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writerpeach · 3 years

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Expensive - Part Deux

Twice Mina x Male Reader

smut, oral, anal, richgirl!mina

4941 words

masterlist

“Here you are, ma’am. Please enjoy your meal.”

Myoui Mina thanked the waiter while flashing her signature gummy smile, reaching for the newly opened bottle of ketchup placed in front of her. She shook the bottle a few times, drawing a smiley face on her over-easy eggs and cutely giggling to herself before taking a bite.

“Delicious,” Mina said, taking a strip of bacon elegantly eating it. She took a sip of strawberry milk, using a napkin to wipe her mouth afterwards. Even in such a quaint and simple diner, Mina stayed prim and proper to the very end. It was quite the juxtaposition, the blonde Japanese girl being dressed to the nines in a restaurant where sweat pants and a t-shirt was the unspoken dress code.

Mina had traveled the world, dined in several countries and expensive Michelin star restaurants, sampling various cuisines in several different continents but there was a time where a girl just needed bacon and eggs to start the day, especially when you were lucky enough to be accompanying her to breakfast.

Your plates had been cleaned off, your stomachs filled and appetites satisfied. The only thing left was what Mina had planned for the day, and you were willing and able to obey whatever needs she needed fulfilled.

“Where to?” you asked, finishing your own glass of cold milk as Mina took her black card from the waiter, replacing it with a crisp one hundred dollar bill and signing the receipt with the prettiest signature. Mina never allowed you to pick up the check when you were in her presence, insisting on you never spending a dime. You stopped arguing after the first few times she had done this, it was one of the few things you learned she wasn’t going to budge from and you weren’t going to complain about a free meal.

“You’ll be accompanying me to several places this morning, I have to prepare for a gala this weekend and need new outfits.”

“Sounds fun.”

“You’ll be trying on clothes too, I can’t have you looking like a slob next to me.”

✦✦

The way your back was pressed against the inside of the dressing room door meant you were doing anything but trying on clothes.

“We’ll be out until midnight at the earliest, so there won’t be anytime to play with you later,” Mina said with one hand pumping your leaking cock. Several potential outfits were hung out on the wall, but Mina had taken your pants and boxers off down to your knees as soon as the door had shut.

“Look at me when I’m jerking you off.”

Mina’s tone was cold as the small hand slowly stroked your cock. Her free hand had cupped the side of your face and demanded your attention as she squeezed every bit of pleasure out with her delicate slow strokes.

“I could make you cum in ten seconds if I wanted to,” Mina said, squeezing your throbbing shaft harder with every pump of her slender fingers and running a thumb over your swollen tip.

Your breath hitched at her touch as she gave your balls a firm squeeze, running a finger alongside your shaft from base to tip and rubbing the underside of your leaking cockhead.

“Let’s make it interesting. If you can make it to thirty seconds you can fuck me against that mirror.”

“Ready?” Mina asked, her ice cold gaze staring into your soul as she bit her lip and gave one long stroke from base to tip, making sure to twirl her hand around every inch of your shaft. You took a deep breath and nodded nervously.

The painfully slow pace she had been using up until now dramatically changed as Mina gripped your cock harshly, picking up speed with every stroke.

“Twenty six...twenty five…”

“You already know how loud I get in the bedroom. You’ll have to cover my mouth to keep me from moaning your name while this nice dick is inside me,” Mina said, keeping her eyes tightly focused on your own as you moaned.

“Seventeen...sixteen…”

“You’re doing well. Do you want to fuck me that badly? Do you want to fill my tight little pussy with this throbbing cock?”

It was bad enough you were forced to look into Mina’s lustful bedroom eyes while she jerked you off in the dressing room, counting down with that sweet voice dripping with honey whispering in your ear at the same time.

“Nine...eight...six…”

“Almost there. I can’t wait for you to make me cum on this cock.”

You gritted your teeth and dug your toes into your shoes, trying to desperately find any sort of outlet for the pleasure shooting through your veins. Mina blew hot air into your ear after every five numbers. You couldn’t make it much longer, trying to think of anything but the sexually charged Japanese woman stroking your shaft.

“Bet you’re just dying for me to walk out of here with your hot cum dripping down my thighs...”

Mina went for the killing blow as she furiously pumped your cock, using her other hand to play with and massage your full swollen balls.

“Four...three...two…”

The end was in sight in more ways than one. You tried everything in your power to hold back, but as soon as Mina’s luscious lips said the word, you grunted and erupted uncontrollably, thick spurts of milky white semen firing out of your cock and coating her fingers and the unfortunate dressing room’s tile floor underneath.

“That’s too bad, I really wanted to be fucked before tonight.”

Your body trembled as those few final moments of climax subsided, the disappointed look in Mina’s eyes as she jerked you off past the point of sensitivity. She gave your depleted shaft a few more rough squeezes before licking her fingers clean.

“I like the black shirt, try that one on first. Get dressed and I’ll see you outside.”

✦✦

Mina had an affinity for handcuffs.

The cold steel wrapped around each of your wrists matched the cold atmosphere in the room as each of your arms were spread wide as an eagle and secured to the headboard of her canopy bed. The expensive silk sheets against your naked body were the only comfort you felt as Mina’s cold hands were caressing your bare chest.

“Do you like being Minari’s little fucktoy?” she asked, cocking her head to the side and demanding an answer which was rather difficult to give as she had stuffed her wet panties in your mouth.

You answered the only way you could and frantically nodded your head, knowing Mina hating repeating herself. You were rewarded with a slap to the face as she relentlessly rode your cock, her ice cold gaze staring daggers into your eyes.

“Good answer.”

There was little you could do in that moment as Mina took you in and out of her slippery tight hole, using you for her own selfish pleasure which was arousing in its own way. Perhaps had your dressing room romp got the way she wanted it you would be in a different situation,

Spending a night with Mina was never the same twice in a row. There was always some changing aspect of it, something she had changed to keep you on your toes. At times it was a quick blowjob before you finished inside her, sometimes it was hours of her edging and torturing your cock as she devilishly cackled the entire time. You hated to admit it but you loved the unknown mixture of fear and anticipation.

You didn’t mind the position you were in, limbs splayed out on Mina’s bed as she worked out her frustrations and took her second orgasm of the night. The naked blonde had straddled your waist, riding your cock for what seemed like eternity, each pop of her wide hips bringing you closer to orgasm.

You weren’t sure what was louder, the constant moans and gasps that escaped Mina’s sinful lips or the creaking of her luxurious bed, both competing in a stalemate.

Mina spent several movements grinding away her orgasm as her wetness drenched your shaft, taking every last second of pleasure from your body as her pretty eyes stayed half-lidded.

“Are you not going to cum as well?” Mina asked, and you found yourself unsure at how you had lasted this long as the tightness pulsating around your cock continued.

“I-I was waiting for you to be satisfied,” you said, not trying to convey the obvious fact that you were wrapped around Mina’s little finger.

“Well, that’s sweet but you’ve done your job for tonight. You were a perfectly capable toy for me to use tonight. Now I expect you to cum, I don’t have all night.”

It wasn’t as if you had several options as you were merciless at her whims, unable to do so much as lay a hand on her pristine naked body as much you wanted.

“Hurry up and cum inside me.”

Mina’s words weren’t so much of a request, but that of a demand, as if she grew tired of using you and wanted to move on. She was quick to urge you past that point of no return, the slap of her plump ass bouncing on your crotch as the tightness in your abdomen grew harder to control.

The look in Mina’s eyes was enough to drive you over the edge. The way she rode you mercilessly drove you insane, you couldn’t last another second if you wanted to. The bed squeaked in protest and you swore it was liable to collapse at any second as her tight small body slammed down on your cock, filling up her warm little hole was too much to handle.

“F-fuck, Mina, I’m gonna cum,” you moaned out, sending a desperate sense of relief inside the woman you were buried inside. Mina’s eyes beckoned you to give in to her body, not that you had much of a choice. With one more intense slam against your cock Mina sent you past your limits, causing your throbbing cock to fill her dripping slick walls with thick hot cum, causing endless grunting as her cunt milked every last drop out.

It felt like you had blacked out from the sharp pleasure, every muscle in your body on fire as your climax ran its course through your trembling body as Mina carefully watched. Once you had nothing left to give, your balls fully drained at her hand she gradually ceased her movements and left you gasping for air as your shaft rested inside her.

Mina didn’t say another word as she gingerly lifted her body off of your cock, releasing you from deep inside her with a loud plop as your thick load began dripping down her thighs and down your crotch. She quickly reached for the key to your handcuffs off her bedside table and unlocked them, the relieving click music to your ears.

"You have five minutes to rest, then you are to join me in the shower."

✦✦

It wasn’t often Mina was caught in anything other than expensive designer brands, colorful long flowing dresses that accentuated every curve of her body, or form-fitting pant suits that were tight in all the right places.

After a late afternoon business call Mina had neglected putting clothes back on after her scalding hot shower, getting out in a cashmere robe and slippers as she took a seat on the couch, tablet in one hand and a glass of red wine in the other.

“Try some,” Mina said, gesturing to a half-full black bottle resting upon the kitchen table. You retrieved your own glass before joining her back on the couch, giving the glass a swirl as you watched the dark colored liquid splash around in your glass before indulging.

“What do you think?” she asked, scrolling through her tablet, catching up on various events and aspects of her day.

“It’s good. I’ve never really had wine except out of a box in college, but this is really good.”

“That’s a shame, I’ll have to catch you up. It’s one of the finest bottles from my parent’s vineyard.”

“Your parents have a vineyard?”

“They have several. One of my responsibilities is to check in to make sure everything is running smoothly from time to time.”

Every time Mina opened up just a little you felt grateful, feeling just that bit of closeness that existed.

“Do you know what the best way to drink wine is?” Mina asked, putting her tablet down on the glass coffee table in front of her.

“Can’t say that I do.”

Mina paused, downing the leftover wine in her clear glass before carefully placing it away and taking a seat on your lap, letting you feel the softness of her bare thighs. Her small hands grabbed each side of your face, planting a deep kiss on your lips and spitting wine from her mouth to yours.

“The best way to drink wine is off the body of a naked woman,” Mina said, loosening her robe and giving you a peek of her bare chest as you swallowed the wine she had deposited into your mouth.

“Well, clearly you’re the wine expert, but I think I’ll need a demonstration.”

“I’ll be happy to give you one,” Mina said, dismounting your lap as you carefully laid her on her back with one hand, the other keeping your glass upright. She untied the belt of her robe completely, opening it up to expose her perky tits and killer set of abs that complemented such a perfect body.

Mina didn’t linger for a second, taking your glass from your hand and aiming it at her naked torso, tipping it over as dark wine stained her pale skin, the contrasting colors so gorgeous to gander at.

You admired her beauty for a moment before planting a kiss on her tight abdomen and gathering the wine on your tongue, drinking it all up and licking every inch of her sexy midriff.

“You’re right, this is the best way. It tastes even better,” you said, continuing to run your lips and tongue over the surface of Mina’s body, licking in in between her cleavage as she idly watched. Mina had been licked clean at your own accord, the delicious taste of wine lingering on your lips as you kissed her breasts and sucked on her nipples.

“I’ll give you something else to taste,” Mina said, the look on her face as devilish as possible as she pushed your body off hers, causing you to fall flat onto the couch. Moving rather quickly Mina divested her robe from her body, letting you take in the view of her beautiful naked body.

That moment didn’t last long, Mina now fully nude was delicious candy for your eyes but you only got to sample it as you felt her thick supple thighs locking around your head, using you as her seat cushion as she took a seat on your face. It was so abrupt that you barely had any time to react as you were smothered with the warm flesh of her wet heat, the slickness of her cunt introducing itself to your lips.

“You know what to do, don’t you?” Mina said, the cuteness of her tone contrasted with her sinister expression, and you didn’t dare keep her waiting as you darted your tongue and licked her pink slit several times. Mina gasped and began rolling her hips, gyrating her body and riding your face.

Mina’s taste was unforgettable, and this close you were quite literally breathing in her scent as you ate her pussy out, being suffocated with dripping pink flesh as you explored her folds with your tongue.

“I know you can do better than that,” Mina said as she put more of her weight down on you, smearing your lips and chin with her essence. You made sure not a single inch of her delicious pussy went without a swipe of your tongue as you took her swollen clit into your mouth and devoured Mina.

“There you go, eat that fucking pussy,” Mina demanded, grabbing the back of your head as she moaned and dug her nails into the back of your skull, aching to feel your tongue deeper than it was already. Her aggressiveness always caught you by surprise no matter how many times you had seen it, not that you minded for a second as your head was buried in between her luscious thighs.

Mina’s taste was so intoxicating, so satisfying to your palette more than any of the fancy restaurants that she had taken you that you could have done this all day long until the muscles in your jaw gave out.

“Almost there, don’t you dare fucking stop,” Mina moaned out as her thighs squeezed your head, pulling roughly at your hair with her fingers tangled in strands of it. You were powerless to do anything else, pinned to her couch and being a toy and you wanted nothing more.

There wasn’t anything quite like when Mina achieved climax, moaning in a mixture of Japanese and English and practically slurring every word that escaped her lips while her thighs vibrated around your head, hips bucking wildly out of control.

When Mina came was the highest her voice rose, the usual quiet demeanor of her was replaced by such filthy words filth would make a sailor blush. Screams and lustful moans filled the air as her honey dripped into your lips and you lapped up every drop eagerly.

Mina had finished the vigorous use of your face to climax all over, and you lamented the loss of her thighs squeezing your head, but if the look in her eye was anything to go by she wasn’t done with you.

“Good job. You’re proving to be quite useful.”

✦✦

(2:02 a.m.) My place. Now.

It didn’t matter that you had just brushed your teeth, put on your comfiest pair of pajamas and slipped under the covers. When Mina demanded her 2 a.m. booty call you answered, not even bothering to change as you entered the black sports car sent by her personal driver.

Mina answered the doorbell naked, without even so much as a hello you were brought into the familiar bedroom. Within seconds clothes formed a crumpled discarded pile. Build-up wasn’t a word used much in Mina’s vocabulary as she took you into her warm wet mouth for just a dozen or so strokes, if only to make sure you were rock hard and nothing else.

You quickly found yourself inches away from Mina’s naked body, her long legs spread wide in a familiar position that you couldn’t wait to dive into. Your throbbing shaft ached to feel the warmth of her body, but she had other plans as you felt something being jammed into your leg.

“My pussy is off-limits tonight,” she said, leaving you unsure to her reasons but you certainly weren’t ever going to complain about anal with Mina and welcomed the change of pace. She aided in lubing up your cock, using a freshly opened bottle and guided you towards her tight puckered hole.

Mina demanded your full attention, this time not bent over ready to be taken but kept on her back, wanting you to see her as you penetrated her back entrance. It was regrettable missing the view of her bent of beautiful ass, not that this position was lacking in anything while having the benefit of granting full vision of her Mina’s features.

“Don’t keep me waiting.”

You wouldn’t dare as you pushed your cock into the tight opening of her asshole, earning a loud gasp from her lips as you penetrated her. It was a feeling that never got old, the intense tightness that surrounded you as your tip disappeared into her warm hole was breathtaking.

“I want you deep,” Mina said, clearly no stranger to anal as she was able to relax her muscles to allow your shaft to sink deeper into her tight asshole. It didn’t take much, just a few smooth strokes until you filled her ass to the hilt.

“Fuck, you’re so big,” Mina moaned out, letting herself get used to the motions as she instinctively rubbed her clit on one hand as you fucked her ass, keeping her knees up and her feet flat on the sheets as her toes curled with pleasure.

You found a rhythm to fuck Mina with right away, watching the pure unadulterated bliss in her eyes as you slid in and out of her puckered hole, feeling the tight clench of it as you stretched her out little by little.

“So fucking tight. You like how that cock feels in your ass?”

“I do, but I’ll like it better when you stop talking and pound me.”

You got the hint and upped your pace, driving your shaft repeatedly into the overwhelming tightness of Mina. She freely moaned in response, the look in her lustful eyes always demanding more and you readily obliged, moving your hips even faster until you were pistoning into her gripping hole.

“Just like that, show me what that cock can do.”

Placing your hands on Mina’s soft creamy thighs, you gave into everything she desired and more as you fucked her deep as possible, giving perfectly smooth strokes into her ass without pause.

You had a hard time finding what to focus on, the tight little hole that was filled to the brim with cock, or Mina’s pretty face now contorted with pleasure and moaning with delight. The sensations around your body drove you insane, the intense tightness and heat surrounding your cock set your senses ablaze.

Mina had an equal sense of pleasure if the moans escaping her throat were anything to go by, and in no time you were absolutely drilling into her asshole, trying to force your shaft as deep into her body as it would go.

You loved every second of it, the way her tight hole squeezed the life out of your cock, it was a moment you wanted to last forever. The look of ecstasy in Mina’s eyes as you were balls deep in her ass, you wanted time to stop for eternity so you could spend every bit of it fucking her.

Sadly, your body had other plans for you, as it often did. The intensity of your thrusts picked up, and you felt that familiar feeling in your abdomen that you wanted to go away, trying to focus on how amazing Mina made your cock feel.

“Mina, I-I’m close.”

“Don’t even think about pulling out.”

You couldn’t, even if for some reason you wanted to it would be impossible to remove yourself from the tightness you felt yourself buried in. You kept Mina’s perfect features in your view, watching the deep satisfaction as you drove yourself towards orgasm. The end was near and you wanted to savor the last few moments, pumping harshly into her tight ass repeatedly.

“Give me it...give me all your cum in my ass...fill me,” Mina demanded, staring at you as sweat dripped down your brow. It wouldn’t be much longer, just a few more thrusts inside her was all you could take as you used what little remaining you had left.

With one more satisfying thrust you buried yourself to the hilt, filling Mina’s ass as you throbbed inside her, flooding her hole up with your abundant creamy load and grunting with every shot fired.

Your climax lasted what felt like forever as your balls were emptied into Mina, her tight cavern milking you dry until you were able to slowly withdraw from her gaping hole as a stream of thick semen leaked out that was the evidence of your combined pleasure.

“I expected more,” Mina said, taking a finger to her rawly used hole and taking a sample of your cum, licking it clean.

You held back on giving any reaction, unable to do much but try and catch your breath as you watched the mess you had left inside Mina.

“Clean yourself up, my driver will be here in ten minutes.”

✦✦

One of the many benefits being Mina’s companion was getting to visit countries you had only dreamed of, seeing them only in movies. Your passport went from being blank to having pages filled with dozens of stamps from places that some you hadn’t even heard of before and experiencing the comfort of first class.

You had seen so many different places yet it never got old, seeing a new place, full of new culture to learn. It had become tradition that with every new place came a new hotel suite, staying in rooms you swore were bigger than some apartments you’d lived in and you never got used to it.

It also became tradition that Mina loved breaking in hotel rooms by being fucked in them. The thrill of being in a different country with a different language and a different timezone was only second fiddle to knowing the sheets were going to be stained with your combined bodily fluids. Mina always left large bills as compensation for cleaning staff.

Between business meetings and visiting important tourist destinations, Mina still had time to fit in being fucked daily, this time outside of the balcony, giving anyone who looked outside their window a free show for all to see.

Mina was always busy which was par for the course during business trips, but her schedule had been packed to the brim the entire morning. The free time let you roam foreign streets on the lookout by yourself without any blonde eye candy on your arm, a rare instance where you felt naked not having her by your side.

The nighttime view was remarkable, the curtains drawn on the balcony window revealed one of the most gorgeous skylines you had ever seen in your life. It failed in comparison to the view of Mina on her knees with her soft lips wrapped around your throbbing shaft.

“F-fuck, Mina,” you kept moaning out loud, keeping a hand resting on the cold glass window as she loud slobbered on your cock. It wasn’t often that Mina treated you to a blowjob without anything in return, maybe she felt apologetic for being gone all day, maybe she just had an insatiable urge to shove your cock down the back of her throat.

You had to forcibly pry your attention away from the magic Mina was working on your shaft, not wanting to finish in her mouth right away. Looking up you saw the outside view, noticing the night sky filled with beautiful bright stars, tall lit up buildings with neon that could be seen miles away and a gorgeous full moon made up the perfect backdrop of the city.

It was all impossible to focus on.

The only thing that caught your attention was the blonde bobbing her head rapidly, keeping her eyes glued on you as she sucked you off and covered your shaft in her warm saliva. Mina was no slouch when it came to her oral skills, and it was up to her whether she wanted you to last thirty seconds or ten minutes.

It always caught you off guard, the contrasting nature of Mina in the bedroom and outside of it. She was always so elegant, so prim, so proper - and yet here she was so goddamn loud as she gave the sloppiest blowjob without a care in the world, throwing her former inhibitions away.

“Your balls must be so full, I do feel bad I didn’t have time to drain you earlier,” Mina said, letting her eyes do the rest of the talking as she pleasured your cock, holding on to your thighs firmly as her mouth and tongue went wild. You could only take so much from her, the look in her eyes almost taunting you to try and last any longer.

Mina knew all your weaknesses and focused on hitting them all at once, going for the killing blow. Soft lips swallowing every inch of your cock, her wet tongue wildly playing around all while keeping a seductive look on her features, you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Mina, I-I’m gonna fucking cum,” you moaned out, trying desperately to hold out for just a few moments longer.

“About time, let it all out. I expect you to cover me,” Mina said, removing your cock from the warmth of her mouth and aiming it towards her stunningly beautiful face. The air in the room became harder to take in as you took deeper breaths, watching Mina furiously stroking your cock and encouraging your release.

Your climax didn’t wait for you, the shared anticipation at its peak as you erupted and painted Mina’s face in thick white streaks, splashing her forehead, cheeks and those talented lips, groaning audibly with every spurt released. Mina didn’t stop until she was satisfied you were emptied, sucking the sensitive tip of your cock as your generous load began slowly dripping down her face.

It took the leftover strength you had to not collapse to the floor, the satisfied look of Mina’s gorgeous face now stained with hot semen was an unforgettable sight.

“You made quite a mess,” she said, flicking against your sensitive head and cleaning your cock with her tongue to make sure not a drop was wasted.

