck, his hands tickling her sides.

“Hm, maybe.” He says, his voice hoarse. Katara gulps as Zuko plants a kiss on her collarbone.

“Zuko, let go.” She giggles, and Zuko chuckles as he lets go of Katara. “Bye!” She says, winking as she walks away from Zuko. Zuko returns to the kitchen and Katara gets inside the bathroom. Katara ties her hair quickly in a messy bun and sighs in content as she steps in the tub, slowly sinking down. She closes her eyes, humming to herself.

A few minutes later, Katara walks out of the bathroom, robe around her. Zuko smiles as he puts the bowl of ramen on the living room table.

“Great timing. I just finished cooking.” Zuko says, sitting down. Katara smiles.

“Yay! Let me just change real quick.” She says as she walks to their room. Zuko grabs the remote control and turns on the television, opening Netflix. He scrolls through the app for a minute, looking for a movie to watch. Katara finishes changing into a tank top and shorts, and quietly walks up to Zuko, putting her hands on either side of his face and leans down to give him a peck on his nose. Zuko chuckles and Katara smiles as she heads to the kitchen, grabbing a soda can.

“What do you wanna watch?” Zuko asks Katara as she sits beside Zuko. She huddles close to him, and Zuko wraps an arm around her. She gives the can of soda to Zuko as she gets the ramen from the table, humming. She leans back on Zuko.

“I’m fine with anything. A comedy would be good.” She says as she takes a sip from the bowl. She closes her eyes. “You make the best ramen ever.” She says and Zuko chuckles, giving Katara a peck on her hair.

“My skills are unmatched.” He says and Katara giggles as she grabs some noodles with the chopsticks, and puts them in her mouth.

“This is so good. I don’t understand how or why, but I’m not complaining. Having a chef as a boyfriend really comes in handy.” Katara says, mouth full and Zuko laughs. Katara grabs some noodles again, this time giving them to Zuko.

“Say ‘ahh’.” She says, smiling. Zuko smiles and opens his mouth.

“Ahh.” He says and Katara giggles as she feeds Zuko the ramen. Zuko chews, humming.

“It’s good, right? I mean, anything that you make is good honestly.” Katara continues to praise Zuko, and he blushes.

“Always the flatterer.” Zuko says and Kat shakes her head, putting the bowl back on the table.

“Well, I’m only saying the truth.” She says as she grabs the soda can back from Zuko and opens it. She takes a sip and offers it to Zuko, who declines. She shrugs as she puts the can beside the bowl of ramen, yawning.

“Are you sleepy? We can go ahead and sleep if you want to.” Zuko says. “I know you’ve been busy at the hospital, so you deserve to rest.”

“You’re so sweet. And cute.” Katara says as she leans in for a kiss. Zuko smiles as he puts one hand on her cheek, gently caressing her. They pull away from the kiss, smiling.

“I try. Do you still want to watch a movie?” Zuko asks and Katara nods. Zuko picks a random movie, and Katara switches her position, laying her head on Zuko’s lap.

By the end of the movie, Katara was fast asleep on Zuko’s lap. Zuko chuckles as he turns off the television. He stands up slowly, gently carrying Katara bridal style to their room. She snuggles close to his chest, and Zuko smiles as he pecks Katara’s forehead. He lays her down slowly on their bed, and Zuko puts her blanket on top of her. He quickly puts away the ramen and soda in the living room and walks back to their room. He lies down, leaning onto Katara’s side of the bed to peck her on the cheek.

“Good night, Kat.” He whispers, as he lies down, back facing her. Zuko feels Katara move closer to him, her face snuggling his back.

“Good night, Zuko.” She mumbles, and Zuko smiles.

masterlist

ao3: zukoskataraa

#katara #zuko #zutara #zutara fic #zuko x katara #writer #fic #fanfic #oneshot #writers on tumblr #writing prompt #atla #a:tla #avatar #the last airbender #avatar: the last airbender #avatar the last airbender #writing

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