#props to you peeps for reading these long ass tags
Note
Hi, its me! Im sorry for bothering you! How would Bakugou, Aizawa, and Iida react if some random kid, who had their eyes but different hair, who looks homeless and IS homeless, knockef on their door and said 'hey, do you know *insert womans name*? Youre my dad apparently' and it turns iut it was a woman they had a flimg with, who left them, and went on to abusr their kid? Like severely? Its just me projecting lol. Im so sorry have a great day!
A/N: I noticed that @madkaleidoscope got almost the same request while going through the my hero tags, so please check out their post HERE for another take on the same idea.
A Surprise Meeting
(Bakugo, Iida, and Aizawa meet their abused child)
You can read the same scenario for Todoroki and Dabi HERE
You can read the same scenario for Hawks, Fatgum, and Shigaraki Here
Warning:⚠️Mentions of child abuse and homelessness. Also, swearing for Bakugo!⚠️
Bakugo
“What the hell do you mean they were offended?” Bakugo growls at his manager through the phone propped up on his shoulder as he aggressively chops up vegetables for the stew he was making. “Instead of being grateful that I saved their asses, they decided to file a complaint against me huh?”
The underpaid person on the other end launches into an explanation about why a top ranked pro hero should avoid yelling out expletives while fighting villains in front of a crowd of civilians. Apparently it wasn’t an appropriate way to behave in front of impressionable children and elderly folks. Bakugo rolled his eyes as he continued cooking. He’d heard this spiel a hundred times before. He’d honestly worked hard over the years to improve the way he directly interacted with the innocent people he fought to protect every day, but he couldn’t help but get a little overzealous in the moment when taking down bad guys.
Bakugo clicked his tongue in annoyance when his doorbell suddenly rang. He wiped his hands off on a towel before going to tell off whoever it was that was interrupting his very limited free time. It was bad enough he was already getting an earful from his manger while he was trying to relax. He ripped open the door and felt a hint of surprise when he had to lower his angry red eyes to find the unexpected visitor. It was a little girl.
“What the hell?” Bakugo leaned out of the doorway a bit to look for an adult that might be accompanying the child but she seemed to be all alone. His manager paused their lecture to ask if he was all right. “Yeah, but I’m going to have to call you back,” Bakugo hangs up the phone and looks back at the little girl who was glaring up at him with familiar red eyes. Her long dark hair was dirty and matted. She had scrapes and bruises all over her arms and face.
“Do you need help or something?” Bakugo asks awkwardly as he tries to slip into his comforting hero voice. “Where are your parents?”
“Mommy left and didn’t come back,” the little girl scowls and crosses her arms. She then tells Bakugo her mother’s name, causing the man to freeze up in shock at the implication. “She said you were my daddy.” Bakugo just stands speechless for a few moments as his brain tries to catch up with what he’d just heard. He knew the girl’s mom, but he hadn’t seen her in about four years. They’d had a bit of a summer romance right at the beginning of his hero career before she’d suddenly disappeared, never to be heard from again.
Bakugo lets his eyes scan over the little girl once more. He couldn’t deny she had his eyes and his scowl. He felt irritated that his summer fling hadn’t even had the decency to tell him she’d gotten pregnant. He squats down to look more closely at the dirt and injuries all over the girl’s body.
“Who did this to you?” he asks, trying to keep the gruffness from his voice. Some emotion cracks through the little girl’s false bravado then and she looks down at her bare feet shyly.
“Mommy…” she whispers. Bakugo takes a deep breath to calm the rage that boiled up inside him and offers a hand to the little girl.
“Mommy left me too,” he confesses. “But she’s not going to hurt either of us ever again, okay?” The little girl looks up at her dad, a tentative hope blossoming in her eyes. Bakugo knew this was going to impact his life in a huge way, but at the moment he only cared about getting to know his daughter and making up for lost time. “Are you hungry?” The little girl nods her head eagerly and he leads her into his apartment. He would get her cleaned up and fed before getting started on all the legal stuff he’d undoubtedly have to endure before she could really be his daughter completely. His mind was already coming up with ways to fit parenting into his work schedule though, and he found himself looking forward to spending as much time with his little girl as possible.
Iida
Iida assumed he was going to have another normal morning as he sat at his desk, looking over his patrol route for the day. He’d taken over his family’s hero agency not too long ago, but he was already used to the daily routine. All the experiences he’d lived through during high school, not to mention growing up in a family of heroes, had prepared him for most scenarios he would encounter as a pro. He had no reason to suspect that anything out of the ordinary would happen, even as he heard the knock on his office door.
“Come in,” he calls out while standing up to start putting on his hero costume. The door blasts open and a young girl runs into the room.
“Daddy!” she shouts as she runs right up to him and throws her arms around his waist. Iida looks down at the girl in shock before glancing towards the door where one of his sidekicks stood looking as confused as he felt.
“Sorry for the intrusion,” the sidekick says a bit awkwardly. “One of the interns found her wandering outside. She was asking people to help her find you, her dad.”
Iida wanted to deny the claim immediately. He would definitely know if he had a child, especially one who looked to be around eight years old. The idea became a lot less preposterous as he looked back down at the girl. Her hair color was as white as snow, a complete contrast to his dark blue. The thing that gave him pause were the two legs sticking out from under the dirty skirt the girl was wearing. Her legs looked skinny, too skinny, aside from her calves which had tiny exhaust pipes sticking out of them. The girl looks up at him after a moment to meet his gaze. His breathe catches in his throat at her blue eyes and checkmark shaped eyebrows that were iconic to the Iida family.
“Uh, thank you,” Iida felt flustered as he looks back at his sidekick who was blatantly starting at him in shock. “I’ll handle this from here. Do you mind asking someone to take over my patrol?” The sidekick accepts the job and hurries off, leaving Iida alone with the girl. Part of him felt really embarrassed that this had happened in front of his coworkers. He couldn’t imagine what they must think of him now. He definitely didn’t seem like the type to be involved with something that could be perceived as scandalous.
“What is your mother’s name?” Iida asks, even though he was sure he already knew. The list of possibilities was very small. The little girl goes up on her tiptoes and Iida bends down to meet her so she can whisper in his ear. He sighs heavily at the name that falls from her lips. It was just further confirmation that this wasn’t some crazy misunderstanding. The information settles into his mind. He was a father.
“Please don’t make me go back to her though,” the girl’s eyes brim with tears as she searches Iida’s face for comfort. “She’s scary.” Iida understood how the girl felt. If given the option, he would choose never to see that woman again either. She had only dated him for a brief time, pretending to be in love with him in order to take advantage of his fame until she found someone higher up in the ranks to seduce. He had been so shocked and heart broken when she’d left him so suddenly, but now there was no way to hide from that mistake of his past.
“Why do you say she’s scary?” Iida asks while putting a hand on the girl’s shoulder. She winces and flinches away from his touch. He narrows his eyes in concern and asks her to roll up her sleeves. His heart fills with sadness at the welts marring her frail arms. “I see,” he frowns. “I promise you won’t have to see her again if you don’t want to, but can you tell me where she lives?”
“I don’t know. We always have to sleep outside,” the girl explains warily, painting a rather sad image of her life.
“Well that just won’t do,” he pats her on the head. “I’m going to make sure you have a comfy, warm bed to sleep in from now on.” The girl’s face lights up happily and she hugs Iida even tighter. The shame he’d felt initially was gone now, replaced by a determination to provide his daughter with the best life possible.
Aizawa
Between all his hero work and being a full time teacher, Aizawa’s opportunities to simply sleep for a couple consecutive hours were few and far between. He took any chance he could to just shut his eyes and rest for a while. Tonight he’d hoped to get a decent amount of sleep in before having to wake up at the crack of dawn to attend a UA staff meeting. However, it seemed fate had other plans for him.
It was around one in the morning when a knock on his front door pulled him from the depths of his much needed slumber. He rubbed the exhaustion from his eyes as he rolled out of bed, not even having the energy to be annoyed. “Who is it?” He asks while putting on his slippers and shuffling over to the door. There was no answer, so he pressed his face up to the peep hole. He let out a groan when he saw a random kid standing outside. If this was some kind of prank, he wasn’t sure he had the strength of mind to deal with it at this hour. He already put up with a whole class of teenagers every day who drained him of every drop of patience he had.
“Can I help you?” Aizawa mumbles after opening the door. The young boy in front of him looked to be about thirteen years old. The ends of his dark burgundy hair were frayed and had been cut sloppily as if he’d done it himself. He had outgrown his clothes a while ago, and they appeared uncomfortably small on his skinny frame. The poor kid looked extremely dirty and smelled even worse.
“Do you know this woman?” the haggard boy holds out an old photograph of a person Aizawa recognized immediately. It had been a very long time, but he’d never forget the face of the first woman he’d ever been with. He’d been so young and naïve at the time, and he still felt bitter toward the friend who’d set him up with a woman with such an atrocious personality. Aizawa knew right then and there that he wasn’t going to be getting back to sleep anytime soon.
“This is my mother,” the boy states the obvious fact. “And apparently you’re my dad.” Aizawa had no reason not to believe him as he looked into the boy’s tired eyes that matched his own. It was clear that life had not been kind to the kid so far.
“Come on in,” Aizawa invites his son inside, deciding to wait to involve the proper authorities until morning. “You can take a hot shower, and I think I have some leftovers we can heat up.”
“A shower?” the boy looked overwhelmed, as if the promise of a shower was more than he’d ever dared to hope for. Aizawa was growing more concerned with each passing second.
“Where is your mother now?” He asks and the boy shrugs.
“I haven’t seen her in a couple weeks,” he states as if that were normal. “I think she met some new guy.” That was enough to put Aizawa’s teeth on edge.
“Where have you been staying then?” he asks.
“Wherever I can,” the boy replies, sounding embarrassed. “Park benches, bus stops, train stations…” Aizawa was horrified. What kind of person left their child to survive in those conditions? Why hadn’t she ever reached out to him for help?
“What are these?” Aizawa reaches out to snatch up the boys arm. Now that he was inside where the lighting was better, he could see strange scars and scabs covering his skin.
“Cigarette burns,” the boy pulls his arm away and averts his eyes. “Mom thought it would make people more willing to help when I had to beg for money.” Aizawa felt his eyes fill with tears at the words, and he doesn’t think twice before pulling his son into his arms. The boy returns the embrace, clinging to Aizawa as if he feared the man might disappear if he didn’t hold on tight enough.
“What’s going to happen now?” the boy asks fearfully after he calms down a bit.
“You’re more than welcome to stay with me,” Aizawa finds himself accepting the role of father rather quickly. He was already responsible for so many kids already, he didn’t see the harm in adding one more to the list. “If that’s something you’re comfortable with.”
“Yes, please!” The boy nods his head, looking ecstatic as he wiped away his tears. Aizawa nods his head and pats his son on the shoulder.
“Well then kid,” he says with a small smile. “Welcome home.”
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Aizawa Tag List: @clovertitan @raine-needs-help @lucacangettathisass @lea2107-foxsin @tiaraowens
#Katsuki Bakugo#Tenya Iida#Shota Aizawa#Bnha#Mha#bnha imagines#mha imagines#Writing Requests#Cindy's Writing#katsuki bakugou#aizawa shouta#bnha scenarios#mha scenarios
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A Walk in the Park
Chapter 3
Description: When your husband dies in an accident, you try to move on with your life. When the memories of your shared home become too much even after two years, you make a drastic change and move to California. A new career, a new way of life, and an attractive new friend help you move on to find the happiness you need. *This will be a slow burn*
Pairings: Chris Evans x Reader
Warnings for this chapter: A curse word or two, minor injury, mention of character death, fluff.