“I’m not done with you so you better have some saved up for me later. I’m going to have a very fun night with you.”

#twice smut #mina smut #twice #mina #reader insert #male reader #kpop smut #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction

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nomazee · 4 years

Text

Komorebi (4)

komorebi, p.4

synopsis: Tsukishima dislikes the amount of parallels there are with you and Hinata. He dislikes the way you’re so energetic and exuberant when you want to be, and the way you can get along so well with people. He dislikes the way that people are naturally drawn to you, and the way you’re so willing to put time into your dumb gifts and snacks and treats for a team of boys you barely know.

But Tsukishima does not dislike you. And he supposes that’s part of the problem.

series content: developing relationship, (sort of) ooc tsukishima, strangers to (sort of) friends to lovers, angst, fluff, slow burn

(THIS TOOK SO LONG TO GET OUT IM SO SORRY and this is definitely shorter than the other chapters (which were already short to begin with) but i hope you guys dont mind that!! that was kind of my intention with this series (i think i’ve mentioned it before,,,?) but this took so long to get out in the first place that i feel like it’s a little underwhelming to have a chapter this short 💀💀 but anyways i hope you like it!!!

pspspspsps check out this post & help me pick what to do for my 200 special pspspspsps)

☾.:°∗★.:☆:.★∗°:.☽

Tsukishima thinks that the repetition of his surname ringing in his ears is making him go crazy. Well, crazy is the wrong term. He hasn’t lost his senses yet—he thinks that despite being faced with the daunting wall that is attraction, he’s faring rather well in his day-to-day life.

You, however, don’t seem to be doing well.

If he’d voiced his concerns to anyone else, he would’ve gotten looks that really solidify the whole “crazy” narrative. You’re perfectly fine on the surface. You’re laughing, giving away more friendship bracelets that line the wrists of his teammates in a steady row and dropping off big white pastry boxes full of cookies and danishes. (“Homemade puff pastry!” He remembers you calling out proudly. “Took me a while to get the hang of it but I don’t think I did too bad!”)

But Tsukishima Kei knows what facades look like. He knows what it’s like to cover up countless feelings and thoughts and words with a blank face and a sarcastic tone. He imagines that using the opposite tactic (one of bright smiles and airy laughs) is somewhat similar.

He hates to think that he’s the cause of the lack of a crinkle in the corners of your eyes and the scratchy, aching noise of your cello-string-laugh.

But Tsukishima just does not often know what to say. How to say it. How to categorize the things he feels and send them into funnels where the right words slip out the other end.

He thinks he’s gotten the first step down pat—he knows he’s attracted to you— (that word is terrible. He pauses and rethinks the terms he can use.) He knows he’s fond of you. Very fond, actually. It’s great that there’s a word for this in his head now. The big issue here, though, is that one word out of five-hundred-thousand is not going to help him figure out how to talk to you.

So Tsukishima Kei bites. Not like a dog, but like a mosquito. Dogs really only bite when they’re provoked. In truth, he hasn’t been provoked by you—not at all. It’s like he only exists to bite people with no reason and with nothing to provide to society, only leaving pesky, itchy bumps on people’s skin that linger for an annoying amount of time.

The thought is sad. But he thinks it’s accurate.

He starts off small, like dipping his toes into the water of despondency. His sarcastic remarks sound to start less like sarcasm and more like disdain. It graduates slowly into small insults, ones that sort of slip under the guise of his personality, but he knows that you don’t take it that way. He knows by the way your responses turn into tight-lipped smiles and silent nods. He knows by the way you shift your gaze and furrow your eyebrows and chew the inside of your cheek.

He hates that he knows. He wants to forget about your habits and your voice and your smile and the orchestra of your laughter. The point of this is to forget, he thinks to himself, so why is he still clouded with the faint images of you skipping your feet against the concrete with Shouyo and focusing on the threads between your fingers during lunch as you weave yet another friendship bracelet.

He watches you do the latter, chopsticks tapping absentmindedly into the content of his bento as he watches you intently. You’re tying off the ends, cutting a shorter thread to make a sliding knot closure.

The infatuated part of him wonders if you’ll stand up from your table, walk over to his, and hand it to him, slip it around his wrist with glimmering eyes and raised eyebrows and a soft smile. But he’s hoping too much, he realizes as you hand it to Shouyo with a laugh.

Yamaguchi takes a seat next to the blonde. Tsukishima is aware of his presence but doesn't make a move to glance at him. Yamaguchi sighs. He knows what this is about, and he could say a lot of things to Tsukishima, but thinks his words would be redundant and a simple repetition of Tsukishima’s inner monologue.

(Tsukishima can handle this, he thinks. It’ll take some time, but he’ll get it eventually.)

You’re reciprocating the distance, the blonde thinks. You’re finally taking his cold remarks personally and pushing yourself away. Tsukishima knows that’s what he intended but the tightening of his lungs and the way his fingers tap rapidly against his desk makes his subconscious reconsider what he’s doing.

Yamaguchi sighs again. He can’t help it—he thinks the dazed look on his friend’s face is so comically out of character, and he pushes aside his momentary pity to let out a quiet chuckle.

“She’s not just your friend.” He tells Tsukishima. There’s silence at the table for a moment. Tsukishima’s mind whites out for a minute as he tries to understand what Yamaguchi is telling him.

He hums in response, acting despondent and oblivious. The twitch of his eyebrow gives him away, though. He knows what to do and how to do it, finally—he knows that if he takes enough time to think about it he can finally find the right words to tell you. It’s not the ideal situation to do so, but he guesses he’ll take the chance.

(He’s strong in his regard until he shows up to school the next day, where a bottle of cold tea and a homemade pastry sits on top of his desk. It’s undeniably you. He feels his eyes start stinging.)

#haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima x you #tsukishima kei x reader #tsukishima kei x you #haikyuu x you #hq x you #tsukishima oneshot #tsukishima kei oneshot #tsukishima x reader oneshot #haikyuu angst #haikyuu x reader angst #tsukishima x reader angst #haikyuu oneshot #nat write a single chapter without getting distracted challenge #THATS LITERALLY HALF THE REASON WHY IT TOOOK SO LONG TO GET THIS OUT BYE

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doyumacy · 3 years

Text

FALLOUT |LH| TWELVE (FINALE)

*gif not mine

PAIRING: donghyuck x reader bodyguard!donghyuck

WARNINGS: mentions of jaemin taeyong. swearing, major character death, gunshot wound, blood mentioned, grieving

WORD COUNT: 4,6K

ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE TEN ELEVEN

You groaned as, once again, you awoke sick for the fourth day.

It had been impossible to keep your breakfast down of late, and more often than not you spent most of the morning with your head in a bucket. You blamed the one week old pizza you had a week before.

That morning, Donghyuck made you your favourite breakfast before leaving with Jeno and you couldn't even have a bite. You were going to throw up again.

“Love, did I leave my phone here? I can't find it anywhere…” You heard him.

Another wave of nausea caught you, and you threw your head into the toilet. You coughed, tears in your eyes as the voice got closer. The dry heaving was almost more unpleasant than the vomiting, you lamented, leaving your throat sore and your voice hoarse.

“I am not dressed yet!” You called, not technically lying, as your pajamas clung to your body with sweat.

“I think we are past all that,” he laughed, pushing the door open.

You adjusted your pajasm as he searched, sensing the rush he was in from his near ignoring of you. "I swear I left it here before I took a shower."

He finally found it atop the mantlepiece, and turned to make a comment on it, when he noticed your appearance.

“Good god, are you okay?”

“Fine. A little nauseous, is all.”

He rushed over to you

“I think I have the stomach flu, perhaps. Stay back.”

“I likely already have it, if it is that,” he smiled. “So there is no further harm.”

"Seriously," you whined. "I don't want you to get sick."

"Are you sure you're okay? You look palid," he cupped your face.

You nodded. "Go. Jeno must be waiting for you."

Donghyuck sighed and placed a kiss on your forehead. "If by tomorrow you don't look better I'm taking you to the hospital, okay?"

"Yes, sir."

Your body ached, more so than when you were PMSing. But not every month was the same, so you thought the pill was doing its secondary effects. You grabbed your birth control pill case and before taking it, you checked your last case and realised you missed a few. You cursed.

You stared at the rows upon rows of pregnancy tests. Did women actually know which one to take? Was it common knowledge knowing which one was the best? You sighed and rubbed your eyes. You were probably overreacting. You grabbed the pink one off the shelf. It wasn’t the cheapest one, but it was a brand you remembered from commercials. You stopped by the snack stand and picked up a bar of your peanut butter and chocolate. You always hated peanut butter. Shit. You dropped the bar chocolate and sat down on the counter. The woman at the checkout rang them through and gave you the total.

You held up your bank card, “Credit.”

She nodded and pressed the button. You inserted the card into the machine, went through the motions of inputting your password and checking the account type.

“Would you like a bag?” The woman asked as you waited for the transaction to clear.

You shook your head, “No thank you.”

She handed you the two items and the receipt. You dropped them down into your purse. You exited the drug store and stood on the street corner for a minute. You couldn’t do this alone. You needed some guidance. You pulled your phone out of your pocket and texted Lena.

Can I call you? You pressed send and began walking home.

You recounted the last few times you and Donghyuck had sex. You ran your fingers through your hair, so many times. Your phone rang in your hand and Lena's caller ID showed up.

You smiled, “Hey girl.”

“You’re pregnant, aren’t you?” She cut right to the chase.

You thought about lying, just to spite her but you two knew each other so well that it wasn’t a surprise that she’d picked up on your worries early on.

“I bought a test.” You explained.

She squealed into the phone and you had to pull it away while she freaked out. You laughed at her reaction. Your nerves settle the tiniest bit. She already had Minah. She knew exactly what to expect. You unlocked your front door and lined it for the couch.

“Ok.” She settled in as you entered your house, “Take the test right now.”

You shook your head, “Isn’t it better to take it in the morning? I swear I heard that somewhere before.”

“Pff if you’re pregnant it doesn’t matter what time of day you take the test.” She explained.

You rolled your eyes, of course she knew best, she was a doctor and a mom after all.

“How am I supposed to pee on a stick and hold the phone at the same time?” You joked.

You heard a door shut on her end, “Put the phone down, pee on the stick and come back.”

You groaned. What if you really were pregnant? You were happy but scared at the same time. This wasn’t something you’ve ever had to deal with.

“Alright.” You said.

You placed the phone down on the table and pulled the test out of your purse. You went into the bathroom, ripped the box open, ignored the instructions and made sure that the bristles were in place. You frowned, this was almost as awkward as peeing in a cup. A shiver ran down your spine as you felt weird about the whole thing. Lena was willingly waiting for you to pee on a stick. You set the test on the corner of the sink, finished your business and pulled up your pants. You pushed the cap over the bristled part of the test and then washed your hands. You grabbed the instructions and test as you went back to the living room. You glanced at the clock. It was only 10:30 in the morning. Donghyuck wouldn’t be home for another few hours.

You picked up the phone, “It’s done.”

“Yay!” Lena laughed. “Have you thought about how you’re going to tell Donghyuck?”

You shrugged, “No. I don’t even know if this is real yet. I could just be overreacting.”

“You wouldn’t have called me if you thought this was a false alarm.” She stated.

You groaned, “Ugh.”

Why was she always right? She laughed again. She distracted you with mindless prattle while you waited the three minutes for the test to finish. You left it sitting on the coffee table, upside down because you still didn’t know if you were prepared for the outcome.

“Three minutes.” Lena announced.

You took a deep breath and gingerly picked up the test. You flipped it over and creased your eyebrows in confusion.

“Uh – it has one solid line and one really faint one.” You told her.

You pulled out the instructions pamphlet and began scanning through. It mentioned that two solid lines mean pregnant but it made no mention of a solid first line and faint second one. Were all the tests this finicky?

“That’s exactly what it looked like when I was pregnant with Minah.” She advised.

You shook your head, “This doesn’t make any sense. The booklet distinctly says that you have to have two solid lines. Not one solid and one barely there.”

She chuckled at your denial, “Y/N you’re pregnant.”

“That’s not what the booklet says!” You fought back.

“You’re pregnant.” Lena said again.

You paused and then all the excitement of being pregnant caught up with you. Tears formed at your eyes.

“I’m pregnant.” You whispered. “I'm pregnant!” You screamed. “Oh my god. Oh my god! How am I going to tell Hyuck?"

“Do something cute, like put the test in a pan and put the pan in the oven.” Lena offered, “Symbolically tell him you have a ‘bun in the oven.’”

You burst into laughter, “Isn’t that sort of stuff reserved for people planning on these things? This wasn’t exactly on our list of to-dos.”

You both broke into giggles. This was absurd and exhilarating all at once. You never expected to ever be a parent. It wasn’t something you thought you had in you. Now that you were pregnant, and with Donghyuck, you’d never felt more ready. The two of you could do this.

You took a deep breath and then blew it out through tight lips, “He’s not going to be home until after 7. I can’t wait that long.”

“Mull it over. He loves you, remember that.” She gave me a minor pep talk, “Oh, and guys handle these things differently. Don’t forget that.”

You nodded, “Alright. Thanks Lena.”

“No problem. You have to call me and tell me how he reacts.” She demanded.

I laughed at her, “I will.”

“Alright girl, I’ve got to go. I’ve been paged five times now.” She spoke swiftly and then hung up.

You dropped your phone down onto the coffee table and turned the TV on. You had no idea how you were going to tell Donghyuck. This was definitely not something either of you had talked about.

(...)

He’d been home for at least an hour now. The two of you were just sitting on the couch, watching TV. You couldn’t concentrate on the show because there was so much going on in your mind. Your face was hot and a blush was covering your entire body. You had no idea why but you felt embarrassed. You hadn’t even said or done anything yet. The tension in your body was building and you were starting to freak out. What if he had a horrible reaction? You never did talk about this. It wasn’t in the plans. Shit! You needed to get out of your head. You couldn’t start making things up. He didn’t even know yet. You tucked your feet underneath you and cradled the throw cushion into your stomach. You felt safer, almost like you were hiding your secret.

“Baby…” You murmured.

He glanced over at you, “Yeah.”

“We need to talk.” You said, immediately regretting your choice of words.

Now he probably thought you were breaking up with him. How did other people do this? This was the hardest conversation you’d ever had to have in your life. He raised an eyebrow at you, waiting for you to speak. You opened your mouth but stopped. You didn’t know what to say. Your heart was thudding in your chest and the adrenaline soared through your body.

"(Y/N)?" Donghyuck kept staring at you. "What is it?"

"Uhm..." you scratched the back of your neck. "I, I don't want to eat shrimp in our wedding."

He stared at you for a couple of seconds. "That is it?" You nodded, swallowing. "Baby, we can eat whatever we want in our wedding."

You hated yourself for lying to him. "I just... heard you say to Jeno you really love shrimp and I don't, so..."

"I don't really mind, love," he pecked you. "If you want to have tacos, then we'll have tacos."

You smiled. "Okay."

"Okay." He kissed you.

You couldn’t do it. You were too nervous.

(...)

You were all together in the cabin you rented, sitting around the coffee table filled with food and drinks.

“So, when's the wedding?” Jaemin asked, having a sip of his beer.

“Uh we still haven't set a date, but I hope it's soon,” Donghyuck replied and smiled.

“Hurry up before my baby bump starts showing!” Lena laughed. "And others things too." She glanced at you. You ignored her.

“Are you pregnant again?” Taeyong looked at her.

She nodded. "Yup, baby number two is coming next winter."

"Hey, congrats," Jaemin smiled. "I bet Hoseok is thrilled."

"He is, he wants twins," Lena rolled his eyes. "As if one wasn't enough."

Donghyuck giggled. "I'd love to have twins one day."

"You see, (Y/N)? Give him babies soon!" Lena smiled.

You rolled your eyes and Donghyuck put an arm around your shoulder. "We'll have kids as soon as we get married."

"You don't even hate a date yet," Jaemin mocked him.

You didn't know when Jaemin and Donghyuck became so close that they would bicker jokingly so often. And you found it funny, but that day you were nervous because you had to tell him you were pregnant. He deserved to know.

Taeyong tilted his head to the side, examining you. You looked different, your body seemed different. And the way you wouldn't look Donghyuck in the eye he could tell you were hiding something.

Then he knew. You were pregnant.

Later that night, you were doing the dishes when Taeyong showed up in the kitchen. He smiled at you as he poured some water in a glass. He stood next to you, leaning against the counter. “How long are you?”

“Excuse me?” You looked at him.

He cocked his head cutely, smiling. “If I’m not wrong you’re pregnant, right?”

You sighed and nodded. “How did you know? Did Lena tell you? I’m gonna kill her.” You hissed.

Taeyong chuckled and shook his head. “I had a slight suspicion since the last time I saw you.”

You pressed your lips together. “6 weeks.”

“And… are we happy?” He rested his hand on yours.

“I am, I’m just nervous,” you let out an awe sigh. “I know he’s gonna be all happy, but still, it’s unexpected.”

“You’ll be fine.” Taeyong assured you. “Everything will be fine.”

“Promise?”

“When have I ever lied to you?” He cocked an eyebrow.

You giggled. “Never.”

“See?” Taeyong smiled. “Come here.” He pulled you close to him and hugged you. “I’ll always be by your side.”

(...)

“What are we going to do tomorrow?” Jaemin asked.

Donghyuck's eyes lit up, “There are several things we could do, how physical would we like to get?”

There was an extremely varied pool of answers. Jaemin and Donghyuck wanted it to be as extreme as they could get. You seemed anxious about what ‘physical’ would entail as physical usually also corresponded with danger.

Taeyong thought for a moment before recommending, “Why don’t we go down to the lake? It can be as low key or high key as people want, and there are some very pretty places nearby if people would not like to participate in the lake.”

Jaemin nodded, “Sounds fine to me.”

Lena whispered something to you and when they nodded Donghyuck's eyes lit up, “we're in as well.”

The next morning , you decided to make sandwiches for your trip later in the day while everyone cleaned up from breakfast, and then everyone left to go get dressed. Donghyuck put on their bathing suit underneath so he could easily change in and out of it, and grabbed their pair of sunglasses. He went out to the main area of the cabin to gather up the towels.

Taeyong arrived a few moments later, he had a sunhat on with round black sunglasses on. "Is everyone ready?"

Jaemin nodded. "We better go!"

The walk down to the lake was surprisingly calm, it was still morning and the birds were chirping, hidden in the trees, and the occasional butterfly would flutter across their path. The lake was stunning when you arrived. It was a large tranquil body of water which seemed to absorb the sun to show every possible shade of blue, and reflected it at just the right points so the ripples glinted and gleamed.

Donghyuck immediately tore off his shirt and sprinted for the dock as Jaemin and Taeyong followed him. Lena and you sat on the edge of the dock.

In the field there was laughter and joy, the three of them wove crowns and bracelets for each other.

"Why haven't you told him yet?" Lena queried.

You shrugged. "Becuase I'm dumb."

"Yeah, I know," she giggled. "You need to tell him before he realises it."

You sighed. "I'm gonna do it tonight."

She smiled. "Finally!"

"It's so cold." you said hugging yourself tighter.

Donghyuck grinned, scrunching his nose. "If you get in the water you'll get warm."

You rolled your eyes again. "You're not getting me into the lake."

Donghyuck pouted. "You sure, love?" He asked, batting his eyes.

You crossed your arms nodding your head. You didn't notice the way his arms snaked around your legs, having a slightly good hold on you. "I hoped you'd say that." Donghyuck had an evil smile on his face, causing you to look confused.

"I didn't say any- ahh!" Before you knew it, you were pulled into the lake.

When you broke to the surface Donghyuck was already waiting for you. You moved the hair from your face and glared at him. "Hyuck!" You yelled slamming your fists into the water. Donghyuck broke into a laughing fit. You glared at him, crossing your arms and turning away with a small 'Hmph!' Donghyuck was still laughing just a bit, before swimming up behind you. "Aw come on love, you can't be mad at me." He said wrapping his arms around your waist, resting his head on your shoulder. You weren't mad, but you wanted to tease him a bit. "Let go off of me."

"No," you felt him smile on your shoulder before he kissed it.

You giggled and rested your head on his shoulder. "I love you."

"I love you." He kissed your cheek. "I love you more than anything, you know?"

"I know," you smiled, caressing his arms . "But I like when you say it."

"I love you," he turned you and kissed you. "I can't wait for you to have my babies."

"Hyuck..." You looked at him. "You need to know something."

"What is it?" He stroked your cheek.

You opened your mouth but Jaemin called you two interrupted. You shook your head. "Let's go before he goes crazy. I'll tell you later."

"Alright, love."

(...)

"Please repeat again why did we need your private jet to come all the way here, Taeyong?" Lena questioned him.

"It was an 8 hour ride. I was not going to drive," He shrugged.

Jaemin laughed. "I could've drove."

"You're not the best at driving," you teased and everyone laughed.

"I'm gonna pretend you didn't say that," Jaemin rolled his eyes.

You all were in a suv on your way to the hangar where Taeyong's private jet was. You were coming back to the city after spending a few days out of town.

You didn't tell Donghyuck that you were pregnant since you weren't alone and when you have time for yourselves, he fell asleep. So you decided to tell him as soon as you two were home. It would be better.

After you arrived at the hangar destination, you got off of the car and grabbed your belongings. All of you went to the airstrip where the jet was already waiting for you. Everyone started to board the plane when Donghyuck let go off your hand. You looked at him. "I think I left my wallet in the car. I'll be right back."

"I'm gonna wait for you here," you say nicely.

He nodded and walked back in the hangar where the black suv was. He found his wallet underneath the pilot's seat and took it. He started walking towards the plane again and smiled when he saw you on the staircase. God, he was so in love with you.

A deafening sound echoed in his ears.

He blinked.

Donghyuck could you see running towards him - almost in slow motion - you were mouthing something and staring at him with fear, pain and… shock in your eyes.

Why were you shocked?

The right side of his chest felt sticky, and cold but warm in the middle. Weirdly warm. But it was not warm, it was hot and it hurt. Not like a punch. It was more like a pinch, that was blossoming into a cramp - a horrible, numbing cramp.

He was feeling light-headed and the cramp in his chest was getting worse. You were getting closer, but the distance between you two was considerable.

Another bang reached his ears a second later, it was loud, deafening, it made his ears ring. He stepped, no, stumbled to the side. Turning his head to see you, the look of acknowledgement and horror on your face.

He felt his blood on his hands, the heat and pain building up in his chest, the warmth of the sun seeping into his back. His knees gave way and he started falling backwards as his hand stretched out towards you.

His head hit the pavement with a startling thud and it felt strangely numb, he could hear you yelling for an ambulance. He blinked, closed his eyes for a second and suddenly you were there above him. You were cradling his face, saying something, tapping his face too hard.

"Hyuck!"

"-pen your eyes!"

"Come on Hyuck Please! Don't do this!"

"Babe, love, Donghyuck! You're okay, you're alright, you're gonna be fine. Please stay with me."

His back arched and he tried to curl onto his side and make the pain go away. His blood was still pouring out of him like a grotesque tap that couldn't be turned off.

"I-I love s-so m-uch. Y-you're t-the b-est t-thing t-that happened t-to m-me" He rambled.

"Don't do that. Don't say goodbye," you spoke, your voice cracking as a few stray tears fell from your eyes.

The blood that was coating his throat started clogging it instead and he couldn't breathe.

"You are going to be fin-" he choked

"It won't" You cut him off. "Hyuck, please. I'm pregnant, we're gonna have a kid. You're gonna be a dad. The best."

He tried to smile and looked at you weakly. "Take c-care o-of t-them, okay? I-I l-love yo-"

He was cut off by the blood in his throat that he coughed out onto his chin. The pain was spreading everywhere and numbing his brain.

And he took his last breath. He was smiling up at you.

“No. No! I’m not losing you! Donghyuck! I just got you! I'm not losing you! I’m not losing you… I’m not losing you.” You cried as you frantically shook him trying to bring him back to life but to no avail.

He was gone.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You were supposed to marry Donghyuck and raise your kid together. And two stray bullets weren't supposed to have struck in your fiancé's chest.

You weren't supposed to be trembling in front of the small white tombstone etched with the name Lee Donghyuck, but it was happening anyway.

You just wanted him to hold you; to tell you that everything happens for a reason, as he always did. You imagined him wrapping his arms around your waist like he always had, the way you now held yourself, alone.

Furiously wiping the tears from under your eyes,you began to make your way to your real destination from the graveyard. As you opened the door to the small doctor’s office, she gave you a soft sympathetic smile.

“Come on in, let’s see how your little bean is holding up.”

You nodded, sitting on the sturdy table for examinations in the back of the small office. You didn’t really notice the colors on the walls anymore, your eyes skipping over the medical tools meticulously lined up in the doctor’s preference of order.

You were four months along.

“Everything seems to be going well with the baby. But Y/N, you know that you need to eat more. It isn’t safe.”

Safe. That word didn’t seem real to you anymore.

“Are you hearing me? Please, I don’t like you living alone.”

You nodded. "I'll try."

(...)

Time went on. You were slowly running out of tears to cry around the eight month of your pregnancy. You still stopped by the graveyard to say hello to Donghyuck.

When she got back to your house, you found Taeyong parking outside. He had always been kind to you, respecting your space and distance.

“Hey you,” he greeted you smiling.

"Hi," you greeted back.

"I brought you some lunch."

You smiled politely. "Let 's go inside. I'm cold."

You got inside your house and went to the kitchen. Taeyong placed the food containers on the table. "How's the baby?"

"They're fine," you smirked. "Although I get heartburns very easily."

He nodded. "I'm glad you're doing better."

You sighed. "I'm... trying."

"And you know I'm here to help."

"I know."

You suddenly let out a low groan. He turned to you abruptly. “Are you okay, is the baby alright?” Taeyong, with a panicked look on his face.

“Umm, I think...I think I’m having contractions.”

It took a minute for this to process with him. "Okay, okay.. Okay, I'm gonna take you to the hospital? Okay?"

You nodded. "Is too soon, oh My God."

(...)

Taeyong ran his hand through his hair for what seemed like the millionth time as he paced in the waiting room.

He glanced down the hall where he knew your room was. He got called by a nurse. He went to your room and saw you connected to a lot of medical stuff and his heart ached.

You were in pain and when you saw him, you reached for his hand. Taeyong, grabbing your hand not even caring about your tight grip as he kissed your head, sweat be damned.

“(Y/N) ...it’s almost time for you to push, waiting any longer will mean an even greater risk for your baby.”

You nodded but let out a shuddering breath.

As nurses started coming into the room, he pressed another kiss to your head.

“You can do this.” He whispered.

Minutes later, you began to push.

He looked back at the baby girl. She was beautiful. And so small.

Taeyong looked up.

“She’s a fighter, just like his dad..”

Tears filled your eyes again.

Taeyong knew he wouldn't go anywhere, not since he had you all from himself and had gotten rid of Donghyuck.

He smiled, holding the baby. He was a dad.

Alternate ending is finally here !!

#donghyuck imagine #donghyuck x reader #donghyuck smut #nct imagine #NCT #nct haechan #haechan imagine #haechan smut #taeyong smut #jaemin smut

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keanureevesisbae · 4 years

Text

Mister Cavill, your dog is kinda fat - Epilogue

Summary: Veterinarian Olivia Tran has zero time for bullshit. After becoming a mom at age twenty three, the one thing she wants is a good life for her daughter Vanessa. Her ex didn’t want anything to do with her nor the baby and she decided that man are officially banned out of her life. But then she meets Henry Cavill at her clinic and her ban slowly starts to crumble apart. Henry on the other hand is looking for one thing: a family. And when he meets Olivia Tran, he finds just that.

Henry Cavill x Olivia Tran (ofc)

Warnings: None

Wordcount: 4.1k

A/N: This will be Vanessa’s pov

Masterlist // Previous chapter //

9 years later

Name: Vanessa Tran-Cavill

Subject: English

Teacher: Mrs. Allen

Grade: 100/100 — Vanessa, you are such a talented writer. You raised the bar for every other essay I’m going to read in my entire career left as an English teacher. You have such a wonderful role model in your life. Please cherish your family for the rest of your life!

The one who taught me everything - an essay about Olivia Tran-Cavill, the greatest inspiration for me.

I was raised by the toughest woman alive. I know that a lot of kids say that about their mom, but allow me to explain why Olivia Tran-Cavill is the toughest woman I know in my life.

Her boyfriend left her when she told him she was pregnant with me, her own family (meaning her parents and her two brothers) practically disowned her, and on top of that she just started a job as a freshly minted veterinarian.

If I were in her shoes, I’d be terrified, struck by multiple breakdowns on a daily basis, but not my mom. She raised me all by herself, barely having a break or a moment of her own. I was her number one priority. She told me to be kind, to be honest and polite: personality traits that provide me with the best today and for all the days to come in the future.

There was only one thing that I desperately wanted and that was a family. I wanted a dad like the kids in my class. I wanted grandparents. I wanted aunts and uncles. I wanted to have little siblings, because I knew that I would be a great big sister.

Unfortunately that wasn’t in the stars for me and my mom told me that. It takes a brave woman to say to her young child: ‘Your real dad doesn’t want you. Your grandparents kicked me out the second they found out I was pregnant with you. Your uncles never spoke to me again.’

It hurt obviously. There were people walking around here that shared DNA with me, that were family, but they made it pretty clear that they didn’t want me nor my mother. To this day they still haven’t reached out and they honestly don’t know what they are missing out on. At least, that is what my mom always tells me.

But my mom always told me that family wasn’t all about sharing DNA, it was about finding people that you want in your life. You can choose who your family is.

Despite that wonderful piece of advice that I definitely took to heart, I continued to make her a drawing every single day. My mom and I inside our house and outside there is a man with a dog, waiting to be allowed into our life.

Waiting to become a dad.

My dad.

One day my mom was on call and had to go to the clinic at night. She took me with her and that’s the day we met Henry and his dog Kal. Little did we all know that at that exact moment, our lives drastically changed.

Henry was more of a dad in the first hour that I had met him, then my real dad was in my entire life. For the first time in life, I had a dad figure. A man who cared not only about me, but also about my mom.

Being with Henry never drastically changed my mom. She was still the bad ass mom I always had, but it did softened her up. It made her relaxed. Henry gave her what she deserved all those years of raising me by herself. Letting someone take care of her too. There is only so much a six year old could give back to a powerhouse like her mom, but there is so much more a man like Henry Cavill can give her.

He provided us with a family. A grandma, a granddad and four lovely uncles.

And for that I have to thank my mom. She allowed Henry into her life, thus into my life and gave us six amazing Cavill family members, who cared about us and loved us up to this day.

Now, I admire her every single day. The way she takes care of not only me, but also my three sisters, is something I feel like I can never live up to. Whenever some of us walk into the room, her face lights up and she drops everything to give us her full attention.

And for that I am so incredibly thankful. She taught me so much. How to love, how to catch more flies with honey than with vinegar and she taught me that it is okay to be scared, but that it should never stop you from pursuing what you want to achieve.

I know my mom was scared when she got pregnant and was dropped by all the people she thought she could trust and rely on, but it never stopped her from pursuing what she wanted: to be a great mother and an excellent veterinarian. Knowing that, I’m going to try to be the best version of myself, though I know damn well that I can never be as amazing as her.

For me, my mom is the most influential person in my life and I wouldn’t trade her for anything in the world.

≫≫≪≪

With my freshly graded essay, I walk towards my locker. This is such a great way to end the week. I worked my ass off on this essay and the fact that mrs. Allen gave me the full hundred out of hundred points is unbelievable. She never gives people higher than ninety points probably. I feel like I’m the first student in her entire career to score the highest grade possible.

‘There she is.’ I look up to see Trey walking up to me, already undoing his tie. He always tells me that he hates that thing with a passion and while I suggest he uses a clip on tie (like half the school does), he keeps on wearing the regular one. I think it’s so he can continue to bitch about it. ‘You’re going to Jimmy’s party tonight, right?’

I shake my head. ‘I’m sorry, Trey, I can’t. I have plans with my family.’

‘The entire family?’ he asks, as he leans against the row of lockers besides mine.

‘Yes, the entire family.’

‘And there is absolutely no change at all that you can ditch them?’

I can’t stop my chuckle. Usually I go out on Friday, especially if Trey invites me, but right now I really can’t go. ‘It’s important,’ I say to him. I see him fake pouting, causing me to roll my eyes. ‘Come on, don’t pout. Jimmy has parties every two weeks. I’ll be at the next one.’

Trey grins. ‘I’ll hold you to that, V. Tell your mom I said hi and also say that to your dad, because I’m afraid he’ll kick my ass next time he sees me. Oh, and say hi to your sisters, will you?’

A few weeks ago Trey came over to my place, because we were going to do algebra homework together (and because we wanted to spend time together). Dad was ready to embarrass the shit out of me (I think he has been waiting for this moment since he adopted me to be honest—he seemed to well prepared), but mom swooped right in and Trey felt instantly at ease. Ever since then, he asks me how she is doing when I see him at school.

I know it’s tough for Trey. He wasn’t raised with a mother, since she passed away during his birth, but her three brothers raised him. He loves them dearly and because of that, he can handle my dad’s antics just fine. However it’s nice for him to have a motherly figure in his life, since his uncles never dated (they would get along well with my uncles) and my mom is the right person for that.

After that algebra homework moment we had, he has been coming over a lot more often and just a few days ago, I saw him giving my mom a hug. When I asked her about it, she told me that he always likes it when he is here and it turns out, that he told her all about growing up with only his uncles and how she feels like a mom figure to him. I like how he is welcomed into my family. My sisters are absolutely smitten with him and they love it when I bring him over, since they wished I was a boy, so they could have a brother.

It’s always nice to know that your sisters love you for who you are.

‘You know, you can come over too,’ I say, not wanting Trey to leave. ‘If you want to of course.’

‘Are you sure?’ he asks, but he already has a telling smile on his face. ‘I just don’t want to intrude an important event.’

‘You won’t,’ I laugh. ‘It’s been ten years since my dad officially adopted me. We’re going to celebrate at my grandparents’ place. My uncles will be there, my aunt, nephews and my sisters.’

Trey smiles. ‘Well, if you invite me.’

I close my locker and say: ‘We are going to celebrate this whole weekend, but you can only stay today if you want to, so you won’t miss Jimmy’s party.’

‘I don’t really care about Jimmy’s party,’ Trey admits. ‘I only wanted to spend time with you.’

It’s obvious that we have a crush on each other, it’s just that I’m afraid of committing. He doesn’t seem to mind though, that pull my hand back when he wants to hold it and that we haven’t kissed, though we’ve been on a few dates.

‘So,’ Trey says as we walk out of the school, ‘your dad adopted you ten years ago.’

I nod. ‘Yeah, he made me an official Cavill from that day. If I’m being completely honest, I never thought I’d have a dad. I always thought that it was going to be me, my mom and my pleads for a dad. For such a long time I thought it was enough, though deep down I wanted a dad, but sometimes it’s just not meant for everyone, right?’

Trey nods. ‘Right.’

‘I still remember the day we met him and Kal,’ I say. ‘And I just knew that I wanted that man as my father. I was six and though I need saw my mom with a man, I just knew that they were meant for each other, you know. We were standing around the examination table, because Kal was sick and I thought to myself that this was the man that not only I wanted in my life, but my mom needed as well.’

Trey’s fingers brush against mine and I hold onto his hand, for the first time in the weeks that we are circling around each other.

I think back to the times where it was just my mom and I. She was so strong for all those years of raising me, telling me the painful truth about my biological dad, my grandparents and uncles from her side of the family, arranging all different sorts of shifts at the animal clinic and bringing me to work when necessary.

I admire my mother and the way she carefully picked out a man that was worthy of becoming my dad, of adopting me and giving me his last name. I had been Vanessa Tran for so many years, but becoming Vanessa Tran-Cavill, had been such a blessing and for the first time in seven years, I had a dad, someone who cared about me.

Someone who loved me.

And right now, I have seen how much he loved my mom, me and my sisters. I admired the way dad took care of us, while still having an acting career. He played in seven movies since I met him and five of those were being filmed here in the UK, since he didn’t want to leave us for too long.

He posts about us on Instagram sometimes, but always disables the comments. A lot of people know that I’m his daughter, but they mostly find out when we’ve known each other for a while.

Trey and I get out of the bus, but I stop him, before we walk off to my grandparents’ house. ‘I just want to prepare you. I have four nosey uncles and a granddad who just starts to talk, not knowing when to stop.’

‘It’s nothing I can’t handle,’ he laughs. ‘Remember, I grew up with three uncles and their friends. This will be peanuts.’

I smile. ‘Yeah, you’re right.’ I squeeze his hand. ‘Trey, before we go into the backyard, I have to admit something.’

‘I like you too,’ he says. ‘And I don’t mind taking it slow.’

My eyes widen. ‘How did you know I was going to say that?’

‘You’re predictable, Tran.’ Trey smiles and I roll my eyes. ‘It’s honestly no big deal. I really like you and your family and though I feel comfortable enough to go at my pace, I don’t want to force you into stuff.’ He gives me a squeeze back in my hand. ‘Your pace and no one else’s.’ He pulls me to him and wraps me up in a tight hug. I feel his chin on top of my head and I let out a sigh, before I close my eyes, nuzzling my face in his chest. This feels nice, I could get used to this.

I pull back a little, to carefully press a kiss on his jaw. ‘Come on, let’s go,’ I say, pulling him with me to the gate at the back of the yard. Together we walk into the backyard and I see everyone is already there. Uncles Piers, Niki and Charlie are standing near the barbecue, as my nine year old sister Elodie is poking Charlie in his sides. Belle has wrapped her arms around uncle Simon’s neck, giving him tons of kisses. Belle’s two year old son Hugh is trying to kick the ball, but he misses and falls flat on his bum. He waddles over to Belle, who is currently expecting another boy in four months.

My five year old sisters Chloe and Heather are the first to notice me. ‘Vanessa!’ they scream in unison, rushing towards me and wrapping their arms around my waist. ‘We missed you.’

‘I missed you guys too,’ I chuckle.

‘And you brought Trey!’ Chloe notices, jumping in his arms. ‘You are staying here for the barbecue?’

‘Of course,’ Trey says with a smile. ‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world, munchkin.’

Everyone looks up and gives me hugs and introduce themselves to Trey if they haven’t met him already. Grandpa Colin gives me a big hug and slips fifty pounds not only in my hand, but also in Trey’s hand. ‘So you can take her out on a date, young man,’ he tells Trey.

When we walk over to my parents, Trey says: ‘Damn, I get fifty pounds for showing up here. Should I tell your grandad when my birthday is?’

‘Don’t,’ I say sternly, pinching his side.

Kal licks my hand and I scratch him on top of his head. He is not fat anymore (as if my mother would allow that). He is also not as active as he used to be when I met him, but he is still the most loyal and biggest sweetheart in the world, always taking care of me and my sisters.

My mom holds out her arms and Trey doesn’t hesitate for a minute to be engulfed in her arms. Dad wraps his arms around my waist and bumps his nose against my cheek. Elodie, Chloe and Heather often wonder why we do that, but it’s our thing and it’ll always be our thing. ‘There you are, sunshine,’ he says.

‘It’s a special day today,’ I say. ‘You have any regrets?’

He scoffs. ‘Are you kidding me? As if I could have regrets.’

‘You still have the receipt?’

He laughs. ‘Like I would ever use that.’ He gives me a kiss on my cheek and says: ‘You brought your boyfriend with you, I see.’

Normally I’d protest against his antics, but now… I actually don’t mind. I quite like it actually. I like the idea of Trey being my boyfriend. ‘Well, yeah.’

Dad gives me a big kiss, before he places me on my feet again. Trey wipes his hands clean on his jeans, before he extends his hand to my dad. I don’t quite know what happens after that, because mom pulls me into a hug. Though I’m seventeen now and my mom is reaching the forty already, she barely aged.

It’s admirable, really. After she gave birth to Elodie and she lost that much blood, it was the scariest experience in my life. I thought, with the way everyone was looking at each other when dad called, my mom would die. It took her six months to recover and I helped out the best I could, but I knew that asking for another sibling too soon, wouldn’t help. Four years after she had Elodie, she became pregnant with twins and after that she did not want more kids. Ideally she wanted three, I remember her saying that to dad, but now she had four and though she loved it, it was enough.

‘How was school?’ mom asks.

‘It was great. I got my English essay back.’

‘Oh really? How did you do?’

‘I’ll tell you in a minute.’

Mom tilts her head when she looks at Henry and Trey, who seem to hit it off actually. ‘You chose a good one,’ she tells me. ‘So proud of you, sweetheart.’ Mom wraps her arm around my waist and gives me a kiss. ‘Oh no, mom!’ she yells to grandma Marianne. ‘Wait, don’t carry everything.’ Mom rushes off to the kitchen and I can’t hide my smile.

I’m happy that all these people are my family. From the looks of Trey, he actually is a bit nervous. I walk up to him and my dad and wrap my arm around his hips. He is tense, but wraps his arm around my shoulders. ‘You’re not bugging him, are you, dad?’

‘No, of course not,’ he says, but I cock my eyebrow, causing him to say: ‘Just asking him what he will do with that fifty pound your grandpa gave him.’

Of course my dad noticed that.

He excuses himself, walking up to the barbecue, lifting up Elodie in the process. I look up at Trey and I ask: ‘I thought you said this would be peanuts?’

‘It will be peanuts,’ he tells me. ‘Just have to warm up a bit.’ He smiles, pearly white teeth framed by his full lips. ‘This definitely helps.’

‘Okay, love birds,’ uncle Niki yells, ‘come on. We’re getting ready to eat.’

I feel a blush creep up on my cheeks, but despite that, I still chuckle. He laces his fingers through mine, as we walk to the big table in the backyard under the parasol. ‘I just want to say one thing,’ grandma Marianne says, ‘and that is that I want to thank my son for overfeeding his dog, so he met the greatest veterinarian of all times, who—together with her oldest daughter—brought so much joy and happiness into the family.’

‘Mom, it has been ten years!’ dad says. ‘Please, let it go. I’m not overfeeding Kal anymore.’

It has been an ongoing joke, every time my dad gives Kal a little snack, at least one of the entire Cavill Clan says something along the lines of that we have to hide the other snacks.

‘But anyways,’ grandma says, ‘I am so happy that now we are this big and happy family. It’s all I really wanted.’

Everyone takes a deep breath, because we all realize that it could’ve gone so differently. I clear my throat and say: ‘I got my English essay back and got myself a hundred out of a hundred points.’

‘Shut up!’ uncle Piers says. ‘You got a perfect score? When was the last time something like that happened with us?’

‘None of you boys ever got a perfect score,’ grandpa Colin says. He sometimes can’t remember how to use the remote, what my sisters or my name is, but this he knows.

‘Anyways,’ I say, ‘it does have something to do with what happened ten years ago. I mean, becoming officially a Cavill has been the greatest thing ever. I watched my life do a complete one eighty and though I have to thank my dad for that, there is one woman who absolutely changed my life and is such a wonderful role model for not only me, but also my sisters, that I decided to write my essay about my mom.’

Mom’s eyes widen, before she scrunches up her nose. ‘Why?’

This is such a typical reaction from her, so I cannot stop my laugh. ‘Because mom, you are amazing. Everything that I have, started with you. Everything I understand, I do, I think about, is because of the way you took care of me and raised me. I know that I tell you this a lot, but mom, I love you so so much and everything you did for me, it’s so admirable. I owe so much to you.’

Mom clears her throat. ‘Oh sweetie,’ she mumbles. ‘You don’t owe me anything.’

‘You did so well, mom,’ I whisper. ‘I’m so lucky to have been raised by you.’

She grabs my hand and gives me a loving squeeze. ‘Sweetheart, could you come with me for a second?’

The two of us walk inside of the house, as we hear conversation strike up behind us. The second we are out of sight, she wraps her arms around me. This is what she always does, not wanting to cry in front of the other Cavills, always going to a secluded place. ‘I love you, Vanessa,’ she whispers. ‘I think I’ve done a pretty good job with you.’