Unbeta’d, so all mistakes are my own. This is purely for fun. Comments and reblogs are always appreciated. Tags are open. Please send me an ask if you would like to be tagged. @flamencodiva @the--blackdahlia @deanwinchesterswitch @thefandomzoneisdangerous @symonlyjen5
Read chapter 2 here
Your alarm sounded at 8 in the morning. Even though the Mayor’s Ball was tonight, you weren’t required to be in before the sun this morning. You threw on a pair of running shorts, a pink sweatshirt, sneakers, and threw your hair in a ponytail. Your hair never did that cute and messy bun thing. Since you wouldn’t be home until the wee hours of the morning, you decided to get your walk in early. You were tempted to start running, but since you never were a runner, you were hesitant to start. A nurse friend once said if you didn’t start before the age of thirty, don’t even bother trying. Now, you didn’t necessarily believe that, but since you weren’t the most graceful, and often tripped over your own feet, you thought maybe she was right in your case.
Grabbing a pair of earbuds and your cell phone you loaded up your music app and opted for a little 80s rock this morning. Motely Crue’s ‘Kickstart My Heart’ really got you going. 80s rock was one of the things you and Caleb had in common. You loved your pop music and let’s not forget your obsession for boy bands in your youth. Caleb was a classic rock guy who liked the occasional obscure band most have never heard of. 80s rock is where you met in the middle having gone to a few concerts in your years together.
Losing yourself in your playlist and memories of Caleb you ended up at the fountain in the park. The breeze blowing through the trees and catching on droplets of the water misting your skin. Or was it tears? Some days the loss hurt more than others. Some days you were strong and you barely thought of him. However, times when you were alone, those were the harder times. Since you were 23 years old you had a constant partner. Someone to be by your side for the big moments and for the times when you just wanted to run to the store to get a pint of ice cream. Ten year later he was gone. Wiping your cheeks with your fingertips, you took a couple of deep breaths and headed back home.
It was ten minutes to three and you were on your way to the venue with your black pencil skirt, long sleeved white blouse, and black peep toe heels in your back seat. Most of the day was spent at the office making phone calls, answer e-mails, and confirming next week’s events. Arriving at the venue you dropped your wardrobe in the back office the team was using at the hall. You needed to find Victoria to see what needed to be done. She had been texting you all morning and afternoon, mostly idol chit chat, so you knew she was here. Walking into the main event room which was mostly complete you were in awe. It was gorgeous. Maybe Colleen wasn’t wrong with changing the color of blue out last minute. Large, round tables were set with large gold charger plates with pristine white plates on top of them. The silverware was laid correctly as well as the water glasses and wine glasses. The chairs were all tied with the True Blue fabric you had picked up. Sheer gold fabrics were hung from the center of the ceiling and swept the walls pinned back so that it hung elegantly. The lights were on a system so they would be dimmed throughout the night, but were shining brightly now so that everyone could finish last minute details. Dinner was being served by a hired staff rather than hors d’oeuvres being passed.
Victoria was on the other side of the room speaking with one of the bartenders that had already arrived. “Victoria, I’m here.” You said as you walked toward her. She turned her head to you and smiled. Here shoulder length black hair swooshing as she turned. She looked back to the bartender and finished her instructions. When she was done, she made her way to you and hugged you tight. Even though you were technically her assistant, you rarely saw each other.
“Thank goodness. You know it’s hard to handle Colleen on my own.” She said.
“Um, hello, I see her everyday for more than half my day!”
She laughed and nodded conceding that you were correct. You were directed to help with setting place cards in their designated spots. Luckily, these decisions weren’t your own. The Mayor’s office had sent very specific instructions on who sat where and with whom as well as how close they were to be seated to the Mayor. The wonderful world of politics.
The night went off mostly without a hitch. Toward the end of the evening, when plenty of people were nice and buzzed, some more than others, from the open bar, you found yourself on your ass. A gentleman who was far too old not to know how much liquor he could handle had been dancing, even though there wasn’t music to dance to, rather just background instrumentals. While showing off a particular jump and spinning move to his wife, he spun right into you. A woman who was skilled at wearing heels more than 2 inches may have taken the bump in stride, but not you. First you grabbed on to the man’s suit jacket hoping for stabilization but then you started to wobble and your left ankle gave out promptly knocking you to your ass. Son of a bitch! You apologized to the man as the customer is always right and clearly you were in his way. Side eye. His wife insisted he help you up off the floor. Plastering a polite smile on your face and offering him your hand he pulled and you were lifted from the ground but internally groaned in pain. This wasn’t good. You grabbed the back of the chair to steady yourself as the couple walked away. You put a little weight on your foot and nearly sank to the ground from the tenderness in your foot. Lowering yourself in the chair you were gripping on to, you called out to Victoria with the walkie talkie you were given. Victoria made her way to you within a few minutes. You explained what happened and she examined your foot.
“Y/N, it’s already swelling. Do you think you can get to your car? I’m excusing you for the night. Guess this means no hiking this Sunday either.”
“I’m sorry. I’m so clumsy. I hate to leave you guys high and dry with cleanup.”
“I’m sorry to say that I don’t think you would be much help.” She smiled and bit her lip.
You laughed a bit. “Think you could wrangle a couple of the servers to help me to my car?”
After getting into your car, Victoria urged you to stop at an urgent care clinic to make sure it wasn’t broken. At the very least they would be able to wrap your foot properly. You agreed and went on your way. Luckily you had a pair of sneakers in your backseat. You opted to leave the left foot bare. Now, getting from your vehicle to the clinic’s door was interesting. It involved a lot of hoping and the assistance of the night guard stationed at the door. Thank goodness for helpful strangers. Diagnosis was a sprained ankle. The nurse assisting you wrapped your ankle and was sure to explain how to do it properly and how tight. They recommended keeping it elevated and staying off of it if you could for a couple of days. They offered crutches and you gladly accepted. The clinic had a 24-hour pharmacy so you were able to pick up a pair there.
Since you were internally clumsy, this wasn’t the first sprain you had dealt with, so using crutches was second nature to you. The stairs were tricky, but you managed. Quickly changing into your pjs and arranging pillows on your bed to prop your foot up, you laid down and drifted to sleep.
You texted Victoria in the morning letting her know you would be using a sick day and hoped to see her Monday. She ended up calling around lunch time to check in. You had previously told her about the man you met, leaving out the fact that it was Chris Evans. She was happy that you had made a friend knowing how hard it was for you to leave your friends back home. You mentioned game night to her last night before your less than graceful moment, so she was really calling to urge you to still go. “I don’t know. The doctor said I should keep off it as much as possible for the next few days to give it time to heal.”
“It’s game night, Y/N. It’s not like you’re running laps and doing jumping jacks. It’ll be fine. When you get there just ask for a pillow to put it up. I’m sure he’s got an extra chair you can use to elevate it.”
You nodded, knowing she couldn’t see you quickly replied agreeing with her.
“This is good for you. You need to get out and just hanging with Mr. and Mrs. Smith isn’t exactly socializing.”
“Okay, okay. I’ll go. But if they think I am a lame loser, that’s on you.”
She laughed and wished you a good night.
You decided to get up and crutch it over to your kitchen for snacks to sustain you for the rest of the day. Crutch it, that’s a word, right? Grabbing a bag of cheese popcorn, two bottles of water, and two granola bars, you called that lunch and dinner and retreated back to the solitude of your bed. You were determined to rest your foot until this evening in hopes the swelling will have gone down.
Six hours later you decided to shower and get ready for the night. Being that it was being held at Chris’ house you didn’t feel the need to dress up and you for sure weren’t going to be wearing heels. You opted for a long navy tunic tank, a green cardigan, and your dark wash jeans. You put on denim colored slip on flat leaving your left ankle wrapped with the bandaged. Luckily, you had a pedicure a few days ago so at least you had cute toes. Grabbing your crutches and gingerly making it down the stairs, you eased into your car to drive the few miles to Chris’ place. You pulled up the long driveway of the white colored house and parked behind a couple of cars that were already there. You hoped out of your seat, opened the door to the backseat and grabbed your crutches. Pausing to take a deep breath and then headed for the front door. You rang the door bell and waited. A few seconds past then you heard Chris’ voice before he opened the door. “What? Oh my God Y/N, what happened?!”
You gave a small laugh. “Well, I’m pretty sure I told you I was clumsy. But really it involved a drunk man attempting to dance at last night’s event.”
He gestured for you to enter while he held the door open. “Wait, you were dancing with someone and you fell?”
“Ha! No, he was trying to dance and ran into me. It was a great time. Luckily it happened at the end of the evening so my boss let me go home. It’s just a sprain, so I’ll live to walk another day.”
Chris smiled and lead you to his living room that opened to a large kitchen with a huge long island. Sitting at the island were three men. Two women were standing in the kitchen next to the refrigerator helping themselves to glassed of wine. Dodge was walking next to you desperately trying to get your attention but you found it too hard to give him a proper greeting while trying to stay standing.
“Hey guys, this is Y/N. The one who found Dodger a couple of weeks ago. The men turned around and the women looked up from their conversation.
“Geez, Chris. What did you do to her?” A guy with sandy colored hair and bright blue eyes asked.
“Nick, first of all, I did nothing to her. Y/N just explained to me that she was tackled in a dancing accident at work last night.”
You laughed and shook your head. “You make it sound like I work at a strip club.” Everyone laughed and kept their eyes on you. “The company I work for put on the Mayor’s Ball last night and a guest at the event accidently plowed me down, resulting in a sprained ankle.”
They all nodded and the two women approached. A pretty, petite woman with a dark hair and a pixie cut extended her hand and you feebly tried to extend yours while keeping the crutch against your arm pit. “Oh my gosh, I am sorry, I wasn’t thinking.” She said as she pulled back her hand. “I’m Erika.”
“And I’m Emma.” Said a pretty blonde with long hair.
“No worries. I’m Y/N, nice to meet you both.”
“Let’s go take a seat in the living room and get you off your feet.” Emma said while the three of you walked to a pair of couches.
You sat down and placed the crutches to the side of the couch so they were out of the way but wouldn’t fall. “Hey, Chris? Do you have a chair I can use to put my ankle up?”
“Of course, I’ll be right back.” He said as he disappeared into another room.
Erika got back up to go grab her wine glass from the kitchen counter. “Y/N, do you want anything?” She asked.
“I’ll take a glass of water. I probably shouldn’t drink and drive with a bad foot.”
“Good point.” She said while reaching in the refrigerator for a bottle. She poured it in a glass before walking it over to you.
Chris had come back in the room carrying a dinning room chair and a throw pillow. He placed it in front of you and gently picked up your leg placing it on the pillow on top of the chair. The touch gave your goose bumps and you hoped he didn’t notice. “Does this feel okay?” Chris asked.
Oh God yes. “Y-yeah, that feels good. Thank you.”
“No problem. Hey guys, why don’t you come in here. Bring that stack of games too”. He said to the guys in the kitchen. Chris walked into the kitchen grabbing various bowls of snacks and attempted to balance them while walking back into the room.
The guys all took a seat and introductions were made. Besides Nick, the other two were Justin and Will. All of Chris’ friends were attractive. Once again proving your point that everyone in California is good looking. Emma sat next to you with Nick next to her. On the other couch sat Erika, Will, and Justin. Chris sat in an arm chair facing your couch. The first game up with Trivial Pursuit. You did not dominate but it gave you great insight to the friendships they all shared. Lots of teasing and bragging which was right up your alley. You moved on to a Hollywood who’s who trivia game that Will had on his phone. You were beyond embarrassed that you knew a little too much about pop culture and which celebs were married and to whom. There was even a question about Chris which you purposely blew to avoid the added embarrassment.
Most of game night was spent talking and laughing. Chris laughed a lot and with his whole body. You completely understood why everyone wanted to be near him. Mostly you observed as you didn’t know the inside jokes, although the ladies made sure to explain things and include you as much as possible.
After the games were put away and everyone had a fresh drink, you switching to a Fanta Orange, people split into little groups and just chatted. Chris switched spots with Nick and Emma switched places with Erika. “You know, Tim would be perfect for her.” Erika said looking at Chris who furrowed his brow as well as you.
“Who’s Tim?” You asked.
“Tim is another friend of ours that is normally here but he had to work late tonight. You’d like him, he’s tall and really hot.” Said Erika.
You let out a loud laugh which attracted a look from the others. Taking a drink from your glass you raised your eyebrows to Chris who still just sat there bewildered. “She doesn’t need you setting her up within anyone.”
“Hey, wait a minute, I like tall.” You said sending Erika a wink.
“Y/N, what’s your status? She asked.
“My status? What do you mean?”
“Single, taken, not looking?”
“Single.” You said cautiously. “Widowed.” You said with a quiet voice.
Both Erika and Chris looked at each other and then back at you. Both faces filled with sorrow. Before they could speak you jumped in with a dismissive wave of your hand. “It’s fine. It’s hard to work that into a conversation. I should just stick to single.”
Chris reached across Erika and cautiously grabbed your hand. “Y/N, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
“It’s fine, honestly. It’s been a little over two years now. Caleb. Caleb was my husband for 8 years. He was in a car accident.” They nodded their heads listening intensely. “I’ve dated a little here and there this past year, but nothing really beyond a first date or two. It’s hard to get back into it. I met him when I was 23, it’s hard to remember how to do the whole dating thing.”
“I don’t know what to say. But honestly, I’m here if you ever want to talk or just go out.” Erika said with a small smile and a shrug of her shoulders.
“Me too.” Chris added.
You squeezed his hand before letting go of it.
“Thanks. To both of you, really. I would like that.” Looking Chris dead in the eyes. “But before I ruin good makeup, what Endgame spoilers can you tell me?” He busted out the biggest laugh you had heard while throwing his head back. You and Erika irrupted in a fit of giggles.
It was almost one in the morning when everyone started to clear out. You grabbed your crutches and headed toward the door where Erika and Emma were standing. “You can give Tim my number, but please don’t pressure him. If he calls, he calls. I’m not even going to worry about it. But, maybe have him wait a week.” You said gesturing to your ankle. “It’s not a first impression of myself I like to give out too often.”
“Oh, he’ll call.” Said Erika with a smirk while Emma nodded her head.
“Who’s going to call.” Chris asked suddenly appearing next to you.
“Tim. Erika’s giving him Y/N’s number.” Emma said.
Chris’ face fell. “Oh.” He said, quickly recovering and throwing on a smile.
Why does he seem disappointed? He’s Chris Evans. I’m just me. Maybe he just doesn’t think Tim and I will be a good fit.
Hugging both ladies as best you could, given you were still holding your crutches. You said goodbye with promises of getting together soon. Chris grabbed your arm with a light touch. “Thanks for coming out tonight Y/N. Everyone loved you.”
“And I loved meeting your friends. Thanks for including me.”
Chris pulled you into a gentle hug. One of his hands rubbing circles in your back. Nothing was said as you both held each other longer than necessary. He smelled so good. A nice combination of manly spice and the ocean. Once he let go you pulled back and smiled. “I’ll see you around Chris.”
You started walking to your car and saw that Dodger was following you while Chris stood at the door while holding it open. You placed your crutches in the back seat and sat in your front seat. With the door still open you petted Dodger a few times before carefully closing your door and starting your car for the drive home. Once you managed to get upstairs and throw on your pajamas you laid in bed and grabbed your phone.
Pulling up Chris’ contact info, you sent him a text.
Y/N: Just wanted to let you know I made it home safe in sound. I almost took Dodger with me.
A few minutes passed before your phone buzzed.
Chris: While I’m glad you made it home, I’m heartbroken to hear my first instinct of you buying a dog napper is true.
Grinning from ear to ear and suppressing a laugh. You typed your response.
Y/N: If anyone’s breaking hearts, it’s you Mr. Evans. Sleep tight.
Chris responded with a sleepy emoji and a heart.
Chris: Night beautiful
You may have just died.
Chapter 4
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Rising From The Ashes
Summary: When her husband died, Emma wasn’t sure that she could ever move on. He left her with a broken heart and a baby who was only three-months old. It’s enough to take most people down, to make them not want to keep going, but Emma Swan isn’t most people. She’s stronger than she has any right to be.
And after years of heartache, she’s found ways to move on...one of those being in Neal’s best friend, Killian Jones.
As she’s always known, however, things are more complicated than they ever seem to be.
Rating: Teenish (currently)
Also on AO3: | Here |
Tagging my usual peeps: @resident-of-storybrooke @resident-of-storybrooke @captainsjedi @captswanis4vr @teamhook @ekr032-blog-blog @mayquita @bmbbcs4evr @wellhellotragic @kmomof4 @jennjenn615 @onceuponaprincessworld
A/N: Okay, so I don’t usually do this, but @shady-swan-jones sent me a prompt far too long ago, and I was absolutely obsessed with it! Like, seriously. And yet somehow it got lost in the masses, its document hidden away in a folder and forgotten about. And that’s just not okay when I like this story so much.
But what I don’t usually do is post just a baby snippet of a story as a way to keep me motivated to keep writing it. I have some more words than this that are written, but I’m taking baby steps. I have no clue when I’ll update this (as in I could literally update tomorrow or two months from now when I’ve hopefully finished the second in command sequel), but you guys have such a special way to keep me motivated. And this won’t be anywhere near as long as my other multi-chapters. (Hopefully)
Also, as we all know by now, I obviously can’t focus on just one thing. So here we go!
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Her hip rests against the doorframe to her daughter’s nursery as she watches her boyfriend pace back and forth over the tufted gray rug singing little Ada to sleep. She’s nearly four months old now, the blue of her eyes fading away to green but still sticking around in certain lights, and her light blonde hair is growing a bit darker and forming in curls. She’s beautiful, like a small little miracle, and she’s somehow an exact mixture of she and Killian. Emma knows that Ada’s features will continue to change, to morph between she and Killian until she’s got features that are completely her own. But right now she simply looks like them.
Emma likes that she looks like them.
She also likes that she’s not the one putting a fussy Ada back to sleep right now. There are few sights more beautiful than Killian bonding with his little girl and helping her get to sleep after a particularly rough night that even roused Henry from his room, his hands rubbing at his eyes and asking why his sister was being so loud.
An eight-year-old and an infant in one house is not exactly a great mix, but they’re all learning.
Killian had taken Ada from her arms when her rocking and attempt at feeding her didn’t work in calming Ada, and Emma led Henry back to his room, tucking him under the covers and running her hands through his hair, pushing it back and scratching at his head in the way that she knows soothes him.
“Momma,” he mumbles, his deep brown eyes wide open in his never-ending curiosity, “will you tell me a story about my dad?”
Her breath hitches, and her heart starts pounding in her chest, the rate so quick that her entire body begins to heat while her hand stops its ministrations in his hair. “Do you…do you mean your dad, baby, or do you mean your daddy?”
“My dad. Not daddy.”
That’s what she feared, and she wasn’t prepared enough for this. She hasn’t gotten enough sleep, and it’s only been a few months, a little longer than Ada’s been around, since she told Henry that Killian isn’t actually his father. Sometimes it’s still jarring to talk about.
“Kid, are you sure?”
“Yeah, I want to hear about him.”
She sighs. It’s hard to talk about Neal, always is, but Henry deserves to hear about his dad.
“Well, you know your dad was in the marines, and he was very brave. One of the bravest men I’ve ever known, and he spent his entire life trying to make the world a better place.”
“Like a hero?”
“Yeah,” she smiles, running her hands through his hair again, and Henry’s eyes start to flutter closed again, “like a hero.”
“I’m glad he was a hero,” Henry mumbles as sleep starts to take over more quickly than usual.
“Yeah, kid, me too.”
It had been quick and almost painless to get Henry back to sleep, his eight-year-old body much easier to take care of than his sister’s, but the short conversation they’d had has left her all shaken up, her mind running amuck with thoughts of Neal and the intricate spiderweb of emotions that always come with his name or how she sees his face when she looks at Henry and sees all of Neal’s features reflected back at her.
She feels warm hands press against her face, shocking her out of her thoughts to see Killian looking down at her, a soft smile on his face.
“You ready to go back to bed, sweetheart?”
Her eyes look to him before they look over to the crib where Ada is sound asleep. He’s a miracle worker. He has to be. There’s no other way he could have done that.
She nods and lets him lead her back to their room, the warmth of his hand now seeping into her lower back before they both crawl into bed, rummaging around underneath the warmth of their cream comforter until Killian’s on his back and she’s tangling her legs with his and wrapping her arm around his middle while her cheek rests on his chest. His hand moves up and down her back in soothing circles, small indiscernible patterns being drawn by his fingers, and she knows by the worry etched into his features he’s going to talk to her about why her face has been all scrunched up.
“You want to talk about whatever happened when you were with Henry?”
“How do you know something happened?” She knows the answer, but she asks anyways.
“Because I know you.”
She sighs, pressing a kiss against the hair on his chest, right over his heart. “He asked about Neal.”
His body tenses underneath hers, and if anyone understands the history she has with Neal, it’s Killian. After all, he was there for all of it. “What did…what did he ask?”
“He just asked to hear a little about him, but it wasn’t much. I told him he was a hero, like we always do.”
“Aye, he was…he is, but that’s not what’s bothering you, is it?”
She shakes her head, and she faintly feels his lips pressed against the crown of her head while his hand squeezes her hip.
“Neal’s dead, babe. He died, and Henry’s never going to know him. Hell, Neal only got to know Henry for four weeks, and I can tell all of the stories in the world about how his dad is a hero but…but we’ll never know what happened to him. He just – he disappeared into thin air, and you can’t explain that to a child. They don’t understand. And yeah, he’s got you and you’re the best daddy in the world to him and to Ada obviously, but I just feel like sometimes I’m doing a disservice to Neal’s memory. I know he wasn’t perfect. We had a hell of a lot of issues but – ”
She feels Killian’s thumb on her chin, propping herself up to look at him, and the water in his eyes likely reflects the water in hers. “Emma, you could never dishonor his memory by living your life. I mean, yeah, I’m sure he’d probably be weirded out that we’re together, but he’d want us to be happy. He’d want Henry to be happy, and you’re making him the happiest little boy. And you’re honoring Neal’s memory as best as you can.”
“So are you.”
Killian chuckles, and she nuzzles herself back into his chest while his hand starts moving against her back again. “We should work together and make a book of memories about Neal for Henry…and for us.”
“I’d like that.” She moves up to quickly brush her lips against his. “I love you.”