I can’t help but laugh. ‘You did an excellent job, mom. You are honestly the biggest power house I’ve ever met.’

‘Could you imagine what would’ve happened if Belle was able to baby sit you?’ mom asks. ‘Because you, my love, charmed yourself a way into your father’s heart.’

I chuckle. ‘I kinda did, didn’t I?’

Mom smiles, as she holds tightly onto my hands. ‘I know you always thank me for giving you the family you always wanted, but remember: if you weren’t so instantly in love with your dad, I don’t know if I had given it a shot to be honest.’

That is such a weird thought, I think to myself. I always stop myself when I want to think about the ‘what ifs’ and my entire family never really brought it up. Maybe when I was younger, but never with me. But what if indeed I were to stay over at Belle’s place, I would’ve never known that Henry was there probably. Imagine the life that we would’ve had. Maybe I had given my biological father Wesley a chance and then I didn’t have my three wonderful sisters.

‘What are you two doing here? Poor Trey is being questioned by Niki, Charlie and grandpa and the old man is not holding back.’ My dad walks in and though he has reached the ripe age of forty eight, he is still the tall and bulked up man that I met in the examination room. He is still the man that loved me like I was his own.

‘Just thanking my daughter for being such a lovely girl, who charmed her way into your heart.’

‘Oh, you sure did,’ dad says with a smile. ‘My lovely sunshine, I love you so much and I can’t believe it’s been more than ten years since I met you and your mom.’ He wraps his arms around us and says: ‘Though I still feel the fear of Kal vomiting on the carpet with blood, I am so grateful that you picked up and the other clinics didn’t.’ He presses a kiss on my mom’s forehead.

‘Dad, when did you realize you were in love with mom?’

‘Well, I told myself that I shouldn’t have a crush on someone that I barely knew,’ dad says, ‘but I can tell you that deep down in my heart I knew that this beautiful woman stole my heart the second she said the seven words that I’ll never forget. Mister Cavill, your dog is kinda fat.’

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Bonus instagram posts:

Elodie and Vanessa

Elodie with Olivia

Pregnant with twins!

Pre teen Vanessa showing Henry that he is an actual boomer

Chloe and Heather

Vanessa as a teenager

Elodie as a teenager

Chloe and Heather as teenagers

A/N: soooo this is the end of this wonderful story, though I wish this would go on forever. Thank you so much to all the people who have been reading this, leaving lovely comments. Thanks to this story I gained so many new followers. I never expected it to blow up like this haha. Not to self promote but will do anyway, but please check out my other works if you haven’t already (and if you want to of course, I’m not going to force you to read my other fics) and of course I’ll be back with other fun projects, that I obviously will announce like usual 🤗

#henry cavill #henry cavill x ofc #henry cavill x oc #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fandom #mister cavill your dog is kinda fat #henry cavill x Olivia Tran

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kieraelieson · 3 years

Text

Centaur AU 5

To say Thomas worried the rest of the day would be an understatement. He tried to keep it to himself, but it must have been palpable, since Roman came into the stable bright and happy, and his smile dropped immediately. His eyes went wide, clearly sending messages to the others, but he didn’t say a word until his jockey was gone.

“What happened?!”

“It’s not that much to be concerned about,” Logan said. “My legs are hurting, nothing more.”

“The vet has been called at least!” Roman said, a flash of anger in his eyes. “If—“ his words fizzled out as he turned to see Thomas.

“No, no, Thomas called the vet. She’s coming tonight to help,” Patton said, his tone calming.

“Well,” Roman looked like the wind had been taken out of him. “Good.”

And that somehow reminded Thomas. The very visit probably wouldn’t be over in a few minutes, he would be late to get home again. He was now Extremely glad he’d gotten a cell phone for Remy. Perhaps after a month or so he could afford one for Emile too.

He went to the phone, ignoring the quiet talking from the others.

Remy didn’t pick up right away, and Thomas called a second time.

“Look, I don’t know who you are—“

“Remy, it’s Thomas.”

“Oh. Sorry, this is a weird number. Wait—- don’t tell me you got lost this time!” Remy laughed. “Emile! You’ve got to hear this!”

“No, no, Remy, I’m not lost, I’m still at work. I just called to say I’ll probably have to stay late again.”

There was a vague, displeased grunt. “What, overtime twice in a row? You did negotiate for overtime pay, right?”

Thomas sighed. “No, I’m not sure I’m even getting paid at all for it.”

“What?!” Remy yelled. “Thomas, you are A Doormat!” The sound went a little fainter. “Emile, tell him! He’s not even getting paid for staying late!”

“Really, Thomas, you do need to stand up for yourself in terms of fair payment,” Emile said.

Thomas chuckled slightly, sighing. “I know. I really do. This is just more important than that. I’ll explain when I get home, and I’ll even try to figure out a way to renegotiate.”

“We’ll hold you to that,” Remy promised.

“Be safe and reasonable,” Emile said. “If you get very tired, it may be better to quit before your task is complete or to stay the night there.”

“Thank you, I’ll keep that in mind,” Thomas said. “Love you guys.”

“Yeah, yeah, all the mushy ‘we love you too’,” Remy said distantly before hanging up.

Thomas smiled a bit. He really missed them, even though it’d only been a few days, they seemed really long.

And then he heard a car stop and a door shut. Hopefully that was the vet.

He turned to offer his most reassuring smile to the centaurs before going out to meet her.

“Oh, hello, are you Thomas?”

“I am, yes, and I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Dr. Avery. Would you help me carry some things?”

“Of course.”

“I’m not surprised something finally happened,” Dr. Avery said, her tone rather annoyed. “I’ve been saying all you recent grooms are lazy and uneducated.”

Thomas tried not to take offense, but really, he was undereducated. He hadn’t had barely an idea of what to do.

“For a centaur like that one you need to be applying liniment all the time, and keep support for his legs between, and he really ought not to be sleeping standing.”

Thomas nodded, extremely glad for the information, though a part of him grated against the tone it was delivered in.

“And he really needs some kinds of exercise other than those competitions. Without the variety, eventually he’ll be unable to do anything else. Maybe it’s even too late already.”

Thomas nodded again.

They entered the stable, and the silence was almost oppressive. All four centaurs stared intently at them, very still, and not making a single sound, not even in response to Thomas’s small smile.

Dr. Avery went right into Logan’s stall, and he narrowed his eyes at her slightly before moving into the middle of the stall, crossing his arms and staring firmly at the wall. It somehow cut into Thomas to see it. As if the vet visiting was something that had happened long ago, and ended very unpleasantly, and this was some sort of unpleasant truce. But he didn’t know what to do about it. He, they all needed a vet, and he strongly doubted he would be able to call his vet. There would be so much paperwork, even just to begin, and Logan was hurt now. Not to mention that the owners might well hate the idea of switching vets.

Dr. Avery unwrapped Logan’s legs and ran her hands carefully over them, making small displeased noises as she found… whatever she was finding.

“Thomas, go out to my truck, there’s a portable x-ray machine. Bring it here.”

Thomas ran to obey quickly.

The vet examined each of Logan’s legs very carefully, and then studied the x-rays, frowning intently, but not saying much. Thomas felt like his breath was held the entire time, waiting on the professional judgement.

“Well, first of all,” she said, still staring at the papers.

Thomas nodded quickly. “Yes?”

“This is going to be expensive to treat,” she said, her tone sour. “There are a number of faint cracks in the cannon bones. I’m quite frankly shocked he hasn’t broken his legs. He needs to stay off his feet as much as possible, and his legs need support, as well as dietary supplements to build up the bones again. He will not be able to participate in any of those competitions whatsoever for 12 weeks at the very least.”

Thomas nodded firmly. He was sure… well, he was desperately hopeful that the Authiers would pay for it.

“But on top of that the mental aspect cannot be discounted. I’ve known this centaur for quite a few years. It will be a long, and painful recovery, if it’s handled just right. I don’t think he’ll pull through it. Centaurs are finicky like that once injured.”

Thomas felt as though she’d managed to slap them all in the face, and Logan at least twice. He wasn’t sure if he was more shocked or angry.

“Add all that to the likelihood that he won’t be able to do many competitions afterwards even if he did somehow pull through it, and from the inactivity his muscles will be atrophied, he won’t be the same for… perhaps six months or more. I don’t know that you’ll, or rather, that the Authiers would find it worthwhile to keep him around anymore.”

Thomas felt like he might fall over. His voice came out squeaky and faint. “Are-- are you seriously suggesting that---”

“Putting him down. Yes.”

There was a choked sound from Patton, who looked both absolutely terrified and like he might throw up. Thomas wondered if he looked the same way. There was suddenly a scream.

“NO!” Virgil had reared up and kicked the door, hard.

Dr. Avery paled. “Why is he loose like that?! That is a violent centaur!”

Thomas, in what was probably a powerful move Emile would berate him for later, managed to shove everything down all at once and put on a conciliatory smile.

“Thank you so much for coming. I will talk to the Authiers, and call you again with their decision. If you leave, it will be easier to get him under control again.”

Virgil was still screaming, the sound more animal than human, and the stall door would not hold much longer.

“That’s at least a three man job! I’ll get the tranquilizers.”

“No.” Thomas said firmly. “Please leave. Now.”

Dr. Avery shook her head like he was crazy, but grabbed her stuff and left.

Thomas shut the stable door, and then heard a cracking of wood. In seconds Virgil was in front of him, rearing up threateningly. If he hadn’t already so far detached himself from the situation, Thomas might have screamed. And then he would have most assuredly died. But he didn’t, he raised his hands slowly and silently in surrender.

“You won’t touch him!” Virgil screamed.

“Virgil, please. I swear to you I will never let anything like that happen to Logan. I swear. I will do everything I possibly can, and if that doesn’t work I’d kidnap him before I let someone kill him. I promise Virgil, everything I can, I will do to make him safe. I promise. Please. Please walk back to your stall. Or to Logan’s. I’m sure he would appreciate you with him.”

It was as if dark clouds started to be blown away as Virgil stood down, taking a step back and turning to look at Logan.

Thomas collapsed to his knees, suddenly sobbing.

Something was going on, but he didn’t know what, only that his breath was coming short and he couldn’t stop himself, nearly curled up in a ball, heavy sobs wracking his body. And then strong arms picking him up and holding him in a hug.

“It’s alright. Everyone’s safe for now.” Someone said. “You did the best you could.”

Thomas tried hard to stop crying. He needed to be the strong one. He needed to fix everything. “I’m so-sorry, I’m trying.”

“It’s alright. We’re all alright for now. Let it out now.”

Thomas slowly managed to regain some kind of composure, and realized that Roman was holding him, knelt down on the floor with him.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened. You- you shouldn’t have to--”

He was cut off and surprised by Roman squeezing him in a tight hug. “Thomas, you’re giving us the best you have. Thank you. It’s enough.”

And somehow that made him want to cry all over again. Not the same desperate sobs, but it still made him sniff, and quite a few more tears ran down his face. “Thank you, Roman.”

“I’m sorry,” Virgil said, his voice quiet and low. “Did-- did you mean what you said?”

Thomas nodded firmly. “I’ll never just stand by while they kill someone. Especially not for being hurt.”

Patton burst into tears, which, judging by his wet face, were not the first by far.

“Is Logan ok?” Thomas asked.

Virgil looked up at Logan’s face, which he could see from his place snugged up against his side. “He’s out.”

It took Thomas a second while his brain screamed ‘he passed out???’ to realize Virgil probably meant he was heavily dissociated. Thomas couldn’t blame him. But… this was probably what the vet meant about centaur’s and their minds once they got injured. It wasn’t their fault, it was a whole life long of trauma. But for Logan to get well again he would have to be present.

But not yet. He deserved to calmly make his way back. He deserved… anything, after being talked about like that. Someone literally threatened to kill him while he stood there listening! Thomas felt anger rising up in him, bringing with it a rush of heat and energy. He was calling the Authiers. And he was not taking no for an answer.

He took the phone with him into the closet, where he couldn’t be so easily overheard. None of them deserved any more bad news.

“Hello?” A familiar voice asked, with loud music in the background. It was the woman who had hired him, and he felt bad to say, he didn’t remember her first name.

“Hello, Mrs. Authier, it’s Thomas Sanders.”

“Oh, Thomas! Do you need something?”

He was going to have to phrase this right if he had much hope. “I’ve been looking into the things that the other grooms did, and I’ve found several problems.”

“Uh huh. Well give me the quick version, I’m a bit busy.”

Thomas took a deep breath. “One of the centaurs needs medical care, and I need more time here. I’d like to be hired full-time, and be able to bring things over here to stay.”

“Oh, that was excellently quick. Is that everything?”

“Um, yes?”

“Great. I’ll give you an empty check for the medical care, and send my lawyer to talk with you in the morning about rearranging the schedule. Are we good now?”

“I… yes. I think so.”

“Great! There’s a party up at the main house, and it’ll go most of the night if you want to join.”

“Uh, thank you.”

“Call anytime, you’re a good summarizer!”

And then she hung up. Thomas was dumbfounded. It was entirely not how he’d expected it to go at all. He was wondering more and more what kind of crazy people he was working for.

He called Dr. Avery, and went to voicemail, which he preferred quite a bit. “Mrs. Authier approved the medical treatment. If you can come in the morning and give me care instructions, I’ll do my best to be sure they’re followed.”

And then Thomas let out a long, relieved sigh. He came out of the closet to many tense faces.

“She said yes. We’re going to treat Logan, and help him the best we can.”

Roman and Virgil sighed in relief, and Patton nearly cried again. “Oh, thank goodness!”

“And,” Thomas said, and suddenly had all eyes fixed on him again. “I think, I might be moving to stay here. Would that be alright with you guys?”

There was a strange silence.

“Well, what we think about it wouldn’t really change anything,” Roman said.

“Of course we’d love to have you!” Patton said, overlapping Roman’s words.

Thomas nodded solemnly. He could understand if they didn’t want him here. They barely knew him, and it’d take away the privacy they had at nighttime.

“Well, for tonight then, I need to wrap up Logan’s legs again, and probably after all that mess Virgil at least could use a brushing down. Would that be alright?”

Thomas looked mostly at Virgil, who nodded, but reluctantly, and didn’t meet his gaze.

And Thomas had to admit, even with the exhausted numbness settling over him, he was scared to be between Logan and Virgil, even though he knew, and they knew too, that he was only trying to help. Logan was still almost frozen, a glazed look in his eyes as he turned lazily to watch Thomas.

Thomas ran a hand gently over Logan’s flank, and over again. He didn’t know if Logan would appreciate petting or if he’d be annoyed or insulted by it. He just wanted to find some way to help, and to perhaps comfort and reassure a bit.

“I’m really sorry. If I’d known what she was going to say I would’ve had her outside to talk.”

Logan didn’t respond at all.

Thomas tried giving a rather wry smile, but it fell a bit flat.

“If you’d come out of this stall, Virgil, it’d be easier for me to brush you,” Thomas said, turning and going back to the closet to get a curry comb.

Virgil was standing in his own stall when Thomas came back out, and he was standing stiffly, his eyes darting around a bit, though he turned his head away to make it less obvious. Thomas wasn’t sure what was wrong, but he didn’t blame him. He felt antsy and jittery himself, and just wanted to get done and get home.

But as he entered the stall Virgil stepped away from him. “I’m sorry. F-for earlier. I-I didn’t mean to—“

“It’s alright,” Thomas said, raising the brush. “Just stand still now and we’ll be good.”

Virgil flinched back and away, holding his arms close to his chest, a wide-eyed scared look on his face. It finally registered to Thomas that something more was wrong than just fading adrenaline.

“Virgil, I’m tired and kinda crashing, it’s making me kind of dumb, and I’m gonna need you to communicate here with me, ok? What’s wrong?”

Virgil’s eyes flicked to the curry comb, but he didn’t say anything. A tremor started and ran over his body.

Patton came to the rescue, leaning over the walls.

“Virgil doesn’t like that brush.”

Thomas frowned down at the innocent curry comb. “It’s no worse than any other brush, Virgil.”

“It hurts! Especially when you’re mad or tired.” Virgil blurted out, shutting his mouth immediately after as if he’d said something bad.

The only way this kind of brush would hurt was if it was practically slapped against…. who was Thomas kidding, with the rampant abuse, it was incredibly likely that exactly that had happened.

“It wouldn’t hurt if it’s done properly,” Thomas promised. “Would you let me try? If it hurts you I promise I’ll go back and get your favorite one instead.”

“You promise?”

Thomas nodded firmly. “I promise.”

Virgil shook his head, a tremor running down his whole body. “Promises break.”

Thomas thought about it for a minute, and then went out and grabbed a lead rope, tying one end around his wrist.

“Do you trust Patton? The whole time I’m brushing you he can hold the other end of this rope, and the instant it hurts you he can pull my hand back.”

Virgil looked to Patton, who seemed more than a little nervous about the idea, but still nodded and accepted the end of the rope.

“O-ok.”

Thomas gently set the brush against Virgil’s side, waiting for the flinch and shiver to die down a little before he moved the brush at all. Virgil was all covered in sweat, and Thomas tried to move just right to get it off without moving too quickly and startling him.

He was a little surprised, but also a little not, that by the time he’d finished one side Virgil was relaxing into it. It must feel good to finally reach through all the hair and get properly brushed, and to get really clean.

He’d just wanted to get home a bit ago, but this was more important. It wasn’t just brushing down a centaur, it was getting Virgil to trust him, to trust brushes. It was healthy for Virgil’s coat too. And probably it was helping relax a lot of stressors for him. He needed it, far more that Thomas needed to get home. So he took his time, did it the best way, which also happened to take a long time.

And once he was done Virgil was so relaxed his eyes were drifting shut.

“There. You did very well, Virgil. And thank you for helping, Patton.”

Patton smiled and yawned. “You’re welcome, Thomas.”

“I’ll probably head home now. Is there anything else any of you need?”

“It’s nearly midnight,” Logan said, startling Thomas by speaking.

“Yes?”

Logan just gave a small nod, as if that meant something to him. “Thank you.”

Thomas nodded. “You’re welcome.”

He closed stall doors and turned off all the lights but one, finally leaving. When he got home, for some reason, he didn’t go into the house, he went into the stable. Only barely awake, he dropped onto the hay next to where Emile was stretched out, laying prone.

“Thomas?”

Thomas gave a weak grunt in acknowledgement before falling asleep.

#centaur au #my own work #sanders sides #virgil sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #character!thomas #death mention #past abuse

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re-diesirae · 3 years

Text

9. Leon

It was getting dark, and with the fading sunlight, Leon and Claire grew more and more restless. So far, they had been lucky. All the foes that had crossed their path had been relatively weak and easy to handle. Things would not be as easy once the shadows fell over them.

Leon was worried. He noticed that Claire's movements were starting to slow down. She was growing tired. The woman would not say it, but it was pretty obvious.

"We should find refuge before the sun goes down completely," Leon said, stopping to look at Claire. "If you are correct, those monsters will come out as soon as the sun goes down."

"Uhm, you are right," Claire sighed.

"Besides, it's been a long day. We need to rest," Leon said, cleaning the sweat from his forehead. "We are both tired, and we need our strength to fight. Pushing ourselves to the limit is a stupid decision."

Claire rubbed her neck and sighed.

"You're right," she said, "The question is where?"

Leon looked at her. Claire was looking pale again, and her cerulean eyes showed what she refused to say.

Leon was not an expert at survival mode; that was probably more Chris's area, or perhaps even Claire's.

After walking around the cliff for a while, they found a small cave, hidden between some bushes. The entrance was small, which Leon thought was an advantage. It was easier to fend off enemies when they had something stopping them.

Leon made sure the cave was clear before they finally settled down inside. He picked up some branches and plants and made a makeshift door to camouflage the entrance. It would be useless to keep enemies out, but at least it would keep them concealed.

"So that's what the government teaches their agents? How to make woodland crafts?" Claire asked playfully.

Leon smirked, putting the "door" in its place.

"Sure," he answered in the same playful tone, "It's rule 4 in How to be an agent 101."

Claire laughed and rested her head against the wall, closing her eyes.

"Chris would kill us if he saw us," she whispered.

"Why?"

"Keep yourself focused. No time for jokes," Claire said in a low voice that tried to mimic Chris's grunt.

Leon laughed at the impression. It was perfect.

"Sounds about right," Leon laughed, "I can't picture Chris joking around in normal circumstances, even less in a mission."

"I keep telling him that sometimes a little humor is what you need to keep yourself going."

"Maybe he needs to learn. You should teach him."

"Uh, I doubt he will be willing to learn from me," Claire chuckled, "but Chris wasn't always like that, you know. He used to be a little more chill."

"Chill?" Leon said incredulously, "Is that even possible?"

Leon had always wondered how Chris and Claire, being siblings, could be so different and yet so alike at the same time. Claire was cheerful and charming; she always found a way to lighten the mood, and her whole personality made her an approachable person. Chris, well, Chris was just intimidating.

"You are one to talk. Each time I see you, you're grumpier than before," Claire said, resting her chin on her knees.

Leon sighed. Claire was right. After so many years of working with DSO, he had become more reserved and shut-in. Things only got worse after all the tragedies that Leon had found himself forced to witness. Then again, he was not the only one that had faced tragedies. Claire had her share of hardships, and yet, she was the same lovely woman he had met in that pit stop in Raccoon City.

"Then, maybe I should ask you to teach me, too," he snorted.

"What are you saying?" Claire said, rolling her eyes. "Sometimes, I feel like I should be more like you two."

Leon shook his head.

"You are perfect the way you are, Claire. It is enough with one Chris Redfield or me in this world. There's no need to add another one into the equation," he said, "and honestly, the world would be a better place with more people like you."

"If there were more people like me, the world would be chaos," Claire snorted bitterly,"I caused a lot of trouble because of my naiveness."

Leon looked at Claire. Her face was getting wrapped by the darkness, so he could not see her expression; however, her voice sounded mortified. Sometimes Leon forgot that Claire had her inner demons, too.

In his mind, Claire was that brave girl, filled with optimism, willpower, and a heart of gold. He sometimes forgot that she was human, too, and like any other human, she could feel doubt, fear, and grief.