“I love you, too, darling. More than anything.”
“More than anything.”
She’s making breakfast for Henry the next morning while he’s in the living room finishing his homework – or more likely watching TV knowing him – when she feels strong arms wrap around her middle and prickly stubble brush against her cheek.
“Something smells delicious,” Killian breathes against her ear, his breath coming out hot and causing her entire body to shiver.
“It’s just from the box,” she smiles, and Killian rubs his nose further against her skin. She’s going to burn these pancakes and burn the house down while she’s at it if he doesn’t stop turning her on when they both have jobs to go to and children filling their house.
“I wasn’t talking about the pancakes,” he growls, and screw it. Who needs responsibilities?
Who needs pancakes?
She turns around and hungrily slants her lips over his, the familiar warm feeling running through her as they devour each other, their tongues already fixing together while her hands run up his chest and his run down her back to squeeze her ass, the firm grasp causing desire to pool in her belly. She’s just pushed him up against the island, their bodies pressed as closely together as they can without them actually having sex, and that’s when Henry runs into the room, the two of them springing apart like they’ve been burned.
Shit. The pancakes.
She turns off the stove before she adjusts her robe, making sure that her breasts aren’t spilling out. She can scar Henry in a lot of ways, but not in that way.
“What were you guys doing?”
“Making pancakes,” Killian answers, smiling at Henry before stepping toward her and pulling the hem of her robe down. “Aren’t you supposed to be doing your reading for school, lad?”
“I finished, and there’s something you guys need to see on the TV!”
“Kid,” she groans, her body still tingling even though she’s had the emotional equivalent of a cold bucket of water dropped on her, before she picks up the plate of pancakes she’d made before Killian came downstairs, “if it’s the commercial for Disney World again, we’re not going until Ada is older.”
“First of all, babies go to Disney all the time. And second of all, no. I think you left it on the news, and there’s something about my dad on TV.”
“What about your father, lad?”
“They’re saying he’s alive.”
The plate of pancakes falls to the floor, the glass shattering and breaking into several sharp pieces that scatter all over the kitchen floor while her legs give out beneath her, and the only thing that keeps her from breaking as well are Killian’s arms holding her up.
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Fic: Over Breakfast
A/N: The idea was conceived during @frangipanidownunder ‘s @just-fic-already character workshop last week. It has been rewritten twice and it's close to what I intended but not really. I don't know if it is any good but I had fun writing it so I hope you enjoy. I tried to catch the typos. Hopefully, I got most of them. Oh and this is pure season 7 MSR fluff.
Tagging @today-in-fic
Scully hated layovers especially when it could mean she could in her bed a few minutes longer or not having to deal with Beltway traffic out to Dulles. and the fact that they hadn't even left the capital. At least the company was good this morning. As she sat in the C Gate bar and restaurant with Mulder next to her, they shared a breakfast sandwich between them and coffee. He flipped The Washington Post looking for the sports section.
"Aha!" He plucked the prized section from the rest of the pile. "I've missed the game last night and I want to see how the game ended."
"Was last night's view disappointing?"
She felt Mulder take her hand and squeeze it tenderly. "If your reactions were any indication for both of us then I consider it a night well spent. And I might pat myself on the back."
"Don't break your arm doing it."
The intimacy was a new thing for them. Ever since the new year, Scully was not quite what sure what to do with herself. It had only been a month since the mysterious alien artifact and when everything between them changed. Not that she was complaining. Not only did she experience a reawakening of her sexual life (more like a rebirth) but the shift between them grew more intimate like an old married couple.
"Haha, Scully. Do you want the entertainment section?"
"Sure," she answered and pilfered through the pile of newspaper. "Do you know how domestic this feels?"
"It feels just right." He flicked the paper trying to straighten the section. "Well, I lied. It's better."
"I would kiss you if we weren't in public," she said softly, opening the entertainment section. "But you know. Rules."
"I would take you back into one of those booths and be quick and fast, no matter who is here," he countered calmly as he turned the page in the newspaper.
"Maybe if we hit O'Hara on the way back," she murmured. She flicked open the entertainment section as Mulder fished for his half of their shared breakfast. Her eyes scanned the basics...new museum openings, soft news stories, reviews but something else caught her eye. "'Is He Worth It? A Quiz for Dating,'" she read out loud.
Mulder's eyes darted towards her. "What?"
"It's like one of those dating quizzes but..." She skimmed the article. "It's a bunch of suggested questions for first dates." She flicked another page looking for horoscopes to see if tonight she might be lucky. "It's silly."
"I could go on about it with psychology, Scully. Let's do it."
"Why, Mulder?"
"We aren't going anywhere. Come on."
She smiled and flipped the page back while rolling her eyes. "Okay. First question." She scanned over the beginning and settled on one of the middle questions. "What is your favorite scent?"
"What kind of question is that?"
"Just answer it."
"Sunflower seeds and you."
"You're being vague."
"I'm being safe. Your turn."
"When you cook us dinner and us."
"Us as in..."
"Keep your dirty mind clean," she scolded.
He chuckled and for good measure squeezed her ass. Scully felt her cheeks flush red and warmth rush to her core. "I would slap you if I could."
"You won't. Next question."
She licked her lips as Mulder turned the page in the sports section. "Times a wasting, Scully."
"Dogs or cats?"
"It doesn't actually say that."
She titled her newspaper section towards him and nodded encouragingly. "It does."
"Fine," he conceded after reading the blurb. "Dogs."
"Cats."
"Cats, Scully?"
"After Queequeg." She shrugged. "They're more independent and less likely to be eaten by alligators." He laughed out loud, almost spilling his coffee as Scully hid her grin behind her newspaper. "Besides, you remind of a cat as often as we end up sleeping on top of each other."
"I wouldn't have it any other way. Next question, Scully."
"What did you do to get grounded for the first time?"
He pursed his lips in thought."Playing a prank on Sam when I was seven."
"What was the prank?"
"Doesn't matter. Your turn."
She licked her lips letting him slide. "Getting caught smoking by the nuns for the first time as a freshman."
"You smoked?"
"I had a rebellious phase, Mulder. I wanted to be more than the science geek and try and be one of the popular kids. I wasn't an athlete. Following in Missy's shadow was hard. I didn't have my first boyfriend until my senior year with Marcus when I..." She blushed. "Well, we can trade the inevitable losing our virginity stories another time."
"I won't ask."
"But yes, I had a little rebellious streak and occasionally listened to music, excuse me, the devil's music that the nuns frowned upon."
He chuckled, turned his head, and rested his cheek on a propped up arm. "I think we would have been best friends in high school, Scully."
"But we wouldn't have what we have now."
"Mind-blowing sex?"
She hit his arm playfully. "Quiet!" She lowered her voice. "Yes and everything else."
"It's not like anyone knows us here, Scully. Next question."
"Fine. Reading in the bath or reading in the bathroom?"
Mulder looked like he was seriously contemplating the question, artfully stroking his chin as he churned over different thoughts. Scully laughed at his absurdity. "Neither. Couch unless you're sharing the bath with me, Scully."
"Shut up, Mulder. Tub, obviously. You know I love my baths."
"This little first date questionnaire is giving me nothing but ideas. Screw getting to know your date. This should be...dating ideas or something."
"Obviously you need more coffee because that makes no sense. Next question. Who would you invite to a dinner party? You get five guests."
"Two problems with that: who throws dinner parties and do we even know five people?" Mulder began to count one finger at a time. "Let me think now. The gunmen, you, Skinner..."
"What the hell, Mulder? How come I am not the first one that comes to your mind? In that case, Bill---"
"Oh no."
"Oh yes. My mother, Father McCue..."
"Fine. Just you. Us. We can get dinner and forget the party."
"You need to take me a dinner soon by the way. A real dinner and not the habitual sharing of the meals that we typically do. Next question. Walk on the beach or walk in the forest?"
"Forest," Mulder answered with hesitation.
"Oh hell no. It's a simple trip to the forest my ass, Mulder. Beach."
"Why the beach?"
"I like the ocean."
"Okay, for you, the beach. Just this once. Mark it under future date or weekend getaways to do with Scully."
"I would like that very much, particularly the weekend getaway. You know we're only a couple of hours from the coast in D.C."
"Dually noted." He tapped his head. "Next question."
"First gig and last movie?" Her face contorted with confusion as she squinted at the paper to make sure did not misread the print. "What is that supposed to mean? Never mind. We're skipping that question. Okay. Worst lie you ever told?"
Mulder folded the sports section and glanced down to their shared breakfast as his half of the sandwich and then back to her. "During your little rebellion period. I wasn't staring at you. Or should I say spying." His eyebrows waggled suggestively. "In the shower."
Her brow furrowed in thought trying to understand what he was referencing to. She remembered that after her little rebellion with the tattoo her and Mulder had been forced to share a motel room with a bathroom that lacked a door for some reason. "What the f...Mulder! I had sex with Jerse the and you were off being a peeping Tom trying to get back at me."
"What?"
Scully flashed him a sly smile. "Gotcha." Mulder frowned with disproval while his partner continued to smirk. "You know I didn't have sex with him. Or Padgett. I'll let you get me back later. Okay, okay. My worst lie though? When I ruined Ahab's dress whites with my mother's red nail polish one time and blamed it on Bill and he had it coming."
"You little hellion."
"Moving on, Mulder. What do you dream about?"
Mulder grew quiet as he let his thoughts wander as he recalled the almost fatal brain surgery months ago. "Simple things. You. Sunflower seeds. You. Baseball. A happy ending."
Scully grew warm. "Remember that night in the office when we first...after our little baseball date? You scored a home run."
"Yes." Mulder smiled in fondness. "Very much so."
"Well, aside from our good times, I had a nightmare once Skinner interrupted us because he wanted to watch us like a sporting match. Who's gonna come in first?" Despite her blushing, Scully was grinning from ear to ear.
"Ugh. Don't make me picture that. That's horrible, Scully."
"Good thing I can finish multiple times."
"It's a good thing I see to you first."
She patted his shoulder fondly. "You're a true gentleman, Mulder. Now, moving on. What song do you want to be played at your funeral?"
Mulder grew quiet as he remembered the time he had to pick out headstones with her mother and grimaced. It was something he did not want to experience again or even think of. "Not fair, Scully. You're immortal, remember?"
Scully looked down at the newspaper and folded it closed. He watched the blues of her eyes change from mirth to seriousness. "I had to plan your funeral once or twice, Mulder, don't forget that. Even if it wasn't real. The mushroom made it feel like it and I don't think it is something I could go through with again.
He took a deep breath and squeezed her hand again. "And I had to go picking out headstones with your mother."
She took a deep breath. "It's something I don't want to think about."
Mulder licked his lips thoughtfully. "Let's do this. Why don't we pick one song that we can both agree on? What about that one song? It was written by the Foo Fighters. I heard it not too long ago. What was it?" He snapped his fingers trying to recall the title. "Walking After You."
She smiled. "I would like that and I think that would be perfect." Uncharacteristically, she gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek in public. "Next time you stay the weekend, we read the Sunday paper over breakfast."
"I could go along with that," he agreed with a boyish grin. "And we should definitely do this more often."
#xfiles#xf fic#txf#txf fic#msr#msr fic#season 7#just-fic-already workshop#mulder and scully#fluff#domestic! msr#mulder#scully#did i mention fluff?
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11 Questions
Tagged by @thatginchygal THANK :D
(I felt like I could actually answer these, lolz)
1. What was the first fanfic you ever read?
Duuuuuuude, that’s lost to the pre-teen netherregions of my brain, but - I do remember one of the weirdest ones I read from like ‘97-’98 had something to do with an evil Dark Side guy who could only invade Luke’s mind when he was asleep and little Jaina, Jacen, and Anakin kept trying to help him fight back in his dreams or something, LOL. Weird but cute, I guess.
Ah, the days when I’d print out phone book reams of fics from the library printer and stuff them in binders, I made forests weep...
2. What was the first fanfic you ever wrote (if any)?
A super-cringey Luke & Leia post-ROTJ sibling fic where they’d fought a battle on a beach and Leia thought Luke had been killed, but it turned out he’d played dead by practicing his first hibernation trance. XD And then they had to jump off a cliff and try not to drown or freeze to death while they hid among some rocks out in the water to avoid the Imperials. Han shows up with reinforcements at the end. Super dramatic, as usual, pfffft.
3. Your last text message is the title of your next fanfic. What is it (and a brief summary)?
...Preeeeeeetty sure nobody wants to read something titled after the fact that I got my 200 monthly minutes and 31 service days from Net10. XD
4. Do you keep your fandom interests a secret from your RL family/friends?
...Yeeeeeeeah. :( Mom doesn’t know about my Tumblr escapades.
5. What is one of your favorite scenes between your OTP?
Ngl, I’m all about that moment where Mara’s got Luke pinned down on the Myrkr forest floor with her arm wrapped around him and her holdout blaster jammed in his jaw, RAWR.
6. Do you have a playlist for your OTP?
AHAHA, WHY YES, DO I EVER, IT’S 125 TRACKS LONG AND 7.5 HOURS. (Ok, it’s for a fic, but still.)
7. Why do I suck at coming up with these questions??
BECAUSE I SUCK, OK
8. Would you want to live in the ‘world’ of your favorite fandom?
Uhhhhhhhhhh...look, I know I’ve seen that post about how horrible the SW universe actually would be to live in when you really think about it, but that also means there’s plenty of mundane places to exist in and jobs to do, so sure, I could probably handle being a boring lower-middle-class data pusher someplace where the legendary Luke Skywalker and his righteous ass-kicking are far far away. ;p (Catch me on the newly liberated Holonet fangirling over said legendary Jedi ass.)
9. What is your favorite piece of fandom merchandise?
The sweet, sweet lightsaber props I used to own. A moment of silence for their loss. *sheds a tear*
10. Have you ever drifted away from a fandom only to be sucked back in (perhaps by a new season or change of storyline)?
Yeah, after the prequels were finished I was kinda bored/burned out (because I fell prey to the loudmouth “EWWWWW PREQUELS SUUUUUUCK” bashing) and I briefly fell head-over-heels for Superman/DC Comics from 2006-2008 (oh look at me drooling over another gentle and kind yet badass farmboy with rock-solid morals from salt-of-the-earth adoptive farm parents, I have A Type™), but I AM A MONOGAMOUS FANGIRL SWAN, I CAN NEVER FORGET MY FIRST LOVE
11. Do you prefer canon-compliant fanfic or AUs?
I will take ANYTHING as long as it’s gooooooooooooood shit. *finger guns*
Once again, I’d prefer not to tag individual peeps so nobody feels left out, IF YOU SEE THE THING DO THE THING, if you wanna. :D (I don’t have time to come up with interesting questions *sob* so just keep looking at thatginchygal’s set, because they’re great!)
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New Stucky Fic! Read here or on AO3. ❤️
P.S. Heed the tags 😬
The wind blew hair in his eyes, the concrete below him leeching warmth from his skin, but he didn’t move. He was breaking all kinds of rules these days. All because of some skinny kid.
He wasn’t a kid, really. According to his birth certificate he was a very legal twenty one, but the kid was younger than him by a good ten years. He should leave him alone. Tell him to close his goddamn blinds first, but he should leave him alone.
Except he couldn’t. Steven Grant Rogers was making Bucky throw all his training down a drain with a garbage disposal.
Don’t stay in one place too long.
Don’t be memorable; blend in.
Don’t get involved in anything besides the job.
Don’t form attachments.
And those were just some of the ones he’d disregarded.
Bucky had been there for two months, he’d had to get rid of the body of a guy he hadn’t been paid to kill, and maybe it wasn’t an attachment in the traditional sense when he was more or less stalking this kid, but he felt responsible for him now. And watching him was the one selfish thing he’d done is… fuck, he didn’t even know.
It wasn’t about a paycheck or fulfilling his obligations or about anything other than he wanted to do it so he did.
It had started with the sound of breaking glass and raised voices. Fucking walls of the shithole apartment he’d holed up in while tracking his latest target had paper thin walls. He’d only opened his door to tell them to shut the hell up, except once he caught sight of his scrawny, little twink of a neighbor cradling his arm with a bruise already forming on the pale skin of his cheek, blood staining the dark blond hair at his temple, while some brawny asshole grabbed his chin before hissing something in his ear and storming off, well, Bucky hadn’t stepped back inside his apartment.
He didn’t lock his door, go back to cleaning his rifle and sharpening his knives. Didn’t review his plans for taking out his next target so he could get paid and get out of there, on to the next temporary shithole with paper thin walls, the next target, the next payday. Didn’t make sure how newest documents with a fake name were in order for him to make a quick get away.
Bucky instead found himself turning his eyes toward the kid and speaking. “Boyfriend?” He’d almost asked if it was his John, though he was maybe too pretty and healthy looking to be a hooker (could have been an escort), but boyfriend seemed less offensive and made the kid pause in the process of closing his door with his uninjured arm, the one he was favoring wrapped around his chest.
He looked at Bucky curiously through the crack between the door and the jamb, sizing him up. Whether he (stupidly) thought Bucky wasn’t a threat or figured if Bucky wanted to hurt him there was nothing he could do to stop him, he sighed, ruffling the blond hair falling over his brow, and propped his shoulder against the jamb. “Nah. Ex who won’t take a hint.”
His eyes flicked to the stairs the ex stomped off down moments ago then back to the kid. “You tell the cops?”
He gets a snort and an eye roll in return. “No point. If they even cared that a gay man is getting knocked around by his ex, all they’ll do is give me a restraining order, which is useless because I’d be dead by the time they got here when Brock violates it.” He shakes his head. “He only got in because I didn’t check the peep hole, anyway.”
When, not if. Bucky nodded slowly. Good, no cops meant that if Brock turned up missing, the cops might not look too closely at the kid. Especially if their breakup was common knowledge. Wouldn’t have mattered either way. Bucky could make it look like he skipped town. “You don’t need to worry about him anymore.”
The kid frowned, confusion filling his bright blue eyes. Eyes the color of a sky he remembered staring up at during another life, when he was another person, who didn’t have blood on his hands so deep underneath his skin it wouldn’t wash away. He wasn’t a good person. Wasn’t disillusioned enough to think even this would make him one, but it was something. Maybe.
“What do you mean?”
Bucky went back inside his apartment without answering. It took a day to ensure the ex never bothered the kid again. He should have left it at that. Instead he found himself on the roof of a building across the street with a perfect line of sight into Steve’s apartment.
Steve who lowered his blinds (sometimes) but hardly ever closed the slats. Steve who liked to walk around his apartment after his showers in a silk robe so short it barely covered his ass. Steve who didn’t have enough of a sense of self preservation to make sure no one could see inside his bedroom when he got changed. Steve who wasn’t aware a stranger was now familiar with every inch of his body right down to the birthmark on his hip.
Who didn’t know his neighbor was an assassin who killed his ex boyfriend, slowly, before dissolving his body in acid.
The phone in Bucky’s back pocket vibrated and he pulled his eye away from the scope long enough to read the message. Have another job for you. He flipped the burner shut and slid it back into his pocket without replying. His go-between would know something was up soon, but he didn’t care. He put his eye back to the long range scope, squinting the other. It was his new favorite time of day. Steve always did yoga when he got home from work.
#ao3 fanfic#stucky fic#fanfic#new fic#Bucky is a hitman#preserum Steve#noncon voyeurism#Bucky is a lil’ bit of a creep here#but I still love him?#I think I have issues lol
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Frozen Peas (1/2)
Summary: Emma Swan and Killian Jones are not coworkers. Okay, they kind of are. Emma Swan and Killian Jones are not friends either. Okay, maybe they kind of are. Honestly, Emma’s not sure what’s up and what’s down when it comes to Killian Jones...well, that’s also not true. She knows one thing that’s up.
Rating: Mature (it’s cocktoberfest peeps)
A/N: Hey all! Here’s part one of my contribution to @cscocktoberfest! I wrote this about a month ago before I’d really gotten into a good rhythm (pun always intended with me) with my smut writing, but I hope that it’s still a good time. I’m posting a bit early because I don’t know when I’ll get a chance to later since I have a late night at work. So have a very pleasurable time reading.
Read on ao3 | here |
Usual tag list (let me know if you want to be tagged for part two which will post a week from today): @kmomof4 @resident-of-storybrooke @ekr032-blog-blog @jennjenn615 @onceuponaprincessworld @bmbbcs4evr @wellhellotragic @profdanglaisstuff @mayquita @teamhook @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91
“Can you pass the peas, love?”
“Killian, they’re literally right in front of you.”
He seems shocked by that, only to look down and see that the peas are, indeed, sitting in the serving dish right between the two of them on David and Mary Margaret’s dining room table. Mary Margaret makes these damn peas for every single one of these dinners, and Killian is the only person who likes them. What Emma would give for another vegetable to be served at one of these dinners. She doesn’t even like vegetables, but she’d learn to love them for anything other than these goddamn peas.
She seems to be a little too passionate about the peas.
“So how is being coworkers treating the two of you lately?” David asks before shoveling an entire roll in his mouth. Classy.
“We’re not coworkers.”
“Bloody fantastic.”
Emma Swan and Killian Jones are not coworkers. Not technically. Killian is a detective at the precinct where Emma likes to bring in the skips she catches as a bail bondsperson/ bounty hunter / whatever the hell you want to call her nobody ever gets it right anyways. They’re more efficient than any other precinct, and they have the best coffee. She would know. She’s tried them all out after her years of working in Boston, and even if her hours can be hectic, she wouldn’t trade the freedom the job gives her to make her own schedule. Plus, it’s not like she’s really qualified to do anything else – GED received in jail while serving time for a crime you didn’t commit doesn’t exactly scream hire me.
So while Emma Swan and Killian Jones do, in a roundabout way, work together, they’re not coworkers. She only really knows Killian through her adoptive brother David because the two men were once roommates. And through these blasted weekly dinners at David and Mary Margaret’s that Mary Margaret insists upon as a way to make sure Emma eats a good meal every now and then without Emma knowing that her brother’s wife is coddling her. Emma totally knows, but sometimes you have to pretend to make the ones you love feel better about themselves by playing along.
It’s always been the three of them. Well, four if you count Killian, and sometimes the occasional new person attending when Mary Margaret finds someone else who she thinks needs a little extra care. Mary Margaret is always insisting that Emma can bring someone if she’d like, but it’s definitely not the place to bring a date if you want them to go out with you again. Emma’s never brought anyone, and she definitely doesn’t plan on changing that. Not that she really dates, not anymore. Not after Neal and the frame job and the jail time and all the other crap she’s ever been through. It’s been a long time since she’s even thought of wanting anything serious, past scars still bright red against her skin, so it’s not like she’s going out and finding nice guys who wear khaki pants and call their mom at least twice a week just to chat.