"It sounds like you are too hard on yourself, Claire."

"And you, guys, are just too soft on me,"Claire sighed, "When I think back of all the things I've messed up…"

Leon was ready to say more, but a distant roar interrupted their thoughts. Leon reached for his gun, and he heard Claire do the same. The pair exchanged knowing looks and moved, quietly, towards the entrance to peek out through the makeshift door.

The forest was dark, barely lit by the dim light from the waning moon. A group of Plagas infected subjects wandered at some distance from them. None of them seemed aware of their presence, so Leon did not worry much about them, but the owner from the roar was what had him on edge.

They had a poor sight from their position, but Leon tried to scout the area the best he could.

At first, he didn't see anything, but then he felt Claire grab his arm. She was staring blankly at some rustling shrubs behind the group of Plagas.

The creature was the most horrible thing Leon had ever seen. The monster had pale skin, so pale that it almost looked like it glowed under the moonlight. The body looked stretched, and its back made a curve in a nasty deformed hump as it moved through the darkness on its black limbs. Pieces of tissue hung from its body as if it was falling apart. If the monster had eyes, Leon could not tell where they were. The face was a lump of bloodied meat with no distinguishable features aside from the largemouth filled with a row of yellow fangs.

The monster sniffed the air, and without warning, it jumped forward, snatching several Plaga infected and ate them with a roar.

That's new. I've never seen B.O.W.s eating each other.

Leon watched the gory show with a frown. The monster ate every Plaga carrier in the area, and once it had finished, it let out a roar and began to twist and contort on the ground.

"What the..." Leon whispered.

"It's mutating, I think..." Claire said from his side.

"Mutating?"

"Yes, that's how it looks."

Leon grimaced. Mutating monsters were never good news.

"Is it the one you saw yesterday?" he asked.

Claire shook her head.

"No, this one looks different."

The monster howled again, making a painful sound. The body twisted on the ground, and more pieces of tissue fell to the ground, revealing the raw muscle. By now, the creature looked like a giant licker, except for its head.

Leon was not sure of what had just witnessed, but there was something he was sure about that was not a monster he wanted to face if he could help it.

The pair watched the disfigured creature disappear into the darkness again, and both let out the breath they'd unconsciously held. Claire and Leon did not speak until they felt sure that the monster had left.

"I think I understand what you meant by bigger friends," Leon whispered, turning to the woman beside him.

Claire was calm, but Leon could see the horror hiding behind her beautiful aquamarine eyes. She gave him an ironic smile and shrugged.

"We didn't see anything like it during the day, so either we were lucky, or you are right, and they are nocturnal."

"B.O.W.s that come only during the night. Talk about nightmarish monsters..." Claire sighed, "I am just glad they didn't find us, but I've got the feeling that our luck won't be that good for too long."

"Well, we'll face it when it comes. Don't worry about it," Leon sighed.

They returned to the back of the cave and sat down quietly.

"How are you feeling?"

"Me?" she asked, surprised, "I'm peachy."

Leon looked at her skeptically.

"You can't fool me, Claire. You've been struggling since that climb we did," Leon said, "Is it your head? Is it bothering you again?"

Claire let out a vague snort and shook her head.

"I told you I didn't like hiking," she replied, "I am alright. My head bothers me a little when I am tired, but it's not bad. You should know how concussions work."

"Yeah," Leon sighed, "Try resting a little."

"I had my share of sleep yesterday," Claire said, shaking her head, "You must be exhausted, though. You didn't sleep at all. You should be the one taking a nap."

"I work better with less sleep," he half lied.

In reality, Leon knew he worked a lot better with five or six hours of sleep, perhaps even four. His senses seemed more alert under those conditions, but his body still needed the rest.

"Liar," Claire muttered. "You know you don't need to act all cool with me. Get some sleep, idiot. I'll take the first watch."

"Fine, but only if I can use your lap as a pillow," he joked, earning a soft smack on his arm.

"You are such a flirt, Leon. I guess that side of you has not changed," Claire chuckled. "Go to sleep, idiot."

"You know, I think you are the only person who dares to call me an idiot."

"Well, if I can call Chris an idiot, I can definitely call you an idiot."

Leon laughed. Claire had to be the bravest woman in the world if she dared to call the almighty Chris Redfield an idiot, but then again, Claire had a privileged position in Chris's eyes. Leon was sure that Claire was one of the few people, if not the only one, with whom Chris would never be mad at no matter what she did.

"Now, I have to argue about that. No one would dare call Chris an idiot, but you have special treatment."

"Do I get special treatment with you?"

"Maybe..." Leon smirked.

"Do you tell all your partners that?"

"Only those who I like. What? Getting bored with paperwork and considering a career as an agent?"

If Claire had been an agent like himself, he would have considered asking her to become his permanent partner. He worked well with Helena, but Claire had her charm; his mission would be a lot more enjoyable with her by his side, but Claire did not work for the DSO.

"Nah, I am not agent material. You know that, Leon?"

"What are you talking about?" he chuckled, "You were agent material even before I was. Rushing into Raccoon City in search of Chris and saving Sherry, and taking care of all of us..."

"You sure are sentimental today," Claire snorted. "What's up with you today?"

"Well, this brings back memories," Leon sighed, "Can you blame me?"

"It does?" Claire asked.

"Yeah. I think I kind of missed this."

"Sleeping in a cave surrounded by bloodthirsty parasitic entities and mutant monsters? I can't say I share the sentiment, but who am I to judge?"

Leon smirked at the comment. The darkness in the cave would not let the woman see his face, and he was somehow glad that it was like that since he was sure that he looked like a fool.

Leon leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes as tiredness began to engulf him.

"I was talking about you. I missed you, Claire," he muttered in an almost inaudible whisper.

NOTE: if you guys want to come and chat about the fic, or just about CLEON in general. Feel free to drop by the discord and say hi! JOIN SERVER

#Resident Evil #leon x claire #Cleon #leon s kennedy #leonx claire #claire redfield #my fanfiction #my fanfic writing

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octalove · 4 years

Text

VI: The Dotted Line

(Batgirl/Red Hood)

Description: Jason extends an offer. Part one, two, three, four, and five.

Note: someone said Batgirl and Jason mission, and i am but a humble servant of the people. also, i almost named this chapter “Carolyn Crawford”. Hope you like❤️

TW: Decription of sex work (barely), very light gore

Being back at Batman’s side was a peculiar thing these days. Soothing and suffocating all at once; like returning home after a long, liberating trip. It felt easy, and safe. I was reminded of the first time he brought me up to a towering building top. I clung to Nightwing like a life preserver.

Once I found my footing, the building tops were the only place I felt safe. The taller the skyscraper, the higher and farther from the grim city that raised me. I wondered what would happen when I outgrew the skyscrapers, too.

November was settling like an icy blanket over Gotham. My breath wreathed around me as my chest heaved from scaling the office building I was settled on, hoping to catch a glimpse of the gray dawn as 2am turned to 3am. I could see Robin’s breath too, as he crouched like a gargoyle on the balls of his feet. Even when I pushed his arm lightly, he glared, but didn’t move. The kid had incredible balance.

“I was beginning to enjoy your absence.” He muttered.

I smiled at him. “Are you kidding? Patrol is boring without me.”

“Patrol is boring without brainless plebeians to subdue. I can make due without you.”

“So you’re saying you don’t consider me a brainless plebeian?” I replied.

His lip twitched. He liked this game. It was the birthplace of many of his preferred insults.

“Closer to a bumbling fawn.”

“I like that one.”

Damian’s disinterest in all things regarding my thoughts and feelings was a good distraction. I’d been using him for the past week since my latest brush with Red Hood. Well, Jason. It was still hard to wrap my mind around.

I knew him. He knew me. I shouldn’t have been worried; he knew nothing about me. Nothing other than who I was, anyway. I wanted to ignore whatever residual feeling was left from fighting him on the docks, and I really wanted to say I hadn’t thought about the last thing he said to me. But in truth, I’d thought of little else. The large gaps of time between our meetings left time for that.

We were looking for him tonight. More specifically, Batman and Nightwing were. Robin and I were sent to the quiet apartment rows of Crest Hill, watching over nothing in particular. Sent to keep us away from the fray. Even Robin knew it. When Batman said we’d be patrolling here, he looked like he could rip the head off a puppy.

“Movement in Coventry.”

“On it. Thanks, Oracle.”

One of the better quirks of Damian Wayne was that in the case he was spurned by his favored allies (Bruce, Dick), he quickly formed new alliances (me, Tim). Bumbling fawn comment aside, I could tell I was in his good graces tonight by utter happenstance and Batman’s shortcomings. I was nothing if not opportunistic.

“We can get to Coventry before they can.” I said quickly, keeping the nervous excitement in my voice to a minimum. He eyed me cautiously.

“Batman may be trying not to take risks, but we can handle a couple of goons. Besides,” I added. “Red Hood will probably be gone by then. He always is.” I was overselling it; Robin was already standing, eyes roving over the city scape in search of the best route to Coventry. I stood with him, then let the free-fall adrenaline send exciting jolts through my stomach as we grappled toward our destination.

I could see him, in my mind. His face on the docks, bathed with the flame of his lighter. Hear his voice, full of purpose and noble fury as he promised revenge. I understood his cause, but didn’t understand him, and that was the mystery that poisoned my mind and stole my ability to sleep. Not Red Hood. Jason Todd.

Robin and I perched over a factory compound on the water’s edge, Sprang River’s lower fork rushing by at the end of the factory court. A handful of men moved like ants in the flooding white lights that lit the exterior. The wind distorted the sounds of their voices. Robin must have had the same thought because he moved soundlessly to a lower roof panel, advancing on the building. I followed. One man began shouting.

“I’m going to the Northern pylon.” Robin whispered. Divide and conquer. I wasn’t going to argue. I kept my eyes on his silhouetted form to ensure he didn’t encounter any resistance on his way, then worked by way around the court, hoping I could get a good idea of the place before he reached his vantage point. The sky was lightening, and we were losing time.

Just as I was about to check the lot on the opposite side of the factory, a metal door swung open, scraping against the metal parapet. Red Hood walked out, accompanied by a man in a factory jumpsuit. I couldn’t make out their conversation.

I crept along the high factory railing as they meandered across the court, deep in conversation. I kept it up for around six minutes before his companion departed, heading for the lot.

“Robin,” I whispered into my comms. “There’s a man heading toward the parking lot. Trail him.”

“I see him.”

With Robin in the Southern parking lot a safe distance away, I watched Red Hood slowly pull away from the lights and people, heading toward the darker exhaust plants East of the court. It became a struggle to keep and eye on him and my footing at the same time, but I did it. He stopped at a motorcycle parked behind an electric turbine about a klick from the factory. The sky was a pale gray now, ever-lightening with the dawn, and the shadows were burning away with it. I lowered by self behind an electrical box attached to one of the turbines.

“We’re en route- wait, Robin-“ The comms rang in my ear.

“I gave you a direct order.” Batman growled.

“It was a stupid order.” Robin clipped.

“Where’s Batgirl?”

Red was about to replace his red helm with a motorcycle helmet, but paused. He seemed to stall for a moment, before calling out.

“Come here, little bird.”

I was more annoyed than anything. I was ready to be a step ahead of him for once. But then, I couldn’t resent him for giving me what I wanted. I stood, and took in his empty hands before approaching. He’d leaned against the metal turbine, arms crossed as he regarded me with an unreadable expression.

“They’re here, you know.” I warned.

“Call ‘em, then. I won’t move. I know I’m good, but I’d be outnumbered. Bad odds.”

I scowled. “I’m not gonna do that.” I said it because he already knew it. We both did. He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms.

“You thought about what I said.”

“Of course I did.”

He glanced around, then pulled himself up straight and moved toward me. I took a few steps back, prompting him to flash me his empty hands, raised in surrender.

“Relax, darlin’.” He said. “You don’t need to be afraid of me. I don’t want you to be. I want you to understand.”

“How? How do I understand?” I’d been trying for a month. He pulled a small piece of paper from his jacket pocket, holding it out and letting me take it, keeping a safe, considerate distance. Inside, was a number.

“Come with me. One job. Nice and easy.” He said.

“I’m not killing anyone.” I said sternly, voice dropping.

“I’m not askin’ you to.”

“And I’m not standing by and letting you kill anyone.”

“You drive a hard bargain. Fine. We’ll do it clean.” I didn’t even know if I believed him. But I was tired of trying to understand him from a safe, considerate distance.

“We’re almost at location. Four minutes.” Nightwing’s voice almost made me jump. I lifted my eyes.

“You need to go.”

He was already turning on his heel.

It was two days before I texted him. I got a glorious three hours of sleep over the course of them, and I kept running down either respective fork in my road before turning around and running back. In the end, I subsided to the fact that I was raised by two business-women, and Jason’s offer was at worst an opportunity. If it all went to shit, and he tried to kill me, I’d at least have some information to present to Bruce, notwithstanding the lifetime of punishment that would get me.

Our rendezvous point was in Lower Gotham Proper. By the time I got there, it was midnight, and a rolling mist had blown in from the harbor, mixing with the smog that hugged the streets and making it nearly unsafe to drive. I silently hoped Batman and Robin were okay.

As I worked my way down a narrow street, the moisture in the air was choking; causing the fabric of my pants and jacket to cling to my skin. I’d almost prefer rain to the way the mist stood still, forcing me to muddle through it. It was dark. The lights and signs on surrounding buildings didn’t seem to be able to preserve through the fog.

I saw a figure pressed against a building that looked tall enough to be Jason. As I approached, we regarded each other’s forms apprehensively. When he tilted his head, I knew it was him. I drew close.

“Jesus.” I mumbled. “Could you have picked a spookier place?”

“Don’t tell me you scare easy.” He said through a cigarette. His helmet was in his hand, but it could’ve easily been mistaken for a motorcycle helmet. The whole get-up was kind of biker-esque. I didn’t answer. Just glanced around.

“Come on.” He said. “It’s not far.”

As we began walking, it struck me how much more relieved I felt to hear his footsteps alongside my own. I was capable; willing and able to fight just about anyone Gotham could conjure up. But still, walking with him was comforting. Like I had someone to watch my back.

We even eased into a bit of conversation. Small things- things we agreed upon. Rich society, and Gotham’s war on the poor. Politicians we wouldn’t mind going missing. If you had showed me his picture next his crime scenes, I wouldn’t have pinned him.

Jason wasn’t unpleasant; it was just that his disposition was highly aloof and somewhat irritable. He had rich bronze skin, and full lips that I was sure made for a charming smile when he decided to do so (not a grin, a smile). The composition of his face was very sharp and neatly symmetrical, but still held some gaunt exhaustion, revealed by the constant tense of his jaw. His attentive dark eyes were almost always narrowed in some fashion of distaste. He never once looked at peace.

It seemed to me that he was disinterested in most anything having to do with my life, other than that he wanted me with him. His entire being was an oxymoron; a juxtaposition of unexpectedly soft and startlingly sharp and there wasn’t a way to tell which it would be.

Finally, we approached a small, industrial building with a neon sign of red, blue, and green.

The Lion’s Den

Burlesque and Drag

I raised my eyebrows. A bit on the nose if you asked me. If the name didn’t give it away, the posters and marquees adorning the brick exterior did.

“We need to talk to someone here before we go.” Jason said, pulling on his helmet, and unzipping his brown leather jacket to showcase the bat.

“Lead on.” I said, pulling up my own mask.

The music was so loud, I could barely hear myself think. The led lights lining the ceiling were cycling warm colors; red, pink, orange, yellow, the glow burning through the smokescreen that was nearly as thick as the mist outside.

Women were dancing, in lace or topless, spinning on poles and otherwise moving gracefully to the heartbeat of the place. But that wasn’t the main event- a stage lit with marquee lights, the centerpiece of which was a table, where three women sat. Their outfits were something out of Marie Antoinette’s personal wardrobe. And that’s where Red Hood was headed.

We walked up onto the stage, and while it all sort of mingled with the dim neon in the rest of the building, I still felt oddly seen. I placed myself behind Red Hood, inserted between him and one of the women. They appeared to be playing cards.

“Well, well.” Said one of the queens, with blonde hair curled and blown out like something out of the 70’s. Her exaggerated, colorful makeup was a work of art- Picasso, perhaps. “Gonna stick around for the show this time, sugar?”

Red sat down, leaning so that his arm rested along the back of the chair, lights glinting off his helm. His relaxed composure made me nervous- but perhaps it was the lack of information.

“Not this time, Trixy.” He answered.

“Pity,” Said the broad redhead beside me, her voice a low, soothing timber. “You neva’ do.”

“Don’t be rude, Sasha.” The third woman scolded, throwing down an Ace of Spades, to the visible dismay of the others. “He’s a busy man.”

“Who’s your friend?” Trixy asked.

I glanced at Red Hood before answering. “Just a little bird.”

“How delightful. Let’s get down to the nitty gritty, shall we?” Trixy said. “Did Dominique get the message to ya?”

“Refresh my memory.” Red Hood said- for my sake, I’m sure.

“Bout a week ago, a bunch of girls from the Row went missin’. Ain’t unusual,” Trixy said darkly, “Most don’t got no family or nothin’. Just us lookin’ out for ‘em. When we run outta beds here, that’s when they go missin’. But it’s different this time. Buncha girls all at once- including one ‘a the queens.”

“Tiffany Spice.” Sasha said, a solemn look on her face. “She was just comin’ into herself. Lord, I’d be devastated if somethin’ happened.”

“Some a’ the row girls been talkin’ about this real shifty fella- Baron Haus. New guy. Used to pimp out girls from the Narrows.”

“And the girls disappeared when he showed up.” I said quietly.

“Bingo.”

“How many?” Red asked.

“About eight, Tiffany included.”

“And you know where he was working from?” I inquired.

“Sha’ do. China Town. Club there called the Moonlight.”

Red Hood nodded. “Anything else me and my little bird should know?”

Trixy thought for a moment. “Baron’s got some friends in GCPD. Had some uncles in the force, or somethin’ of that nature. He’ll be missed. More dead.” She spit the term bitterly.

“They always are.” He responded, getting up from his chair.

“And Hoodie, sugar!” She called after us. “You’re a doll for this.” He didn’t reply. As we worked our way back toward the front, he spoke quietly.

“I thought it’d be better if you met ‘em yourself. Always makes it more personal.”

Batman never did that.

“Do you always make it personal?” I asked.

“It’s not fun if it isn’t.”

The freezing moisture in the air bit fiercely as we pushed open the metal screen door.

“Right.” I said. “So, the Moonlight. How are we getting there?”

“How do you think?” He said, stopping short of a rusted yellow fire escape on the side of the building. He surveyed it, then looked at me.

“Race ya.”

With surprising speed and grace, he scaled the fire escape, no sound in his wake.

“Oh, it’s on.” I fired, rushing to the bars and climbing like they were monkey bars. He disappeared over the edge of the roof, and as I made my way up, I saw him several years away, already conquering another building. I raced toward him, leaping over exhaust pipes until we were high above the fog. The city below looked like an illuminated ocean, twinkling lights just below a pillowy white surface.

I felt like a child again, overwhelmed, nearly brought to giddiness with excitement. Was this how Bruce felt, scaling rooftops with Catwoman? The small, but sure thrill of consorting with the bad guy- knowing that they were consorting with you in return?

I wasn’t a sidekick. There was no line to fall into. No predecessors, no successors, no beginning and no end. I moved like Batgirl across the shingles and concrete and metal scaffolding, but I was weightless without the Bat legacy on my chest. There was something deeply, shamefully freeing about that.

We were greeted differently in the Moonlight; a stark contrast to the warm welcome by the queens in the Lion’s Den. It was set up more like a smoky, refined gentlemen’s club. We drew attention from every walk of life inhabiting the bar- men in suits, women in silk, and slimy looking characters that grated offensively against the debonair theme.

Most leered for a moment, then cast their eyes away, like they’d seen something they shouldn’t have. Maybe you could consider Red Hood one of those such things.

“Mr. Hood!” There came a voice, cutting above the orchestral music- Nessun Dorma, if my musical sensibilities were still honed from my piano lesson days. “Welcome, welcome. I can only hope,” The man gave gritting smile, wound tight with visible anxiety. “That you’re here on peaceful business tonight.” He cast his nervous, monolid eyes to me. He was handsome, no older than thirty and wore a tight black vest. I didn’t let my body language give anything away; frankly, I was as in the dark as he was.

“Oh, you know me, Baron Jun,” Red Hood drawled, slowing to a halt at the bar, and leaning on it. “I don’t decide whether things stay peaceful or not. That depends on you.” I stayed standing, near his back, studying the security. Two lumbering men at the entrance, one behind Baron Jun. I wouldn’t put it past curvaceous bartender in red to have a gun, too.

“Lookin’ for Baron Haus. I heard a little rumor he works outta this quaint establishment now.”

When I’d considered the Red Hood’s contacts before, I pictured something like Batman’s relationship with Commissioner Gordon- figuring he had to have some corrupt cops or lowlife sleuths packing him with all his vast information. I never would have guessed it would be three drag queens playing cards.

A conflict passed over Baron Jun’s face, seconds long. “You… heard correctly. Word does seem to travel fast.”

“I need to pay him a visit. Remind him about some of my rules.” He admonished. It was a dripping warning, like the salivating jaws of an animal, teeth bared and pointed.

Baron Jun swallowed. “I see. Well, he um- he’s not actually here, at the moment. Maybe I can tell him you dropped b-“

“You know, Jun,” Red continued, ignoring him. “I got this really funny feeling you know what rules I’m talkin’ about.”

The look on his face was something to behold. I’d seen fear, briefly, on the faces of criminals before I subdued them and went on my way. But this was different. Fear induced by nothing but a conversation. Call it hive-mind, a power trip perhaps, but I felt this pesky sense of camaraderie that prompted me to take a few steps forward, shoulder to shoulder with Red Hood. Who was this vile little shitstain who made his living off men getting laid to play games with us? I thought about eight women, scared and abused. It was Baron Jun’s fault. Baron Haus’ fault. Everyone in this stupid bar, decorated to the taste of the men who abused them.

Baron Jun’s eyes dashed back and forth. Deny or ask forgiveness? I could see him running down those cross roads.