She prefers black leather.
“I feel like,” David continues in his pleasant dinner conversational tone, “the two of you would be fantastic crime fighting partners.”
“I feel like it’s a good thing that we’re not.”
“Aye, Swan and I here never agree on anything. Did you know she doesn’t like peas, Dave? Preposterous.”
And so goes almost every one of their dinners.
Three days later Emma’s walking into one of her usual bars to catch this scumbag of a guy who skipped out on his bail, leaving his wife out of money and out of a husband. Of course, that last part is a blessing in a not so good disguise because if she’s got a husband who will commit a crime, skip out on bail, and then proceed to go on a Tinder date with Emma, the woman would catch a break leaving the guy.
Catching him is easier than it should be, but that tends to happen when she slides into a skin-tight dress that leaves nothing to the imagination, boobs pushed up so that they’re almost unnaturally high as they practically spill out of the fabric. It’s sad, but men are simple. Give them something to look at, particularly a pair of tits, and they’ll practically be putty in your hands.
When she walks into Killian’s precinct, he’s the only officer in the bullpen, and even if it’s not his job to process the guys she brings in, he’ll do it anyways if it’s a slow night.
Tonight seems to be a slow night.
After her guy is put away and Killian is back at his desk going through what looks like a stack of hella boring paperwork, she fixes both of them a cup of coffee before saddling over there to prop herself up on the corner of the wood of his desk.
“You know, Swan,” Killian grins, not bothering to look up at her yet, smooth British accent practically rolling off his tongue as her coffee rolls down hers, “this is my favorite of your dresses. It fits you quite well.”
She just rolls her eyes, used to his incessant flirting when she comes in. “Is it now?” she teases, knowing that he’s having a difficult time not perusing her body with his gaze. Like she said earlier, give a man something to look at, particularly a pair of tits, and they’ll practically be putty in your hands.
“Mmmm,” he mumbles, hand finding its way to the bare skin of her calf, a shiver running through her entire body that she struggles to not make obvious because damn that feels good, “you know that I love a woman in red.”
His hand continues to inch up her calf until it finds itself resting on the inside of her left thigh, fingers tracing a pattern that she can’t make out, but he might as well be burning the patterns of his fingertips into her skin. “I get off in an hour, darling,” he whispers against her skin, having leaned down to kiss her leg, tongue running against the twitching muscle there. She has to hold back a whimper. His breath is warm and soft against her thigh, and the heat she feels from it pools at the apex of her thighs without her permission. “Would you like to wait here or meet me at my place?”
“What makes you think I’m going to go home with you?”
Killian just raises an eyebrow, indignant look on his face like she could ever have any other plans than going home with him. She wasn’t lying earlier when she said this precinct had the best coffee and was the most efficient. Those are both truthful statements. But there were definitely some things that she left out. Most of all the fact that every time she comes in with someone who’s missed their trial, she leaves with a certain detective with unruly dark hair and blue eyes that fill your dreams.
But not her. She doesn’t dream of his eyes. Definitely not.
She might be a liar.
It’s probably a good thing she’s not a cop.
“The blush gracing your chest is a pretty good indicator.”
He looks so smug, arms crossed in a way that make his muscles flex under his sweater and a cheeky grin on his face that just screams you’re coming home with me and we both know it.
He’s always telling her he’s a gentleman. Gentleman, my ass, she thinks.
“You’re too damn confident for your own good, Jones.”
“I thought you liked that about me.”
“Eh,” Emma shrugs, hopping down from her spot on the desk, heels clacking against the tile floor, before leaning down to whisper in his ear, pressing a kiss right behind his lobe before she speaks, “you’re okay, but you can feel free to take me home with you when you get off…and then maybe you’ll get off.”
She tries to keep a straight face when she makes the joke, voice low as her lips brush against his skin, but he has a way of keeping her off-kilter, so she can’t help it when she giggles after making the joke. That giggle turns into a moan when he palms her ass, squeezing the firm skin there, before slapping it and pushing her on her way out the door.
When she walks away, she turns back to see him sitting there with some kind of fuck-struck look on his face, tongue running across his bottom lip as he watches her sway her hips with her steps.
He can do wonderful things with that tongue, and her heartbeat quickens at the thought of it. She’s sure the man can hear it from across the room.
By the time the hour passes and Killian’s shift finishes, her body has calmed down a bit, the anticipation the only thing that’s kept her antsy as she scrolls through her phone in the precinct lobby. Before she knows it, Killian is walking through the glass double doors, leather jacket draped over the black of his sweater that she loves.
Woah. That she loves? Even if she’s just talking about a sweater that may be taking it too far. No, definitely taking it too far…right?
“You ready to go, love?”
She doesn’t say anything, just gets up from her spot on the couch and leads him out the door, the night sky an inky black mixed in with the streetlights and neon signs of downtown, to where she knows his car is parked. He’s got his hand pressing against the small of her back, warmth permeating through the fabric of her dress as his fingers slowly reach down to cup the top of her ass.
She thinks they’ll have a silent ride to his apartment, but as soon as they’re both in the car he’s on her, lips crashing against her so roughly that their teeth clang against each other, painful if not for the pang of desire that runs straight to her core when his tongue forces its way to the inside of her mouth.
When he kisses her like this, she thinks she might melt. His tongue is hot against hers, a slick slide that has her practically writhing out her skin. Killian anchors his hand into her hair so that he can tilt her head to deepen the kiss, his tongue plunging further into the depths of her mouth. It feels so fucking good, like pure liquid pleasure, that she thinks she never wants this to stop. She never wants him to stop.
But they’re in public.
“Killian,” she moans into his mouth, biting his bottom lip when his fingers run over her nipple through the fabric of her dress, frustration building in her at the lack of skin to skin contact until he pulls the fabric down, exposing her to him, another rush of desire already coursing through her before he even touches her. He just hums in appreciation, rolling the nipple between his thumb and his index finger as he kisses her jaw and down her neck, paying special attention to flick his tongue just behind her earlobe, a thing she’s relished ever since he figured that out.
“Killian,” she repeats, rolling her head back to give him more access to her despite her protests. She can’t help but shiver at his ministrations, her body tingling with all of the attention it’s being paid. “We need to go to your apartment. We can’t –” she gasps, breath hitching when he sinks his teeth into her collarbone, “ – we can’t do this here.”
She thinks that maybe he won’t stop, that he’ll risk being caught in the parking garage right next to the station, but then he pulls back from her, running his thumb across the apple of her cheek in a move that’s far too sweet for what he was just doing to her.
“I’ve just missed you, darling.”
His breath is deep and heavy, so much like in the aftermath of his orgasm, and just the thought of him spilling himself into her has her squeezing her thighs together in search of the friction he’s not giving her.
“You saw me three days ago.”
“In which I sat a respectable distance away from you and refrained from ogling your ass in those delightful jeans because you don’t want your brother to know that sometimes we, how do you say, fuck each other’s brains out.”
She slaps his chest, more forceful than she intends to, but he can handle it. He likes when she’s forceful. “Do you want him to know?”
“If it means I can kiss you in public then yeah.”
She doesn’t want to have this conversation right now. They’ve had it one or two times too many before, and she’s not in the mood to think about her emotions and feelings right now. She’s in the mood for him to take her up against the inside of his front door, thrusting inside of her with a force that’ll leave her sore for days, because it’s almost painful how much she wants him right now, and she doesn’t think she can even make it back to his bedroom.
They’re not dating, not officially. It’s just sex. Well, that’s not entirely true. It started as just sex, but when does that ever work out?
They’d known each other since Emma was nineteen and went to visit David in college. David had lived with random roommates for two years, but he met Killian in a United States History class, the irony not lost on the Brit, sophomore year and found an apartment with he and another guy their junior year of college. Every time Emma had some time off or was between jobs – she jumped around work frequently when she was younger, never really wanting to settle on anything after being literally confined – she’d make the hour drive to stay with David for a few days. Except staying with David also meant staying with Killian, and the man made her feel off balance, obvious innuendos and flirtations spilling from his lips without hesitation...at least, most of the time.
“Swan,” he greets, mouth ticking up on one side as he leans against the door frame, not opening the door enough for her to see inside the apartment, “fancy seeing you here, lass.”
“Jones,” she tries to peak around him, but he’s too tall for her to see past, “It’s fucking cold. Can I come in?”
“What’s the magic word?”
She is going to murder him and bury him in the snow.
“Please,” she grits out, trying not to grind her teeth.
“That wasn’t the word, but it’ll do.” He finally swings the door open, revealing the cleanest apartment ever inhabited by three guys in college in the history of the world.
“Where’s David?”
“He’s on a date. I imagine he won’t be back until the morning.”
“Shit. I’m just going to go then and come back tomorrow.”
She’s already walking out the door, bag thrown over her shoulder, when Killian grabs her wrist, pulling her back so that she doesn’t immediately walk out the door. With his free hand he reaches up to scratch behind his ear before speaking. “Stay.” A pause as he contemplates his next words. “Stay with me. I’ve got some episodes of The Office recorded and a pizza on the way. It’d be ridiculous for you to go home this late, especially with the weather being like it is. You can sleep in David’s room.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“Why ever not?”
“David’s not here, and I barely know you.”
“The name’s Killian Jones, age twenty one, criminal justice major. I have one older brother. I like comedy shows, the European kind of football, rum, and just regular old pepperoni pizza. That’s what we’re having tonight. But what’d I’d like most of all is to get to know Emma Swan.”
He’s got a goofy grin on his face, and she refuses to think that he’s cute.
“Emma Swan,” she says after dropping her backpack and putting out her hand to greet a man she’s sort of known for months now, “age nineteen, I practice actual criminal justice in a roundabout way. I have one older brother. I like comedy shows, no kind of football, rum but more often whiskey, and just regular old pepperoni pizza so I hope you have enough of it tonight.”
“So you’re staying?”
“I’ll stay.”
The two of them end up watching those Office recordings while stuffing their mouths with pizza. Killian had ordered two boxes, and she can’t help but wonder how someone as fit as him was planning on eating all of that himself. She doesn’t ask him, though, not sure she really wants to know the answer, and focuses on watching Jim and Pam dance around each other.
“Do you think you could do that?” she asks, waving her slice of pizza at the TV.
“Do what?”
“Pine after someone you see all the time even though she’s kind of unavailable?”
“I think I’d do anything to keep the girl I like around, even if it kills me.”
But it wasn’t when they met that this whole thing started. If she had been sleeping with one man for almost ten years, she would expect it to be something a little different than fucking in bar bathrooms and late nights after they both get off of work, slipping away from the crowds and slipping into each other. No, that had only been going on for two years, so it was something else entirely. Because two years isn’t a big deal, right?
And if it doesn’t just happen in bar bathrooms and late nights, that’s not a big deal either, right?
It was David’s twenty-eighth birthday when it all happened for the first time, and Mary Margaret insisted that they all go out to celebrate. The woman was as pure as the driven snow, but she always sat around happily taking care of everyone else when they got a little too heavy handed with their poison of choice.
“Fancy seeing you here, Swan.” Emma was at the bar getting a round of beer for David and the rest of the guys at the table, having offered to get away from one of David’s coworkers, Walsh, who was creeping her the fuck out with his wandering eyes and even more freely wandering hand. So she was happy to get some air, only to come in contact with the man who could out flirt any of the guys at the table.
“Jones,” she begins, turning to see that he is right there, blue eyes only inches from her own. Talk about a lack of personal space. She could practically feel his chest against hers. “It’s my brother’s birthday. Where else would you expect me to be?”
“Maybe with that boyfriend of yours.”
Was he jealous? No, he couldn’t be. That was ridiculous. They were friends, and even that was pushing it, who only saw each other when around David. But the tone of his voice, harsher than normal, surprised her, as well as the clench of his jaw. Frankly, it was kind of hot the way the sharpness of his jaw intensified with the apparent irritation simmering below the surface.
“Not that it’s any of your business,” the bartender placed the beers she’d asked for minutes ago in front of her, “but we broke up.”
He studies her for a moment, eyes quickly flickering down to look at her dress before focusing his attention on her eyes. It was so quick most people wouldn’t notice, but Emma did.
“Ah, you were too much woman for him then, love?”
She laughs at that, bitterness that she’s tried to keep under wraps seeping through. “No, not enough apparently. Not enough that he had to go find another woman to fuck while I was busy working.”
She knows that if she looks up at Killian, his face will show pity. They all do, and she’s stopped talking about her last boyfriend just to avoid seeing that face on people. She hates it almost as much as the fact that she’s been betrayed by men one too many times.
Emma doesn’t get the chance to look up, though, because suddenly the lack of personal space between she and Killian has diminished further, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear as he whispers, “would you like to have a chance to show just how much of a woman you are?”
She has to fight the shiver that threatens to run through her, heat pooling deep in her belly, because fuck. Killian has always flirted with her but never like that. That was direct and arousing, the heat of his breath causing the hairs of her neck to stand at attention, and suddenly she can’t help but think about what it would be like for him to have her pressed up against the storage room wall as he pounds into her with abandon.
Except that’s her brother’s best friend she’s thinking about, and while David is a healthy man, that might make his heart give out.
“Please,” Emma rolls her eyes, tilting her head back to get some space between the two of them so that she can breathe, “you couldn’t handle it.”
Killian taps his finger against his lips, both in invitation and in contemplation. “Perhaps you’re the one who couldn’t handle it.”
She’s going to pounce on him then, the alcohol and the lust running through her veins at lightening speed, but as soon as her fingers are carding through his hair, a groan already rumbling through his chest at the contact, her lips a hairsbreadth away from his, she hears David talking to her.
“Emma, what’s taking you so –” The two of them spring apart from each other, bodies crashing into the people around them to try to get some space. “ – what’s going on here? Killian, when did you get here?”
Her breathing is too labored to answer, still trying to catch her breath as her mind whirls about what just happened – or what almost happened – so she’s thankful that Killian is quicker on his feet. “Just got here a few minutes ago, Dave.” He moves to put his arm around Emma’s waist, a move that is pushing his luck even if she was about to very willingly stick her tongue down his throat. “Saw our Emma here at the bar and figured I’d catch up on what’s new with her before joining everyone else.”
David seems to be placated with the answer, both of them plastering smiles on their faces like the damn Cheshire Cat. Killian’s hand has managed to find its way to the bare skin exposed by the cut out of her dress, the light touch against her skin a sensation that’s in the torturous place between not enough and just right. He’s obviously decided that he’s going to drive her wild tonight, whether that be in his normal way or in a new way that she’s suddenly desperate for.
Throughout the rest of the night, Walsh still continues to ogle her with his eyes, but his unwelcome hands stay far away. Instead replaced by Killian’s surprisingly more welcome ones. He’s constantly touching her, driving her insane in anticipation of something she’s not really sure is even happening yet. He makes it look friendly to the rest of the table, an arm over her shoulder, fingers playing with the tips of her hair as he tells a story about some idiot who he arrested, or whispering in her ear just because it’s difficult to hear over the music playing through the speakers. But under the table his hand finds its way to her bare thigh, slowly inching its way up so that it rests just under her skirt. But it never goes further, just a continuous repetition of his hand moving from the underside of her knee to the top of her thigh. On top of that, the things he’s whispering in her ear, while to those around them may seem friendly, are most definitely not. They’re dirty little things about what he’d like to do to her later, the explicitness rising with every glass of rum he consumes. By the time it’s two in the morning and everyone is getting ready to leave, she’s desperate to relive the tension that’s built up. She’s desperate to get some friction, and she’s desperate for her brother’s best friend to be the guy who does it.
It’s not her brightest idea, far from it actually, but when Killian offers to share a cab with her, she doesn’t hesitate, sliding into the backseat and only telling the driver one address.
Killian doesn’t make another move while they’re in the cab, and suddenly Emma’s rethinking everything that’s happened so far that night. There’s no way she could have misread the signs, she’s sure of it. The man literally told her that he wants her to ride him later, and he sure as hell didn’t mean just sharing a cab. But it’s like Killian is suddenly further away from her than he’s ever been before.
“Calm down, Swan,” he speaks suddenly, reaching over to grab her knee, pad of his thumb moving back and forth over her skin. “I just don’t want to do anything untoward with the driver right there.” He leans toward her, lips against her ear again and spiced rum scented breath against her skin. “I still bloody want you.”
The words may have been used to calm her, but her breath hitches before her heart begins beating at a rapid pace, almost like it’s going to beat right out of her chest.
When they get to her apartment, Killian climbs out of the cab, grabbing her hand to pull her along with him as he leans forward to swipe his card through the reader. No further words are spoken between the two of them as Emma leads him up to her apartment, suddenly wishing there was an elevator instead of several flights of stairs. Killian just follows along, hands somehow always touching her, but never in the way that she wants them to.
That changes when she unlocks her door, taking the key out of the knob and not even having both feet inside the threshold before Killian is pushing her inside and pushing her back into the front door, slamming it shut with the force of his body against hers. Killian swallows her gasp with his lips, mouth plundering her own with an intensity that she should have expected but never could have prepared for.
Fuck, he’s a good kisser. He tastes like the rum she smelled on his breath earlier, and even though it’s not possible she feels like she could get drunk off of it, off of him.
Emma wraps her arms around his neck and tilts her head to the side so that the kiss can grow deeper, her tongue edging into Killian’s mouth as his makes its way further into hers, hips pressing against each other in a slow grind as their mouths move quickly. She’s always thought he was attractive, there’s no way she couldn’t, but as his beard rubs marks into her skin while he kisses her, the roughness of it a welcome burn against the softness of his lips, she wonders how she was always so unaffected by the piercing eyes and stubble covered cheeks and the flirtatious come ons that accompanied him.
Maybe she never was.
“Gods, Emma, darling,” he groans, pulling back to run his lips down her neck as he pushes his hips further into hers, the feeling of how much he wants her pushing up against her stomach through the material of his jeans. It feels so goddamn good. If she wasn’t absolutely desperate for him before, just a touch of his hardness has her belly filling with a longing she almost can’t stomach. “You,” kiss behind her earlobe, tongue wetly dragged around the shell, “are,” bite at her pulse point, “the,” tongue dragged painstaking slow along her throat, “most,” hot, open mouthed kisses at the juncture between her neck and her shoulder, “beautiful,” a kiss at her collarbone, “woman,” a kiss against her lips, mouth moving slowly before he sucks her bottom lip into his mouth, “I’ve ever seen.”
The way he’s working her up almost has her miss the compliment he’s paying her, but only almost, and she’s not here for emotions tonight. So she snakes her hand down between their bodies, the hard lines of him, quintessentially and wonderfully male, pressed up against the softer lines of her, until she can grab his cock through his jeans, making Killian release her lips as he tilts his head back in a guttural groan that almost has her come right there.
That would possibly be the most disappointing orgasm of her life.
“Would you,” Emma begins, running her hands up his torso to slip underneath his black jacket, pushing it off his shoulders as she runs her own set of open-mouthed kisses on the side of his jaw, “like to continue talking or move on to some more enjoyable activities?”
“The enjoyable activities, definitely,” he tells her, crooked smile on his lips as he reaches around to find the zipper on the back of her dress, tugging it down until the straps fall off her shoulders, exposing the tops of her nipples to the coolness of the air conditioning and the heat of Killian’s gaze. “Though I must tell you that you should wear this dress more often. I quite fancy taking it off of you.”
At that he leans down, taking one pink bud into his mouth, nosing down the material of her dress until it’s firmly in his mouth as he rubs her other nipple to its peak with his thumb and his pointer finger. It feels so damn good, the sensations traveling through her entire body. “Oh,” she gasps, shocked when he harshly clamps down, body moving back to rest against the wood of the door so that her legs don’t fall out beneath her. He’s a mixture of pleasure and pain, and she’s not sure which she wants more.
“You think you’ll be good enough for me to let you do this again?”
He stops his ministrations then, his mouth making a popping noise when he releases her, so that he can raise a singular eyebrow at her, look of challenge evident on his face. “I know it, darling.”
His mouth moves to her other breast, and she can do nothing but run her fingers through his hair and yank him further into her as she arches her back, his sucking becoming more insistent the harder she pulls at him. “Your breasts are fucking gorgeous, love,” he moans against her skin, the vibrations shooting heat to her core. She is almost uncomfortably wet. “I could stay buried in them all day.”
“Fuck, Killian,” she gasps as his tongue circles her nipple, already so sensitive to the touch from the way he’s working her up, “I can think of somewhere else you’d much rather be buried in.”
It sounds a bit like a joke about a funeral, but can you really blame her when she’s so turned on she’s surprised she can even remember the English language?
At that, her back is no longer against the door. Instead she’s being thrown over Killian’s shoulder, his strength surprising, as he carries her down the hallway like he knows where the bedroom is.
He smacks her on the ass when she protests being carried, and she finally decides she wants both the pleasure and the pain.
In minutes the rest of her dress is shed and his jeans are in the corner of her room, boxers and t-shirt following closely behind it. Killian’s mouth never leaves hers, only moving away for air or to maneuver them back against the mattress, his breath heavy as he kisses down her stomach, holding her down from pushing up into him by the weight of his forearm.
For as impatient as he’s been, or maybe that was her, he sure is taking his sweet time teasing her, nipping at her thighs and her hips, close but nowhere near where she wants him. He’s trying to drive her fucking crazy. So like before, she reaches down between them, pulling him up until she can grab onto his rather impressive length, twisting it harshly until his eyes snap to hers, the usual blue now blown black with desire.
“Killian Jones,” Emma grits out, now tracing along the vein on his underside with her forefinger, tampering down the sudden urge to lick a stripe up that same vein, “if you do not get a condom out of the drawer and fuck me within the next sixty seconds I’ll – ”
“You’ll?” he interrupts, raising that damn eyebrow again as he crawls above her to grab the foil package, his rigid hardness brushing against her folds (fuck that feels good) as he leans over her, carefully ripping it open before rolling it down himself.
“Just get inside me please.”
She’s begging, and she doesn’t even care.
“As you wish.”
At that, he lines himself up to her, coating his tip with the wetness of her folds, a continual teasing despite her almost threat that has her back arching off the bed, before pushing into her in one quick motion, the shock of the sudden fullness causing all of the air to rush out of Emma.
It feels fucking amazing.
“You okay?” he asks, looking down at her with eyes full of more concern than he has any right to, completely still inside of her when all she wants is for him to move and fuck her into the mattress and into a state of oblivion.
“I’d be better if you’d move,” she whines, lifting her hips up as she pulls his lips down to hers, needing him to shut up while also feeling something to soothe the ache that’s definitely painful now at being so close to getting what she wants.