“He… he’s been running some shit I didn’t know about until last night. I swear I didn’t fuckin’ know.” He broke at last.

“Where are they?” I piped up.

“Who the fuck are-“ He was cut off with a bang and a scream as Red shot his knee. I was startled by the noise, but no one seemed to notice. It rang in my ear.

Give a girl a warning next time.

“Be. Fucking. Polite.” Red snapped, now advancing on the Baron. Only one of the three security guards decided it was worth the risk and stepped forward. Electric with the building energy of the whole night, I bolted forward and swung my fist into his throat. He made a choked noise and stumbled to the ground.

“Answer the question, Jun.” Red continued, this time in a taunting, sing-song tone.

“Oh, fuck,” Jun whimpered, cradling his knee. “Jesus- you- you shot me.”

“Always were a sharp one. I got a couple more bullets, and you’ve got another knee. So why don’t you sing before I get really impatient.”

“Christ.. they- they’re in the back. R-room fourteen.” His breath was labored with pain. I didn’t feel bad. Trusting that Red would handle the front and keep his promise of not killing anyone, I went to the back hallway, counting the doorways before reaching room 14. I made short work of the lock.

Some scuffling noises could be heard from the front room- but no further gunfire. I opened the door to reveal a velvet lounge, with red settees and satin curtains, along with fearful eyes looking back at me. I counted eight heads, including Tiffany Spice, who’d since abandoned his wig and gaudy attire. His make-up was streaked with long-dried tears.

“Tiffany Spice?” I asked, subservient to standard protocol despite my evening of rebellion.

“What’s going on out there?”

“Trixy sent us. You’re safe now.”

“Are the Barons gone?”

“They’re being dealt with.” I answered.

After finding them, the rest fell into place quickly. Red had indulged in some property destruction, and Baron Jun now reckoned with what appeared to be a shattered hand and some extra facial bruising.

I nodded briskly to Red and he, in turn, nodded to the bartender, who ushered the girls around.

Before departure, he knelt down in front of the Baron.

“You’re alive,” He said lowly. “Cause I’m doin’ someone a favor. If someone breaks the rules again,” He reached over and patted Jun’s pained face. “You be a good boy and come right to me. Okay?” Jun didn’t respond, nor take his bloodshot eyes off of his mangled hand, but Red straightened anyway and ushered me to the door.

Outside, we withdrew safely and quietly to a rooftop.

“Why did we leave them?” I asked.

“Trixy’s not my only contact. The bartender’s mine. She’ll get ‘em where they need to be.”

A beat.

“You knew Baron Haus wasn’t gonna be there.” I said quietly.

“Yeah.”

“That’s the only reason you promised me you wouldn’t kill anyone.”

Hesitation. “Yeah, it is.”

“Are you gonna track him down?” I asked. He didn’t answer. “Seriously.” I tried again. He sighed, then looked at me. I was seeing his eyes clearly for maybe the first time all night. It was sobering, and he held my gaze.

“Yes. Yes, I’m going to kill him.” He said firmly. I looked away.

“He’s got a track record.” He explained. “Does shit like this, gets caught, and then uses his friends in blue to get a lighter sentence. Three months, maybe. Then, he’s back. I’m not the first one to catch him. But I promise you, I’ll be the fuckin’ last.” His vitriol was oil on concrete, and I decided it was better not to light any matches. The rest of the walk was quiet, neither of us making the catalytic initiative to part ways, coming down from the adrenaline the way we’d built it; in each other’s uncertain company.

We settled on top of St. Luke’s Hospital, towering defiantly amidst the smaller, crowded inner city neighborhoods below. It was 4am, but I wasn’t tired. Quite the opposite; I was awash with energy, by grace of the night’s feat and the biting cold. Jason had pulled his helmet off, and was leaning against the steel exhaust pipe, myself nestled at his side.

“I have another place I need to go. Three days- Mafia business in Little Italy.” He said.

“And you want me to come?” I asked. He tipped his head.

“What can I say, doll? You’re good at this.”

I looked over the city, brow furrowing.

“Unless,” He added in a low voice, wry and challenging. “You think it’s wrong. I am the bad guy, aren’t I?”

I didn’t look at him, because I knew he was wearing a darkly arrogant expression, and I didn’t want to see it. No, there was nothing wrong about what we did tonight. Even if there was; I’d do it all again for the relief on Tiffany’s tear-streaked face.

“I’ll go.” I said. “But you have to tell me something. Honestly.” I said firmly, bringing my eyes to meet his. He cocked an eyebrow.

“Ask away.”

“Why me? Why don’t you hate me like you hate them?” Them. My family. Our family. Hate seemed a harsh word, but only after I supplied it, was I reminded of its truth. Jason studied me for a few agonizing moments, allowing only the sound of wind and distant, crying sirens.

“Carolyn Crawford.” He finally said.

“What?”

Carolyn Crawford.

I’d forgotten all about her. My life was sort of divided by this giant, barbed wire fence between before adoption and after adoption. Evidently, my brain decided that anything before adoption would be better of folded up, sealed with wax, and filed away. Traumatic memory suppression, the shrink Bruce sent me to called it- even though the only traumatic thing was the night my parents died, not everything that came before.

Nonetheless, Carolyn Crawford was somebody I hadn’t given any particular thought to in a long time. She was a woman of forty (at the time I was thirteen), and she had that snooty, Diamond District disposition that you only find in women who marry into wealth, but aren’t born with it. She was beautiful; pale skin, thin, with an air of 1950’s suave, accentuated by the auburn bob of artificial curls she always wore. Her husband was an investor in Wayne Enterprises, and she was sleeping with Bruce.

I had no reason to know, or care about this. But Jason did. When he found out, he was uncharacteristically devastated. I could imagine, in retrospect, that when you’re a boy of fifteen and you find out the man who adopted you- a man who was a holyfigure in your eyes, the good guy- was sleeping with a married woman ten years his senior, you may experience a bit of devastation. He had something, some virtuous perception of Bruce, ripped away from him, and he was given a concept that his father, too, had vices. His one vice; women.

Jason was angry. He wanted the world’s perception of Bruce to crumble alongside his own, and so he took all the valor in his teenage body and enacted his own justice.

An anonymous email was sent to just about every company partner or investor, including Carolyn’s husband, and my parents, disclosing a picture of Bruce in some secluded room at a gala, with his arm around Carolyn’s waist, leaning intimately into her ear. She had a wry smile on her face. Above the photo was a single tag line.

“Carolyn Crawford is fucking Bruce Wayne.”

My parents gossiped about the email, of course, when they thought I wasn’t leaning against the office door. But that was all I ever knew about it. Apparently Carolyn’s husband didn’t divorce her, but he did cut her off financially, which may as well have been the same loss.

That was all I heard of it, up until a charity event on a particularly cold January night. The January before Jason’s death. I was waltzing around as per usual, a cup of punch in my hand. Waiting for the clock to tick its way to eleven o’clock- when I knew my mothers would want to depart so they could get up for work the next morning. The music was lovely; fluttering strings.

“You!” It was a harsh sound, like a shrieking banshee, or the whining note of a violin when all the bow hairs are frayed.

Carolyn Crawford was marching right toward Jason, fury on her beautiful face. I didn’t catch the beginning of the conversation as I tried to make my way through the bodies, of which a few were also alarmed by the sound.

“...you’re the only one who could’ve done it, you little- don’t lie to me!”

Jason was defiant there, with his arms crossed and his lip slightly raised, but I could tell by the nervous look in his eye that she was pointing her bony finger at the right suspect. I’m certain it was Bruce who figured it out.

“What the hell are you talking about, lady?” He said.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. I know you sent that email. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

“You’re outta your mind.”

“You’re going to regret this, I promise. I’m going to make sure that this follows you-“

“He didn’t send the email!” I said, pushing past a man who was eagerly watching, like it was the best thing he’d seen all night. I’m not even sure what possessed me to offer up the statement- maybe the way she was throwing her venom in his face and jabbing her finger at his chest.

“I did it.” I said. I didn’t look at Jason, but from the corner of my eye, I could see his mouth fall open. Carolyn Crawford turned on me.

“What?”

“I sent the email.” I said. We’d drawn more observers now, a small, hushed crowd of people too polite to intervene, but too curious to look away.

“Who the hell are you? And why would you do that?” Up close, I could see that she looked like she hadn’t slept. Other little things too; a pearl out place, stray hairs. She’d probably been through hell since Jason sent that email.

I leveled my gaze on her. “You really need to ask? What kind of wife-“

Slap.

Her open palm swung across my cheek so hard that I nearly stumbled into a donation table. There was a pressure in my ear, and then a stinging sensation. I put my hand to my cheek, and when I looked back up at her, she was eyeing the shocked crowd. Then, she turned, and walked briskly toward the exit, heels clicking on the marble.

Everyone stood there, looking at me. I flushed, shrinking under the weight of their eyes, feeling like an animal in a zoo. My mothers were nowhere to be found, and neither was Bruce.

In a swift movement, Jason grabbed my hand, shooting angry glares like daggers toward anyone who was looking, and ushered me into a secluded corner.

“Why did you do that? What the hell is wrong with you?” He whispered frantically, obviously battling whether he should touch my face or not. He decided not.

I gave him an insulted look. “I was helping you, jackass!”

“Well, you didn’t help!” He said, before adding, more exasperatedly. “You just got hurt.”

I shrugged, taking my hand off my cheek, probably to show him some modicum of strength, or defiance. “It’s not that bad.”

It was that bad. It was the first time I had ever been hit, by anybody. I actually wanted to cry. But I was dedicated to my tough girl role, so I didn’t.

“I’m sorry.” He said, surprising me with the fearful apologeticism in his voice. “I’m really sorry- you shouldn’t have done that. I should’ve said something. I just fuckin’ stood there like-“

“Hey! It’s okay. I did it because I wanted to. Besides, it really doesn’t matter who did what. She’s just mad she ruined her own marriage.”

He shook his head and slunk down beside me on the cold marble. The AC was offensively imposing for the middle of January, and I hugged my knees to my chest as we watched the guests disperse, dragging back the events of the night to gossip about later, like foxes carry prized rabbits.

“Carolyn Crawford?” I repeated. “That’s what this is about?”

Jason gave me a wiry look, a lopsided smile, then threw his head back and laughed, contagiously so. I let out a disbelieving chuckle.

“I mean,” He added, “Not all of it. A little.” There was residual laughter in his tone, and it made me want to lean into him.

“A ‘little’. Okay. Should I be getting in touch with Carolyn Crawford and thanking her for rekindling this little partnership?”

“Yeah.” He said. “Send her an email.”

I laughed again. “Seriously, Jason, what the fuck are you talking about?”

His grin lingered, and his eyes fell over the city. I could see the gears turning as he considered his response. Then he just shrugged.

“You covered for me.”

“Yeah.”

“And...” He leaned back, not taking his eyes from the sprawling lights. “Somethin’ tells me you still are.”

I looked at him for a while, trying to wait him out and make him elaborate. But he didn’t. I resigned with a sigh.

“Yeah, well.” I mumbled. “Carolyn Crawford was a giant bitch.” His lips fought a losing battle against another smile.

“Personally, I’m still a little impressed she had the gall to slap you.”

“Haha. Hey- did you actually take that picture?”

He shook his head, hesitating before adding. “Dick did.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious.” He chuckled.

“So I took the fall for both of you.”

“Yeah, you did, Princess.”

He had this familiar, juvenile grin stuck to his face. And for the first time in a long, long time, he was Jason Todd.

145 notes · View notes

gaiuswrites · 3 years

Text

King of Cups || Chapter 5

Chapter 5: The Moon

Archive: ao3 | masterlist | four

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Summary: All relationships are about give and take.

Word count: 7k~

Rating: Explicit (Mature until the last few paragraphs)

Warnings/tags: nightmares, trauma, drinking, fluff and pining, drugs/being drugged (medicinal), wound care, blood, shots/needles, mature themes/language, emo shit, masturbation (f)

Notes: Hi friends. This is broken up in two portions: the first, being in Nevarro, and the second taking place some time later (hopefully that becomes clear when you read it heh). I'm hoping I captured the varying, distinct tones in each of the sections. Please feel free to reach out to me. :) Enjoy x (gif credit: @skyshipper)

They come at night.

The visions.

Your legs are rock, crumbling - eroding - with each weighted step, trudging through the city you once knew, laid bare to waste all around you. The air is grey brown, chalked with dust—with ash. There are bodies lining the road like trimmed hedges, floating by their ankles—ugly, corporal zeppelins. They’re pale. Their eyes are burned to coal and their tongues hang dead and waxy from their mouths.

They begin the same, choreographed like this; you follow the paths your mind has carved out for you, time and time again.

You spot him, plated in silver at the end of the row. Your feet stop. You see him, and he sees you. You feel his eyes - hawkish, piercing - under the murk of his visor. A predator’s gaze. He’s got a man in his fist—you think you recognize him, you might not—held by the scruff of his neck.

Sometimes it’s X’elo, bending to break in his gloved grasp. Other times, a stranger—a half remembered photograph—a memory of a memory of another dream entirely.

And sometimes, it’s you.

You hear the howl of wind scream through your bones—through the bones of the ruins there—but you don’t feel it. There’s only heat—the kind that’s unavoidable and omnipresent, as heavy as guilt. The hunter brings his hands to frame the man’s temples—yours too, sometimes— pebbles and slate trembling off you as you move towards them. You’re running, you realize, immobile but running and you’re not sure how or why—you never get there in time to find out.

He snaps his neck. You hear the crunch in your own ear—inside your own head.

It becomes night—blood moons drip wet from the sky. They splash onto the dirt. It turns to mud, caking the underside of your boots, squelching as you walk. You round a corner and—

You don’t recognize this. This is new. This— no, this is wrong.

A door. Rutted, freestanding—a dark monolith.

You stutter in your sleep, a crease in your brow.

It’s just a door.

No, not here—

A door. Black wood, a brass handle. Just a door, and you’re sweating. Just a door, and you’re suffocating—you’re being smothered—like your outsides are clawing to get back in through your throat and it’s sucking you in—this door, it’s just a door, it’s just a—closer, nearer, looming taller overhead—

You gasp awake, clutching at the scratchy blanket drenched cold with your sweat. Your rasps echo against the hull, sharp pants scraping the hollow metal, and you bring a hand to your chest—steadying, steadying, the fear of your racing heart.

You sit up, throwing your legs over the edge of the cot, and rake a shaky hand through your hair—the damp of the strands sticking to the nape of your neck. Your breathing evens out, tampering, with your forearms braced on the plats of your thighs; the rise and fall of your breasts against your sleep shirt quiet until you’ve stilled.

You roll off the bed, the aluminum frame whining with the shift, and you knock a knee into one of the carbonite pods as you stumble out of the storage room—your bedroom, now.

You couldn’t handle much more of it. You bought a bedroll the first planet you stopped to refuel at after Bajic, hermitting yourself away into the bowels of his ship. It was the only smidgen of untapped real estate left in the Crest, and it was far be it from you to complain about location. You were just thankful to be out of that copilot’s chair—no amount of bacta could unwind the knots in your neck after sleeping there night after restless night.

So you bunked with the bounties Mando had brought in, like one big macabre slumber party—the chrome slabs slotted up - watchful - in their chambers.

You try not to spare it much thought.

Padding through the Crest, soft bare feet leaving crescents on the steel deck, you step into the fresher to splash water on your face, jolting you back into the present and out of the nightmare, out of—

Just a door.

No—

You towel off, patting yourself dry. Inhaling, your lungs expand with the massive rush of air, and you hold it there until it hurts, until it prickles the corners of your eyes, and finally - deliberately - you release.

You look into the mirror.

You blink. She blinks back.

///

You make breakfast now.

It’s not something you both agreed to, it’s just something you do. Funny, how quickly you adapt to new normals, to new routines. You have rituals now—you two. You make breakfast, and you leave a bowl for him out on the counter before you slip into the shower. When you get out, the bowl is empty and the dishes are washed clean, drying face down on a rag. You smile. You never speak of it. Like ivy crawling up cobbled walls towards the sun, it happens— without prompt or feed, it simply is.

///

Nevarro reminds you of Dallenor—the craggy blandness of it, the endless black sands—and you fight the urge to hate it solely based on this principal alone.

You stay on the ship with the little one while Mando goes into town, meeting with some Greef Karga character to sew up Guild business. You have no idea how he ever managed to get any hunting done with the kid always acting up, pulling hijinks and inciting anarchy. He’s nearly torn the whole place to shreds. How such a tiny body can produce such a massive wake of damage is a mystery you will never solve.

You make yourself watch.

You force your jaw, set and held, as Karga’s men haul the quarries out of the ship, hovering eerily down the ramp.

X’elo, the smuggler from Vohai, some two-bit thief, and a woman Mando caught before you met, all parading single file out of the Crest like a funeral procession. They’re criminals, each and every one—they’re violent and they’ve done terrible, irredeemable things—but they’re people, too.

And isn’t that what makes it all so cruel. So sad.

The least you can do is give them an ounce of dignity before they’re subjected to their fate— however harsh, however fair.

So, you watch.

Maybe they don’t deserve it—they’re here by their own hand, after all, a bed of their own making— and maybe they haven’t earned it back any. But perhaps it’s less about what you can offer them and more about what you refuse to let the galaxy take. Because don’t you deserve to stay unfragmented? Complete? Would you rather be robbed of this humanity, your sense of decency—have it stolen from you?

Doesn’t it cost you nothing to be kind?

You pray neither sound nor fury will strip you of this—this open-eyed tenderness. You beg that you remain, undistilled, despite despite despite.

///

You’re so much more relaxed now then when you first came on board. You were as quiet as a church mouse then, tip toeing around the ship like you were afraid you’d ruin her.

Din will never admit it, but you even managed to get the jump on him once or twice—appearing exactly when and where he least expected. And he didn’t - couldn’t have - he didn’t expect you.

This.

And he looks at you now: lit by lamplight—the kerosene filament flickering warm in the dark hull— slotted back and humming to yourself as you swipe a finger over a holopad, feet propped up on a crate by the table, and it all looks organic. Right.

The drink in your hand, sloshing against the amber jug, no doubt eases your mood. You’re drinking it right from the bottle. He thinks it’s fucking charming.

“Enjoying yourself?”

“Maker above,” you hiss, startling a foot out of your seat. You shoot him an accusatory glare, but there’s no malice in it—there’s laughter ringing around your eyes.

Honestly, that man needs a bell on him.

“Don’t let me interrupt you,” he comments dryly, stepping past.

You move your legs from their perch and sit a little straighter. “You- you could join me,” you chime, “if you want.”

His feet slow until he’s stopped completely and he pans over his shoulder to you. You can’t read his expression—it’s steel all the way through— but you think you feel the air around you both quiver - shudder - with something unspoken, something kinetic.

The scrape of the chair as he pulls it out from the table is deafening, the thunk of his metal body sinking into it even louder.

“What are you reading?” Mando asks.

You cast him a sheepish smile. “CoreWorld News.”

“Anything good?”

Your mouth twists, biting the inside of your cheek. “Never.”

He huffs a breathy chuckle.

There didn’t seem to be any good news anymore. You forage for it—scouring the net for just a whiff of it, of something pure. There is plenty of greatness left in the world, but you find that what it lacks most is goodness— humble and precious. More often than not, you come up empty and disappointed—but never so dissuaded that you do not search again the next day, and the day after that, and after that and after that again.

“How’d it go with Karga?” you ask, setting the holopad down and switching off the display.

“Fine. Good.”

“Good,” you smile. He’s terse—sparse. You think it’s endearing now—vexing too, without a doubt, but the two aren’t mutually exclusive anymore.

“Nothing close to Coruscant yet. More outer rim chaavla,” he grits out, swallowing. “I’m sorry.”

There’s a tickle of bemusement in your voice and a quirk to your chin. “What are you apologizing for?”

“I know you want to get back.”

You hope the glow from the lantern in the galley is dim enough to camouflage the tinge sprung on your cheeks. The truth is becoming more and more clear to you, whether you like it or not: with each passing day, you want to go back to Coruscant less and less. You have to—you know you have to. You have your career, your whole life, waiting for you. But—

But.

“You told me it would take a while—longer than I’d like.”

“I know.”

“I’m happy to be here— I-I’m grateful,” you catch yourself.

He clenches his fist under the table, beyond your line of sight, gnarled tight into a ball. It tethers him down, anchoring him in place—because if he weren’t, fuck, he’d fly out of his seat so fast—

“Alright,” he chokes out.

“Alright,” you smile, glassy.

There’s a kind of mist encircling you two, an incense of a sort, intoxicating and sinewy and lulling you into a hushed calm. It’s thick around you - lush - and you can feel it settle like lead behind your eyes.

“Can I pour you a drink—for later?”

It’s late into the evening, well beyond the hour where the lines of decorum blur. You’ve crossed into the Other—that tarred, limber undertow. Dangerously weightless and free. The liminality between here and there— that twilight place.

Shadows bounce along the walls. Your outline—his too.

“I’d like that.”

///

You’re not as tipsy as you could be, but you’re less sober than you’d like.

Subconsciously, buried somewhere deep, you’re aware that Mando is humoring you and that you should let him get on with his night—but you don’t.

You’ll be annoyed at yourself later for this.

“Okay okay, what are your hobbies?”

A deadpan tilt of his helmet. “I—I don’t understand the question.”

You gape at him, your bottom lip glossed as it parts, plush and wet, and you laugh. “Hobbies,” you reiterate. “You know, stuff you like to do? For fun?”

You see the gears under that helm wheel and spin. It shouldn’t take anyone this long. The question is basic and the answer should be relatively immediate—but Mando has to mull it over. In all of his cycles, as hardened as they’ve been, he hasn’t been gifted the luxury of leisure - fun - and he hasn’t been afforded the time to dwell on the lack of it.

Selfless, without a moment of ownership to himself. This is the way.

“I-,” he pauses, mouth clamping shut. “Skip.”

“Fine, fine,” you tut. “What is... your favorite planet?”

Din stretches back, his beskar groaning against the chair.

All the planets he’d visited were out of necessity—out of demand and credit, never because he wanted to be there and certainly never out of favor. They were tainted—made insipid and unremarkable by the quarries he chased to them.

But there is one in particular that stands out; he remembers a planet the kid seemed to like—how he babbled the whole time, slung in the satchel at his hip, entranced and enthralled. He was on his best behavior, too—the little womp rat didn’t even try to stuff his tiny, wrinkled face with anything. Not once.

“Adega.”

“Adega,” you repeat, testing the name. “I don’t think I’ve heard of it. What’s it like?”

He draws in a long breath, his ribs yawning against the corset of his armor.

He should’ve gotten up by now—fuck, he shouldn’t have ever sat down in the first place. It’s not like he didn’t have anything to do; he needs to downshift the Crest’s power converters, switch off the shield projectors, chart a course to his next job, get some damn sleep if he’s lucky…

But you’re here before him. You’re here and he can’t deny you—not when you’re looking at him like that, like the sun shines out from his fucking face—far softer, far kinder than he deserves. Not when you’re here now, and you won’t be for much longer.

He’s racing against the clock—the swinging inevitability of it. Each moment he shares with you, is a moment that brings him closer to taking you back.

Din is a fool. He knows he’ll lose. He races anyways.

“It’s a water planet—mostly ocean,” he begins.

You allow your eyes to dip close, savoring the description, and you tuck your legs up to fold over themselves.

“But there are islands. Some are small, private—with red trees that go all the way to the sand. Others have whole cities on them.”

You remain quiet - patient - like marble, chiseled and sanded as thin as chiffon, veiling over your face in fine, cascading sheets. Transparent - ethereal - you listen to him blind, letting his words guide your sight.

“The kid-"

Your tongue darts out over your lip and he stutters. Din has to shift his hips, relieving the growing heat that’s tightening below his waist.

“T-The uh, the kid loved it. I’d never seen him like that. The bogwing didn’t want to leave,” he chuckles. He conjures the details he thinks you want—the details he thinks you might like most. “The people are honest—generous. The days are long, and the nights are warm.”

He’s no poet, but it doesn’t bother you.

“I can see it,” you say, before blinking your eyes open. "I'll have to go some time." There’s pink on your cheeks, seeping past your jaw and below the neckline of your shirt to the swallow of your breasts.

You look at him— he looks at you.

A noise hums from somewhere inside the ship.

“Are you scared of anything?” you murmur.

Mando lets a beat pass.

“I don’t think so. Not yet.” You smile at that—small, wistful. You’re not even sure why. “You?” he asks.

Your chest rises with a deep inhale. “I used to be scared of dying. I thought I was gonna die young. I was convinced—I had dreams about it all the time as a kid.”

But maybe that’s not it entirely. Maybe it’s not the fear of dying itself, but the dread of living and dying alone. And isn’t that at the heart of it—at all of this?

I just don’t want to do this all on my own.

He’s never been privy to this version of you—this sloping tone, the liquor buzzing through your speech, churning your words to treacle. You sound nonchalant in way that’s jarring, as if you aren’t talking about death— the fear of your own tenuous mortality.

“But I bet everyone does,” you continue dismissively, “just one of those things.”

He’s almost cautious when he replies. “I’m not sure they do.”

Your expression contorts, knotting for an agonizing moment—until the tension all but disappears. “Huh,” you shrug flippantly, and take a swig. That heaviness, that fog, dissipates nearly as soon as it arrived. ��Anyways, favorite color?”

He rolls his eyes; you can see it in the way he tilts his head to you. Really, he seems to say, how old are we?

“You’re right, you’re right— that’s low brow. I can do better…” You melodramatically tap your chin, eyeing him pensively.

“Okay. What’s that?”

“What’s what?”

“That,” you nod to his pauldron, “that symbol on your shoulder.”

Tawny fingertips trace absentmindedly over the emblem. “It’s a Mudhorn. It’s-” Mando hesitates, before his hand returns to his lap. “It’s the sigil of my clan.”

You arch your brow. “I didn’t realize you had a clan— is it- is it like, big?” Stars, you sound dumb—and there’s no excuse. You’re not even that drunk. “How- what is a clan, exactly?”

“In Mandalorian culture, your clan is your family. Aliit. Mine, it’s—it’s a clan of two.”

Something in the pit of you stirs, a sickly warmth, pulling at your gut like a rope. You glance over to where the child sleeps, snuggled away in his pram and your lips curl into a smile, hidden behind the bottle you bring to them.

“You’re lucky to have each other,” you say gently, taking another sip.

“We almost didn’t—shouldn’t have.”

His hands tense into his legs—the creak of leather against his thigh plates is audible even from where you sit.

You narrow your eyes curiously. He heaves.

“He was a bounty and I did my job. I turned him in. I went back for him, but—the kid, he saved my life, and I could’ve left him there—I would’ve, before.”

It all comes out like tires grinding through gravel, bruised and roughened. It’s regret, you realize—this is the sound of guilt, frigid and rued, pushing through his modulator. It makes you want to reach out to him, put your hand on his, comfort him, reassure him—something. But you can’t. He’s too far away. He’s on his own sea—untouchable.

You decide it right then and there: you can’t bare that sound, the wracked timbre of it. You hate it. You think you’d do anything to rid the way in constricts his throat—makes him hoarse and clipped, even through the guise of his helmet. It pains you, a visceral stabbing, right to your core. You could go a lifetime without hearing it, and it still wouldn’t be long enough.

“But you didn’t,” you offer.

“No,” he utters. “No, I didn’t.”

Mando gives you these tortuous, beautiful previews of himself. Like light passing through stained glass, you sneak brief glimpses of the paintings there, the stories and fables and the lessons they teach, until some great cloud drifts past, blotting out the sun, and all goes dark again.

You know this is rare. You know you’ll be home soon. You know to cherish it—to relish what he gives, when he gives it, if he gives it at all.

But—you want more. You’re a simple woman, at the end of all things: all you want is to hold him.

“I think you’re a better man than you let on, Mando.” There’s a knowing twinkle in your eye, a coy lilt to your loosened tongue. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think you were flirting.

“You don’t know that,” he huffs, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I have my suspicions." You're smirking something awful - deadly - as it sears into him.

He grunts, flames licking up his chest. Din has to bite back his grin, making careful it doesn’t shape the sound of his vowels; grateful for the helmet that buffers him, the mask that seals him away into anonymity, into apathy.

If he can convince you, maybe he can convince himself too. Maybe.

“Next question, dala.”

If he didn’t know any better, he’d think you were flirting.

///

Your eyes are blown wide, gawking at him.

“I’m not a medic, Mando—I’m not a fucking surgeon!”

Mando crashes through the Razor Crest, red dollops trailing in pools behind him. He grunts, hand pressed to his side, blood pushing out of the gash that’s torn into him— a canyon down his unplated body, spewing angry and insistent with each spasm of his heart.

With a broad stroke, he sweeps the clutter off the table and onto the floor, spraying across the deck.

“Medkit,” he barks, hoisting himself up to lie, hulking and pained, out on the slab. You scamper to it, ripping it off the wall, and return to his lumbering body. His breathing is labored—he’s forcing it, seething it out.

Mando’s legs bend off the table at an uncomfortable angle and he rasps when you crane them up by his booted ankles – fuck, he’s heavy – to situate a small crate under his feet. They drop with a dulled thud— without muscle, without resistance. The languid weight of a dying man.

You’re stationed beside him, medkit spilled open. “W-What now, what do you need?”

“I need you,” you heard him say, deep and bassy, as he ascended the ramp. With a colossal drum of your heart, you spun around - I need you - a blush stippling your jaw. The pregnant expectation built behind weeks and weeks of stalemates and stolen glances - I need you - all rearing to a head here and now and finally, finally something—until you saw him, doubled over, bracing himself on the wall, a line of blood smearing behind his palm.

“Bacta-“ Mando wheezes, “bacta shot.”

You rifle through the supplies, littering them as you dig through the box.

Sure, you had gotten your first aid certification with the Movement—it was required, and you retook the courses every few cycles. But that was gauze wrappings and mouth-to-mouth and anti-inflammatory tablets—that was not this, and this is fucking surgery. You’re out of your depth—and Mando must be out of his damn mind.

“I nee-“ He inhales sharply, and his body spasms, gripping the ledge of the table like a vice. “My chest plate—take it off.”

He’s told you bits and parcels of the Mandalorian way—of his Creed— and you aren’t under the impression that this would be strictly sanctioned.

“M-Mando, I thought— are you sure?”

“Yes I’m kriffing sure—do it. Just do it,” he snaps. He hates this—he fucking hates this. Soft. Weak—weak weak weak, he’s so fucking weak. Laandur.

You fumble over the armor, uncoordinated as you unclasp it from his cuirass and Mando strangles out a sigh as soon as it leaves him. At last, you fish the shot from the medkit and hold it up to the light, the medicine like venom as it whirls in the tube. It’s uncomfortably large—simply holding it makes you squirm.

“W-What is that?”

Your eyes flit over the needle and then back to the bounty hunter. “What do you mean ‘what is that’? It’s a shot.”

“That’s a lance,” he growls.

“It’s ebacta-”

“It’s green!” he hisses out incredulously.

“It’s all they had!” you bite back, panic skipping through your veins.

You’re practically yelling at each other, the tension winding and coiling tighter and higher as the seconds tick by. You feel each one, tapping along your vertebra like a metronome, keeping time, keeping time, wasting time—all this back and forth is a waste of time and—

You’re nervous—you’re fucking terrified—and Mando doesn’t frequent this position either—this vulnerability. He doesn’t know what to do with it, where he belongs in it. I need you, he said. He hadn’t needed anyone before and now look at him, bare breasted before you, wounded and mewling like roadkill.

You rap the needle with a knuckle, banishing the air pocket, and test the plunger. Droplets of liquid spurt from the tip, and he begins to rile.

“Dala,” he warns.

“Mando,” you mimic.

“Nu draar-”

“Do you want my help or not?” you spit out, and he shrinks, visor trained on the jab, that unnatural chartreuse swirling inside the glass vial. “Okay. Okay, on three.”

“Wait, wait-"

“One..." You try to sound firm - competent - but you’re a fucking mess. Your breathing is erratic, tunic soiled with sweat, and you’re trembling.

“You don’t-“

“Two...”

Mando huffs exasperatedly, “Ah, fuck it-”

“Three.”

You drive the syringe down, stabbing into him. His body seizes—flexing rigid—as soon as the viscous gel is injected, oozing oozing oozing until it’s pumped empty and spent.

And then— nothing.

All that whirlwinded frenzy, that raging tempest, and now silence— dead silence. He lays there motionless, fidgeting ceased, that ungodly needle pitched like a flag pole from his chest.

… Shit.

“Hey,” you touch a hand to his shoulder.

The smug bastard could be having a laugh under that helmet and you’d have no idea. That’s what you tell yourself—that’s what you’d prefer to believe anyways; it’s better than the alternative, better than—than than than fuck—

“Hey, this isn’t funny...” A little rougher now, you jostle him. He doesn’t react.

“… Mando?”

His head lolls to the side.

With a whistle, the room goes mute. Sound and oxygen alike, it all gets vacuumed out, and your senses invert. You can hear every tick of your body: the bone of your jaw as your teeth mash together, the pulse at your wrist, your stammering heart beating beating beating in your inner ear, the bob of your trachea as it grates against your neck.

Kriff. You killed him—you killed the Mandalorian.

Oh Maker, oh shit-

You press down around the puncture site with a wide palm before yanking the syringe out, flinging it away. You’re shaking him now, wrestling with his limp body, and you’re shouting—croaked with worry, with fear.

“Fuck, Mando—Mando!"

The sound is like glass shattering.

He gasps wildly, gulping down air as if he’d been drowned, writhing like the undead from your operating table. You buckle over him, fatigued and slumped, and cry out in blessed relief.

Your instincts, those poor frail nerves, tell you to smack him—but given that he’s bleeding out, you refrain.

“Don’t do that to me!” you exclaim, breathy and strained.

“Don’t do that to you?” Mando retorts, panting. You let out a weak crackle of laughter and he moans. It’s like he’s been hit by a speeder - twice - forward and then reversed over again.

“Maker, what did you give to me?”

“I got it on Vohai. They uhm- they said it was good quality-“

“And you believed them?”

Your mouth twists shyly. “I-I wanted to believe them,” you correct him.

It’s his turn to laugh now, tired and raw. Oh, you sweet little thing.

You swallow, saliva coating your ragged windpipe. “I’m sorry—Maker, I’m so sorry, a-are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he scoffs, gargled, “but remind me never to have you save my life again.”

That earns him a light slap to his arm. If he’s well enough to dole cheap shots, you figure he’s fit enough to take yours too. He’s spliced open, whole chunks of him missing, and he still has the wherewithal to be an ass.

“Well, you’re not out of the woods just yet.”

///

Regrettably, Mando might have been spot on about the bacta—in fact, you’re starting to question whether it’s really bacta at all.

A delirious grunt ripples through the bounty hunter’s modulator as you cut open his ripped flight suit, careful not to slice him with the vibroblade. His black undershirt is matted to his gaping wound, the blood bubbled over and through the rough material, and you have to peel the fibers out of his coagulating flesh to get to it. You toss the fabric into the bucket next to you with a sloppy, wet plop.

It didn’t even occur to you. You were so swept away by the state of him—by the dizzying carnival of it all as soon as Mando breached the Crest—you didn’t consider the fact that you’d be seeing him. Touching him.

You have to mask your expression when you meet his skin for the first time. He’s golden—he’s golden everywhere—like desert sand dunes sizzling under ripe, afternoon suns—dappled with memories of violence, branded into him.

You’ve never heard him like this. He keeps noising these feverish little nothings— gasping, moaning in a language you don’t recognize—and you do your best to distract him. It’s one of the tenets you recall from your aid training: keep them talking, keep them sharp—engaged.

“Do each of these have a story?” you ask, eyeing the marks that riddle and pucker him.

“Some of them.”

“What about this one here?” You touch a faded ribbon of scarring. It’s older than the others—paler. Your fingertips are cool and he blazes beneath them.

He tries not to twitch. You try not to notice.

“Fell out of a tree when I was a kid—haven’t thought about that in a while,” Mando pants. “B-Broke my wrist, got scraped to shit— my buir, m-my mother, she chewed my ear off.”

“Mm, I bet she did,” you smirk—you can relate to the feeling.

“I-I remember the lines around her eyes. H-Her eyes— they were green, bright green— jade.”

He lets out a wince as you swipe a disinfectant soaked rag over him. You cringe and flash him an apologetic look.

“Sounds beautiful,” you muse, a quiet smile pulling at you as your deft fingers work. “Did you get her pretty eyes too, Mando?”

Something is caught in his throat— a chuckle, or a cough more likely. “No, they’re brown. Just brown.”

Your whole body locks.

Just brown.

Two words - just brown - and suddenly you’re rich— full to the brim with him.

And fuck, if it doesn't feels like a gift. Like he gathered something precious and laid it in your arms and said here, you can have this now. We can share. Sometimes you forget that there’s a man under all those layers; a man— a warm blooded, tanned skin, brown eyed man. You hadn’t often wondered what the Mandalorian was hiding under his armor—he was so finite, so unmovable, the mask he wore became him. He was beskar - indistinguishably - through and through.

But that was before. And now you’re blinded with him— with all the details you cannot unsee.

“S-She was the last person to take care of me—like this.”

It comes over you so suddenly, you’re taken aback by it: that knee-jerking gut wrench. And not because there’s heartbreak in his voice, but because there isn’t. Because he’s had to be so invulnerable—so unyielding and invincible for so long—that he doesn’t even realize what he’s without.

And you, if only for a silly, naïve moment, wish you could give it back to him. Every little ounce of goodness that he’s been deprived of—to dip into his time stream, and rewrite.

To plant but a seed of it there, even if you don’t stay long enough to see it’s harvest.

“Tell me more about her,” you say.

And beyond expectation, beyond reason, he does.

///|||///

This—this is wrong.

He feels pulpy - soggy - wrong. He’s more liquid than he should be—there’s nothing solid about him now. He’s swept away in the tide of it—this green current charging through him and he let’s go - what is there to hold onto anyways? - floating belly up on his back.

Din spills—like the aperture split into his side, he gushes. Whatever dam he’s forged around himself, the beskar and duracrete there, cracks.

The stream trickles until he floods and like any good story, he starts from the beginning.

He tells you of home—his first home. Aq Vetina.

You’re plucking spikes and nettle from his side, and he barely feels it—all he has is this sinking, unending wet—and they hit the tray with dull plunks, punctuated and staccatoed.

He tells you of the adobe dwellings and the domes and columns. Marketplace canopies and caravan bazaars.

plunk

The oak trees, the willow bark, the spires he’d climb until the sun set.

plunk

The tall mountains and the dry, rubbled earth. Of the nameless neighbor children he played with, kicking a ball through the dirt. Red robes trailing, fraying.

plunk

His mother. The shawl she wore. The copper of his father’s ring. The herbs she grew by the light from their kitchen window. How he held her hand while they sat by the fire.

plunk

His tongue doesn’t belong to him—it wags numb and supple. He’s lost his sense of direction, unbound by north or south, and these words are simply happening to him. They keep happening and happening and escaping and—

It’s not just the off-bacta speaking for him, making him pliant. He wants this. He wants to bend—he wants to bend for you.

And now there’s no stopping it—there’s no breaking this, no halting it's downhill momentum. Din describes the attack, the heat of the fire as his town - his world - burned down, of his parents concealing him—a child, abandoned and bunkered away in a cellar to live or die with or without them— being rescued by the Death Watch and raised as a Mandalorian himself.

Your bandaging has long since finished, but you remain, hovering over him as you listen—listen as the jigsawed shards of his life stitch themselves together. Like a moth to a flame, you are drawn in and in and in, until you’re butted against the wick of it. Inseparable.

When the well of his words runs dry, neither of you go to move. Pin-drop silence envelops you. Your hands still on his chest, palms like a weighted quilt—warming him, securing him. He feels-

He feels safe.

“Mando,” you murmur, and the epithet has never sounded so fucking sacred, whispered from you like a prayer. You cripple him; the web of concern along your brow, the sheen in your eyes, the breathy part of your lips.

His throat has gone dry and he shakes his head left right, beskar grating against the makeshift gurney. Mando. No. No, that’s not right—that’s not who he is, that’s not who he wants you to know.

He draws his hand up—it’s so fucking heavy, he can barely lift it—but he tries, he tries, he wants to. You’re right here, you’re touching his chest and you’re healing his body—his mind too, if he’d only let you—and if he could just get to you. If he could just lace his fingers with yours—would you let him? Should you?

“M-My name-"

A warbled wail from the kid’s alcove rips through the cradling hush, and you both react immediately, lurching up to tend to the child. Din forgets—he hears his foundling and his reason leaves him—and he flinches with a grimace. You urge him down, steadying him with a pointed look.

“Rest.”

It’s a command, there’s no question to it, and it’s teeming with all of these unrecognizable concepts— care and assurance, worry and compassion. So impossible to disobey in the way that gentle things are—too soft and too right to say no to. He relents - gives - helmet thudding when it connects back with the table.

Din, he pleads, desperate for you to read his mind. Like a mantra, his subconscious rambles it on a drug addled figure-eight, coming around only to repeat itself again, infinite and wanting. Din Din Din-

Only when the child’s cries muffle into hiccups and his hiccups slur into coos does he let his exhaustion get the better of him. There was too much—it was an assault from all fronts. The blood loss, the drugs, his life like a monsoon as it crushed him open. And all it took was a wound, a brush with his mortality, for him to surrender it to you.

He turns his head, searching for you through the blur of his vision. You’re there in the doorway, rocking his boy in your arms, haloed with light.

I need you, he said. I need you I need you I need you I need-

Din’s eyes shut.

He doesn’t dream. He sleeps like the dead, blissful and undisturbed.

///

You spend hours scrubbing the deck on all fours, spine hunched and aching, cleaning scarlet off silver steel. It got everywhere, the splatter of it—even on the surfaces Mando didn’t come in contact with. The smell of blood, that nickel musk, it lingers long after its welcome—long after the stain of it, the stain of him, has vanished from the Crest. From your skin.

At some point during the night you nod off next to him, curled over a crate, and when you wake Mando is gone—presumably back to his quarters but gone all the same. All traces of him gone - expunged - and the ship feels hollow and gaping— a sterile Mando shaped hole in his absence. You follow his lead, retreating to your bed for a few more hours of sleep.

The next morning doesn’t go as you’d like.

You weren’t sure if he would remember any of it—of what he confided, of what he almost confessed— but by the way the tension ferments between you, you can only assume he does.

They go through their routines, stilted as they are.

He’s up early— unnecessarily early. Mando goes to the cockpit to rouse the ship, plugging in the coordinates from his tracking fob to chase after the escaped bounty. Thrusters set. Repulorlifts and auxiliary engines engaged. Deflector shield generator on. Weapons check. Atmospheric pressure regulator switched.

He’s slower, you note— his movements are crawled—with only half the feline agility he typically possesses and you want to tell him to sit, to take a break—to get off his damn feet and to let you help him—that it’s okay if he rests. That he can take time for himself. That it doesn’t make him any less of a Mandalorian—any less of a man.

But, you can’t.

And so the day is pulled taut like this—a bowed string ready to snap, chalked full of false starts and tinny stoicism. A sharp, intentional air of avoidance with every action. They were out of step, out of sync, and it reminds you of the first days you’d spent on the Razor Crest, orbiting each other—planets apart.

Because he’s shared too much. You knocked, Din answered. He opened the door and he let you past and now he has nowhere left to go but inwards. He’s cornered with no exit strategy - no option - but to close back up again and furl in on himself like a fern in the dark. Curling - evaporating - until he’s nothing but armor—nothing but mirrored edges and metal plates.

But—

you still made his breakfast and he still washed your dishes—and maybe that is enough.

///

You pass each other in the corridor, as you have done before.

You smile gently—soft as sin— and it breaks him, like it always does.

You have a hand on the rung of the ladder when he calls your name, and you turn to him, bright eyed.

“Thank you,” he rasps, “I never thanked you.”