He’s a good listener, she’s always known that despite their casual friendship, and he’s a good listener here, pulling out slowly, her walls already fluttering at the movement, only to quickly thrust back in, a rapid pace that’s not quite rapid enough.
“Faster,” she tells him, moving her legs to wrap around his ass, causing him to sink deeper inside, a pleasure that’s driving her insane in the most delicious of ways. He listens yet again, promptly pumping himself into her heat at a furious pace that she wants him to keep doing for as long as possible. He keeps going like that before lifting her right leg over his shoulder, and oh my god.
“Oh fuck,” she moans at the same time Killian mumbles a “bloody hell,” moving to interlace the fingers of their left hands above her head as he continues thrusting into her, his pulsing cock dragging against her walls.
He’s a bit of a talker during sex, moaning and grunting different versions “you feel so fucking good around me, darling” or “you like that, love” when he angles his hips a certain way and a gasp racks her entire body and her pulse echoes in her ears when he gets into a perfect rhythm.
She thinks she might die, though, when he lets go of her hand and grabs onto her hips to steady himself, continuously bottoming out before slowly, torturously sliding out of her and then slamming back in. “You’re a bloody siren, Emma. I can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted you, but I’m sure you can feel it.” He slams into her then, changing the pace before slowly pulling out. “And then I saw you at the bar tonight, that sinful red painted on your lips while those glorious tits I’ve got a newfound appreciation for practically spilled out of the dress. You’re a marvel, really. A marvel who’s driven me to madness with how much I’ve wanted...ah fuck, that’s good.”
Is she panting? Oh god, she’s panting. Killian runs his tongue across his bottom lip as he stares down at her, and it makes her squirm beneath him until his grip tightens on her hip and her thigh to hold her steady.
She knows he must be verging on getting close when he slows down, releasing her right hip so that he can touch where they’re joined, rubbing at her clit in fast hard motions that have her heart beating faster than she thinks it ever has before. With her encouragement he begins to move more quickly, both his cock and his hand, and as her walls start to flutter, an orgasm fast approaching as her entire body turns into jelly, he just fucks her through it, not slowing down until he joins her in that bliss that blocks out all of your problems for just a moment of pure pleasure.
Emma’s just lying in the bed, sated and ready to fall into a slumber when Killian pulls out of her, the sensation against her sensitive core causing her to whimper, making his way over to the trash bin to dispose of the condom. It’s only when he settles back down onto the bed, shifting the mattress, that she opens her eyes to the reality of what they’ve just done.
“Oh fuck.”
“I believe that’s what we just did, love.”
“No, fuck, Killian,” she repeats, sitting up and getting out of the bed to pace back and forth, remembering to go pee in the middle of one of her strides. When she comes back to the bedroom, Killian’s still sitting in her bed, arms crossed and rested behind his head, not a stitch of clothing on. Now that she knows exactly where his chest hair leads she may never be able to look at it without thinking of how he feels inside of her. “We just, you know, did that, and we sure as hell shouldn’t have done that.”
She’s freaking out, and he’s as calm as she’s ever seen him. The bastard has the audacity to smile. “Did you not have a good time? Because I was getting the impression that you –”
She doesn’t let him finish, slapping him on the chest with every bit of force that she intended.
“Killian,” Emma pleads, ruffling through a draw to find a t-shirt to wear after suddenly feeling modest, the realization that she’s still on full display to him coming to her as his eyes watch her breasts as she talks, “you and I cannot be a one-night stand. We see each other all the damn time. You’re David’s best friend, and even though it’s none of his business what you and I do, he’ll care that you fucked his sister.”
“So we don’t tell him.”
“We don’t tell anyone.”
“Swan,” Killian placates, getting up from his spot on the bed to slip his boxers back on, finally covering himself up so that she doesn’t have to stare at…everything while they have this conversation, “calm down. No one has to know. And as much as I’d like a repeat performance because you are bloody wonderful, I assure you, I can go on pretending like this never happened if that’s what you want. I don’t want anything that you don’t.”
So they go on pretending like it never happened, Killian sleeping on her couch that night because she couldn’t be rude enough to make him go home at four in the morning when he lives all the way across town, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to let him sleep in her bed. They go on pretending for two weeks until Emma comes into the precinct with one of her guys, scantily clad in one of her “fake date” dresses, and it takes no more than Killian running his tongue over his bottom lip when she leans over his desk to sign off on some paperwork, breasts spilling over the top of said dress, for her to find herself in his apartment riding him with abandon, elbows propped on his kitchen counter as he pounds into her from behind, his cock dragging against her walls while her stomach is pushed into marble and his lips trail down her back, his tongue tracing patterns that his hips follow into her swollen heat.
That night was pretty much it for her, a downward spiral into her inability to resist Killian Jones. They never talked about it. It just kept happening. They’d end up at one of their apartments or in the backseat of a car or a bathroom stall if they were feeling particularly adventurous. But neither of them ever made a move for more, not until recently. No dates were planned, the most they did eating leftover pizza when one of their stomachs growled between rounds – that isn’t really true, but she’ll deny it until her face turns blue because apparently she’s a stupid, stubborn asshole.
I quite like your ass, Swan.
It’s almost like if they didn’t talk about it, it meant it wasn’t real, it wasn’t really happening. But it most definitely is happening, even if no one knows but them and possibly Killian’s neighbors.
Sometimes the neighbors will bang on the wall (so will Emma and Killian but in a different way) when the two of them get particularly enthusiastic, and it always results in Killian’s grunting increasing in volume while he moves against her so that the slapping of their skin can be heard through the wall.
It’s fucking hot.
It started just as sex, but she hasn’t been with anyone else since it started two years ago and she knows he hasn’t either because they dropped the condoms to rely on just her birth control when they’d admitted to not sleeping with other people one night curled up under blankets on her living room floor as they ate Halloween candy and laughed about the time that David got so drunk that he started speaking in a British accent. So it’s sex with feelings buried in a shallow hole beneath the surface, denial of this completely on her part. Maybe another day she’ll own up and open up about any possible (definite) feelings that she has, but he’s got her all riled up now with at least a fifteen minute drive to his apartment, and that’s not something she’s about to let him quit before the job’s done.
“Killian, I don’t want to talk about this tonight. I would rather you use your mouth for other purposes. Or maybe I’ll use mine.”
She sees the flash of desire in his eyes, but she also sees the tenseness in his stance as he moves away from her, contact between the two of them completely gone. He doesn’t say anything else, putting the key into the ignition and making his way to his apartment in a silence that’s decidedly not filled with anticipation.
The only comfort she has is when he places his right hand over her left as he takes them home.
She knows she probably hurt him because she knows he wants more from them. He’s made his feelings clear on the matter, but she’s holding back. She’s okay having him when she labels it as “just sex” because then she knows there’s no reason for him to cut himself off from her, to leave her. If it’s more, it’s different. It’s scarier, and she knows that once he gets to know her, knows that she’s not worth this relationship he seems to want, and then she won’t have him in any way. She’ll have to stare at him across the dinner table at David’s and act like he’s just a guy who she sees on occasion and not a man she’s come to rely on every day of her life.
That night is weird between the two of them. She knows he’s pissed, so she was expecting rough sex, her body to be used in a way that allows him to let out his frustrations while leaving her unable to walk normally the next day. But it’s not. It’s…slow. He kisses her languidly, at a slower pace than he ever has before, and instead of thrusting into her as soon as they get to the bedroom, he takes his time, kissing down her stomach before moving his tongue against her clit, slow flicks that have her moaning and arching off the bed in seconds. He presses his tongue flat as he swipes it through her folds before moving back to her clit, knowing just what to do to have her riled up after years of experience.
This is torture, she thinks, attempting to move her hips closer to him to get more pleasure from the pressure, but he uses his arm to hold her down, not allowing her to do anything but let him lap at her. She could cry from the pleasure he is giving her, but they both know it isn’t enough.
“Please,” she moans, trying to lift her hips again, but he presses his arm further into her to keep her down.
He doesn’t respond, just hums against her clit before biting down, her body bucking up as much as it can because oh my god.
“Kil – Killian. I – I need you to change something. I can’t…I can’t take it anymore.”
He looks up at her momentarily, stopping his motions to fucking smile up at her before moving to slowly thrust two fingers inside of her, curling them so that he hits the spot he knows brings her the most pleasure.
It feels so fucking good, and bless the man for doing this. For enjoying this. The sight of his black hair buried between her thighs is one of the most erotic things she’s ever seen, and she never wants it to stop.
He bites her clit and curls his fingers simultaneously, and she’s gone, screaming out his name before everything goes black and she can feel nothing but ecstasy.
When he’s done lapping at her, her essence covering his beard, he kisses back up her stomach before running his tongue against hers, the taste of herself a weird but not unfamiliar taste. This feels a little too much like what she imagines love making feels like, so she takes control, flipping them over so that she can straddle his lap as he leans against his headboard.
When she sinks down onto him, the size of him a fullness that she craves, a fullness that’s only okay when he’s fully sheathed inside of her, bottoming out before she lifts her hips, setting a punishing pace that has Killian speaking for the first time since they’ve gotten to his apartment.
“Fuck, Emma,” he groans, moving his hands to grab onto her hips, a firmness that will leave bruises if it continues, “just keeping moving like that. You’re a bloody siren, darling, always doing everything you can to suck me dry with that wonderful body of yours.”
Fucking hell, she thinks, her walls absolutely dripping at the feel of him inside her and at the dulcet tone of his words. She could get off just by the way he speaks to her, the way his accent rolls of his tongue and straight to her core, deep and soothing and fucking hot.
She can feel him pulsing inside of her, and she knows by the way his eyelids are hooded that he’s close, that he’s almost not in control of his body anymore, but then he’s reaching up to pull her down so that he can kiss her, burying his hands in her hair, the sensation reaching all the way down to her toes so much that her legs begin to quiver. His mouth is hot, needy, the way he’s kissing her like a man who hasn’t been kissed in years, and she can’t get enough. But she also knows the he’s about to finish, and she’s not quite there yet and she wants to come again, so she has to maneuver her hand off his chest to find its way to where they’re joined, fast hard circles that have her arching her back within seconds.
Killian flips them over so that she’s on her back before spilling himself into her, his seed threatening to drip onto her thighs as he’s rolling off of her so that he doesn’t crush her with his weight. She’s still fingering at her clit, moving her hands down so that his essence coats her fingers before moving back to her clit, almost to that point of pleasure, but not quite yet. Killian usually makes sure she’s finished before him, but he’s very obviously a little off tonight. He must come back to his senses because without even realizing it, her eyes closed as she focuses on reaching her own peak, his mouth his on her breast, lapping at her sensitive bud as she works the sensitive bud that’s a bit lower. Together they help her reach her climax, the feelings of her orgasm rippling through her body like a small explosion that has her gasping for air before Killian kisses her again and rests his forehead against her shoulder, their heavy pants filling the room.
When she wakes up the next morning, she’s pleasantly sore from where Killian frantically pounded into her again in the middle of the night, his hands grappling at her hips while her face was pressed into the mattress. She reaches over to pull Killian’s arm around her waist so that she can go back to sleep, but he’s not in bed, the sheets cool to the touch. It’s not the first time it’s happened, but it’s unusual for him to not be next to her, arm curled around her waist, the heavy weight of it one of her favorite things.
But he’s not there.
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