He’s so strikingly sincere— standing there, arms dangling stiff by his sides. He looks different now, somehow— different, but the same. Fuller, bigger—smaller, too.

Human, you realize.

Your heart flutters in your chest. “Of course, Mando-“

“Din.”

You forget to breath. Time forgets to move.

“My name is Din.”

///

Din. Din Djarin.

It takes you almost a week to say it—to even utter the syllable aloud—and you only ever risk it when he’s gone on a hunt and you know you’re alone.

“You like it when I touch you like this?” you hear him say, the fabricated echo of his voice in your skull. He’s got two fingers in you—you can envision them now, clear and potent, the golden hide of them—and he moves slow as he takes you right to the edge, dancing dastardly along that cliff side before retracting himself and backing off. You can’t see his face, but you know he’s smirking; you can feel it in his fingertips, how they mock you—how they scorch into you and leer.

Even in your fantasy, he’s a prick.

“You like it when I make you cum on this filthy fucking cot?”

You keen into your hand, whimpering into your bitten raw lips. The scene is playing on without you now, writing itself. All you can do is lay here and take it, succumb to it, starved and desperate and vile as you thrash on your bedroll.

You rove your palm over your chest—

He snakes up your shirt, twisting your nipple until it’s peaked and perked under him, until you yelp with that muddled jolt of pleasure and pain. He’s lazy and fitfully unhurried, each movement sauntered and proud. He’s coaxing it out of you, this orgasm, as he kneels over you, your vision flooded with the cold menace of his beskar. Finally, tortuously, he traces his thumb over your clit, toying with you in small circles until you’re shaking—vibrating, every molecule of you—like you’re going to burst, incinerate there in your bed. He’s urgent now, demanding, and thrusting into your swollen cunt and the pressure mounting in your heat swells until, until, oh my st-

You fuck your fingers until they prune, drenched with the thought of him teasing you, stuffing you full with anything he’ll give you; his hands, his cock—Maker, his tongue. You let it roll around your mouth when you touch yourself like this in the dark belly of the ship—heels digging into your thin mattress, knees steepled together—and you’re panting, wanton and velvet, before a fist shoots up to muffle the moaned name wafting from your lips like smoke.

“Din”

@girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @pedros-mustache @miranhas-art @djarrex @djarinsbeskar @bookloverfilmoholic @keeper0fthestars @misguidedandbeguiled

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin #mando x female oc #mando x you #mando x reader #mandalorian smut #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x female oc #din djarin x female oc #din djarin smut #King of Cups #pedro pascal #fanfic #mandalorian fanfic #slow burn #smut

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bush-viper-cutie · 4 years

Text

Green Lace and Peonies

(Part 2 of The Crystal Ball)

Pairing: Snape x fem!reader

Word Count: 4,276

Rating: M for Mature

Plot: Severus Snape goes on a date with the girl his crystal ball paired him with. The date does not go as he thought it would, but he comes to realize how perfect she really is for him.

Warnings: It gets steamy :o

A/N: Back by popular demand! I hope this is a good continuation (wasn’t exactly sure how or where to take it) and that it wasn’t too “steamy” (or idk maybe it should have been more) and still just as fluffy but here it is. I’d love any thoughts on it :)

Posted: 4/26/20

Masterlist

~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~

Severus’s heart was pounding as loud as his footsteps on the kitchen tile, clutching a gentle note in his trembling hand. He had paced away the dust in his living room floor already and would have to move on to his bedroom soon.

“What do I write?” his whispers carried throughout his empty home, bouncing off the torn wallpaper and echoed in his ears.

He hadn’t stopped thinking about the beautiful girl he’d met a few days ago, who had given him this note as well as herself all to him. She had said she’d be expecting his owl, but that felt like an eternity ago. Maybe she forgot about me already.

That was partly why he couldn’t bring himself to finish a single letter he started. Everything he wrote seemed idiotic. ‘Hello’ ‘Morning’ ‘You wanted to go on a date?’ ‘Go on a date with me?’ Everything seems so… he sighed and rubbed his eyes. Pathetic.

He pressed his hands on the edge of the sink and leaned forward, staring into the rusty drain. The only reason he was even still fretting about her was the effect her words had on his very being. She had called him her soulmate, given herself to him, and kissed his cheek with the softest lips in all of existence. A kiss he hadn’t stopped thinking about for a second. A kiss he recreated in his head, in his dreams... he blushed and turned away.

If there was any chance she was still waiting for him, he had to take it. Severus sat back down at the small round table in the corner of the kitchen and picked up the quill for the hundredth time that day. He looked at the note she’d attached to the flower she’d given him and placed it next to the picture of himself in his seventh year with three red hearts floating beside his face.

The sun was setting so he could no longer start it off with ‘Good morning,’ unless he sent it tomorrow – though he doubted he’d want this letter in his home for longer than it took to write it. He started with her name and a comma. Good… the bare minimum, he mocked himself.

He sighed and leaned back, letting his head hang off his shoulder, drawing all his hair to fall back and sweep the dusty counter behind him. He ran his hand through it, untangling knots as he went. He closed his tired eyes and shook his head. Just do it. Just write anything and send it off. She won’t even respond anyways.

He huffed and started scrawling as fast as he could, writing the first thing that popped into his head – it was like words were pinned to a board and he was throwing darts at random with every sentence.

I’d like to see you again if you have the time. Anywhere you’d like. I understand if you don’t, though. Don’t bother responding to this letter if that’s the case. I’ll be waiting your owl or lack thereof. I’ll get the message either way.

Severus Snape

He groaned. Just send it. He walked over to the opposite corner where a small owl slept in a large metal cage. He’d rented the owl from the post office for a few days before coming back to his house, though he’d have to return to London soon to give it back or face the past-due charges.

“Here,” he folded up the letter and shoved it into the little pocket tied to the owl’s leg.

The owl hooted, relieved to finally be able to stretch his wings, and hopped down onto Severus’ pale outstretched finger. The owl shook his wings open and waited for him to fling open the window, flying out into the evening sky ready to complete its duties.

That night Severus could do nothing but cringe at what he remembered writing, hoping he was exaggerating his words in his memories. He shook his sheets and slipped inside, tucking his nightshirt down and punching his pillow a few times before dropping his head onto it. He closed his eyes and ran a finger over the warm sensation on his cheek, remembering the way her nose brushed his skin.

. . .

There was a clicking sound, like pebbles hitting a window. Severus slowly opened his eyes and looked towards the light shining onto the floor. A weirdly shaped shadow moved around from one corner of the square of light to the other.

Severus sat up and flattened his hair, yawning wide and wiping his nose on his sleeve. He could feel the second his brain clicked on, because the lumpy shadow very quickly turned into the silhouette of a small owl.

He leapt off the bed and forced the bedroom window up, letting the tiny bird in. The owl flew to the top of his dresser and extended his leg. Severus’ heart stopped beating and his lungs ceased to function. He was dead by all accounts except for the quiet words ringing in his head: She responded. Merlin, she responded.

He quickly slid the letter out and turned on the light, moving the paper up close to his eyes as he read her writing.

Severus,

I want to see you soon. You’ve said anywhere I like, so let’s make it your place. Since you’re hosting, I’ll bring the food. Respond with any day or time. Be warned, if you don’t respond I’ll arrive at your doorstep next Friday. And if you think I won’t follow an owl, I will. Though I prefer your Floo location.

Severus chuckled. “‘All yours,’” she’d written it at the bottom just like the note. He had to admit he liked her humor as much as her lovely words. Wait… Severus held the letter closer suddenly. “‘your place.’”

He bit down his tongue in anger and rushed downstairs, looking around at the hole-ridden rug in the foyer, the piles and piles of books in his living room, and chipped paint and torn wallpaper in his kitchen.

“Damn it!” He hadn’t expected she’d want to come over. A restaurant or pub, sure, but his house? Why! He quickly scribbled his Floo location on a piece of spare parchment and sent the owl out again. “At least I don’t have to worry about cooking,” he pinched the bridge of his nose.

He spent the rest of the week doing what little he could to make the place look more like it had before… before he had left. He remembered the state of the house the last time he had seen it before leaving (running away more like) his house. The foyer had a working light that illuminated the beige wallpaper walls and light grey rug that covered the wooden floor from the welcome mat to the back-patio door.

The living room had a television set and a recliner chair with dust-free shelves full of souvenirs from his father’s schooling years and cans of empty beer. The kitchen was full of dirty dishes but the handles on every cabinet were polished and every surface was spotless. The walls were covered in a disgusting pastel yellow flower pattern from the previous owners… And now after four years the place looked abandoned – though it had been left to rot for almost two years before he moved back in.

He took out his wand and got to repairing the rug and removing the horrid wallpaper. The next day he fixed the handles and doorknobs of the only bathroom – which was upstairs – and cabinets. The rest of the days were spent trying to find space on the shelves for all his books. He shoved them through every space he could find above the book rows any way they would fit. And if they didn’t fit, then into his room they would go.

“Finally,” he shook his dusty hair and stepped back. The bookcase now looked like a solid wall of book spines but there were none out, which made the place look roomier.

The place looked… well she shouldn’t be surprised by any of it. The house now looked more like how he kept his potions classrooms – in some sort of organized mess. He’d spent the week cleaning in his night shirt because the only other thing he owned was his teaching clothes – though of course he couldn’t wear the cloak – and would settle on wearing his frock coat only.

Severus sat in his chair in the corner of the living room and closed his eyes. All that was left to do was wait for Friday to arrive.

. . .

The clock ticked five and Severus stared into the mirror, yet to button up his coat. He pressed down his hair and looked over his dark circled eyes and crooked nose. Sighing, he began the ritual of buttoning up starting from his collar – tucking his cravat in first – and making his way down to his waist, breathing slowly.

It was now six as he stood in the living room and turned towards the fireplace. He fidgeted with his hands behind his back and tried hard not to bite his bottom lip, fearing it would bruise like it always did. The fireplace lit with roaring flames and turned bright green. Severus straightened and heard his heart thumping loudly as the seconds went on, feeling like eternities just waiting for her to cross the fire.

A smooth leg in elegant heels stepped through, followed by soft-looking flowing hair as she ducked out from the fire and stepped into the dismal room. Her kind smile instantly lit up the place and he wanted very badly to look away and hide himself in his bedroom.

Her smile widened as she caught his eyes. “Severus,” she came closer.

He breathed in and was reminded of crushed peony powder. He noticed the basket she carried and took it, walking out of the room she was in and into the solitude of the kitchen where he set it down. He wiped his hands on his coat and let out a rugged breath. Calm down, for fuck’s sake.

“Severus? Are you alright?”

Severus turned to see her leaning on the door frame. His eyes betrayed him and scanned over her summer dress. The thin straps over her shoulders, the buttons down her chest, the flowery pattern of the skirt…

“Yes,” he cleared his throat and stepped aside, letting her go through the basket while he watched.

She pulled out several boxes, a jar of cut up fruit, and a green checkered blanket. She turned around and looked him over, licking her bottom lip as if tasting something sweet, “I thought we could have a type of picnic indoors. And it looks,” she glanced into the living room, “like you have room. Is that ok?”

Severus tore his eyes away from hers and nodded stiffly. He picked up the blanket and laid it out over the living room rug. She placed his own plates and glasses on the blanket and waved her wand, summoning the rest of the things.

“Why don’t you sit down,” she smiled and took a seat, folding her legs to the side and smoothing out her skirt.

Severus did as she said and crossed his legs. She leaned over and poured out the food carefully onto their plates – sautéed salmon and vegetables with a savory-looking glaze he couldn’t wait to try. At this point he wasn’t sure what was making his mouth water more, the food or the way her eyes drifted down to his lips as they talked.

The sun was now setting, changing the mood of the room. Her laughter turned into giggles and her eye gleamed with mischief every time she touched his arm. His heart leapt out of his chest and into his throat every time he felt her hand on him. He had counted at least five times he smiled stupidly during the meal and now, looking down at her hand on his arm again, made six.

“It’s getting late,” Severus cleared his throat, noticing the darkness looming outside the kitchen window. “What time did you need to be home?”

“No specific time, though I have an interview tomorrow morning,” she waved her wand and cleared the blanket of the dishes, glasses, and napkins. “You still have time tonight though, don’t you?” She whispered, inching closer to him.

He looked down at her and nodded, unable to help himself from leaning in further. She sat up on her knees and moved closer still, stopping right in front of him. Severus could feel his heart begin to beat faster and his hands becoming moist with a nervous sweat. He clenched his fists and kept them on his knees. It had only been a few hours since her arrival and yet he felt like he was coming undone. He was so used to keeping his composure so easily, it was frightening how fast he lost it.

“Thank you,” he breathed, “for the meal.”

“You’re welcome.” She lifted her hand and tucked a black strand of hair behind his ear, “May I kiss you, Severus?”

He looked at her intently, trying hard to distinguish the look she was giving him. He hadn’t expected everything to be going so well, let alone to be receiving another kiss that could melt him on the spot. He nodded and silently begged for her to kiss him like she’d done before. “Yes.”

He closed his eyes, waiting for a warm sensation on his cheek and felt instead her hand on his neck, pulling him in closer. He leaned forward, more than willing, and felt his lips go warm. He opened his eyes, shocked, and saw she was tilting her head, eyes closed as she kissed his lips.

He followed her motions and let out a deep and unexpected moan, pulling back quickly, “Sorry, I – ”

She pulled him back in and this time he felt her tongue slip into his mouth. Merlin, please don’t let this stop. Every fiber of his being was on fire. She ran her tongue over his and took his trembling hands in hers. He let her guide his hands to her hips, making him moan again, except this time she wasn’t letting him pull away.

He gripped her hips instinctively and closed his eyes, picturing her as she was now, leaning over him in her summer dress and heels. He could feel his wet lips being pulled on by hers and shivered with anticipation. His hand moved up her back and pushed her closer, although he could have never expected her reaction.

She sat up off her heels and moved closer, lifting her right leg over his and then her left, now sitting on his crossed-leg lap, her skirt spread over them as she pressed her lips deeper into his. He moaned again and Merlin only knows what possessed him to press her down deeper into his lap but feeling the pressure it caused made him moan louder.

He felt a smile pull at her lips as he pressed her down. She dug her fingers in his hair and start pulling. The air around them was starting to feel very hot, even for a summer night. She wrapped her arms around his shoulder and pulled herself away, trailing kisses along his jaw and up to his ear.

“Severus,” she moaned.

Please don’t stop. Please, he turned away, giving her his ear for full attention and sighed as she whispered and teased him further. His hands slowly trailed down to the edge of her skirt, playing with the hem, letting her know he wanted to go further. Just then she leaned back and pulled him with her as she laid down on the green checkered blanket.

“I’m yours, Severus. From the moment you sent me that message,” she pulled his cravat loose slowly and let it drop beside them, “You’re my soulmate.”

He propped himself on his elbows and bit his lip as the words reached his ears like a blessed melody. He trailed his eyes away from hers and down to where his black hair rested on the small buttons of her dress.

“I want to be all yours,” he whispered, feeling her heels slide up along the blanket, her thighs press against his torso, and her knees lock him in place. All yours.

He climbed further up her body and pressed his lips into hers, needing to feel her sweet tongue inside his mouth once more. Make me yours. I’ll do anything. He kicked off his dress shoes and let her take his left hand and place it on her knee behind him. He felt her gentle fingers press on his hand and guide him down her thigh and under her skirt but letting him finish the movement on his own.

He stretched out his fingers and slid them slowly deeper under her skirt until they felt a textured cloth by her hips. He let out another moan and noticed she gave another smile as they kissed. He followed the cloth down towards her lower back and wedged his fingers between the ground and her warm skin, feeling how smooth and soft she was.

“Squeeze me,” she whispered into his lips.

“Merlin… you tease too much,” he laughed.

“I’m not teasing,” her smile grew as she watched his eyes widen.

He slid his hand down from the cloth and traced a small circle on her plump curves. He squeezed, feeling his thoughts cease as he focused on the moment. He found himself pushing his hips down on her harder and moaning at the mounding pressure. He could feel his ears and cheeks going red and heard a small giggle escape her lips. He looked away and pressed his forehead down in the crook of her neck and kissed her collarbone gently, trying to reel his thoughts back in place.

“Can we go to your room?”

“M-my room?” He knew his bedroom was a complete mess. He had shoved anything out of place in there, practically throwing it in. The only thing he knew he organized neatly were his newly acquired jars of eastern specimens from Knockturn Alley. Would the alphabetical labeling impress her?

“Severus?” She pulled his chin up to look at her pleading eyes. She pressed him closer to her with her legs, begging him to give in.

“Alright,” the word came out as a trembling breath. He did not want the night to ever end, even if it meant facing more embarrassment. She already had him sweating and thinking things he dared not repeat but he didn’t let himself imagine what would happen in his bedroom lest he lose himself completely.

He stood up and helped her to her feet. She jumped up and kissed his cheek roughly like he’d seen girls do to their partners a million times back in school. It made him blush and so he quickly turned, hiding his face behind his hair and lead the way up. He pulled on the sleeves of his coat down further over his hands as they ascended the stairs to the second floor and walked the few steps to his bedroom door.

He opened it and stepped aside, letting her in first, unable to watch her reaction to the old highly-likely-to-creek-loudly bed, torn sheets, piles of books, pots, and cauldrons littered in the corners. Please don’t be disgusted.

She stepped into the room and turned, pulling him into a teasing kiss and lead him to his bed. Not uncomfortable about the mess? She is my soulmate, he smiled.

“Excited?” she pushed him down on the bed.

“I’m happy you came over,” he was glad the lights weren’t bright in here either as he was sure his face was more than just hot to the touch.

She curled her index finger under his chin and stepped between his legs, lifted her leg over his thigh and rested her knee on the bed next to him. His hands automatically moved to her waist, but she pushed them away, winking.

“I have something for you,” she kissed his lips lightly. “Lean back.”

He did as he was told and watched with a parted mouth as she began unbuttoning her dress, pulling the strands over her shoulders, and letting the dress drop to the floor. She trailed her hand from her neck and down her body. His eyes followed her hand, admiring the matching lace underwear set she had on. He recognized the cloth was a Slytherin-green color, along with two silver bows on either side of her hips, ready to be pulled apart. He licked his lips and closed his mouth, remaining as composed as possible.

“I wasn’t sure what your favorite color was, so I thought your Slytherin colors would do,” she winked and leaned forward, placing her other knee beside him and sat down on his lap again. “What do you think?”

“You’re perfect.” The words jumped out of his mouth before he could even process his thoughts, “I mean – t-the – Green and silver look really nice.” He could tell by the way she was smiling his face had probably gone full red. I can’t believe she is actually wearing this for me. She thought of me... She wanted to impress me. At this point his house could catch on fire, burning every book he own, and it would still be the greatest night of his life.

He turned his head as she leaned forward, kissing his ear and sending another shiver down his body.

“You’re everything I want,” she whispered, “You’re all I’ll ever want.”

Severus closed his eyes, listening intently at every word she spoke like a spell she was putting him under. She wants me as much as I want her. Only me… Only ever me. His hands trailed up her thigh and pulled her closer, “I’m yours. I’m all yours.” He pressed into her kiss and took in every sensation, wanting to remember everything about tonight for the rest of his life.

She pulled away slightly, “Even while you keep teaching at Hogwarts… And I work elsewhere?” Her words were nothing more than a murmur.

Severus opened his eyes and turned to look at her. She was hiding something. He could tell by the way her closed-mouth smile didn’t reach her eyes this time.

“Of course. You’re…” he paused to look deep into her eyes. “My soulmate…” he could feel the weighty truth of his words.

“Promise?”

He gently nudged her off and sat up beside her on the bed, “I promise.” His tone was stern, hoping to convey how deeply he meant it.

She smiled genuinely once more. She undid the straps of her heels and slid them off. She pulled the sheets up and slipped inside, “Join me?”

He nodded and unbuttoned his coat all the way, sliding it off and throwing it over the footboard. She reached up and slid her finger under his waistcoat and pulled him down under the sheets with her. Unsure how to position himself he laid on his back and looked over at her.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered.

She giggled and kissed his jaw lightly, pulling herself towards him and laid her head on his chest. She draped an arm over him and held him tight. This was also a moment he would not forget, having often wished he had someone to hold or anyone who even wanted to hold him. He rested his arm over her body and played with another silver ribbon he found on the green lace. His eyelids started drooping and he wished she could stay the night.

“I wish I didn’t have to, but I have to leave soon,” she sighed.

He didn’t want this perfect night to end. She was wonderful, soft, kind, and liked him despite all the terrible things wrong with what he could barely call his home. He cleared his throat, “I understand… Good luck in your interview.”

She smiled and kissed him one last time before standing up to dress. He watched her sit and slide her heels back on and stand. She surprised him when she reached for his hand and held it as they walked down the stairs and back into the living room together.

She grabbed the basket and threw Floo powder into the fireplace. Green fire roared to life and he pulled her in for a hug. Her arms wrapped around him and he felt like never pulling away from her embrace, wanting to hold her like that for the rest of his life.

She pulled away and picked up his cravat from the floor, he reached to take it from her, but she pulled it back. She laughed and reached behind her back and then reached into her dress, pulling on the green lace and offered it up to him, “Do you accept an exchange?”

He smiled wide, loving the constant teasing, “If I must.” He chuckled.

“Dream of me tonight,” she kissed his cheek and winked, a sparkle of mischief present in her eyes once more, “And I’ll see you soon, Severus.”

He felt that stupid smile of his creep up onto his face once more and nodded, watching her disappear in the fire. He looked around embarrassed, as if he weren’t alone in his home, and ran upstairs. He quickly changed into his night shirt and crawled into bed, pulling the sheets up to his nose and breathed in. It still smelled like crushed peony powder. He opened his drawer and placed the green lace inside, still amazed she had worn it just for him. She would definitely haunt his dreams tonight.

~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~

Masterlist

Request:

Thank you

@wow-life-love4

@x-avantgarde-x

and a few others (not sure if you wanted to be tagged but thank you for requesting a second part)

and for all the lovely comments on part one!

#severus snape #pro snape #severus snape x reader #severus x reader #snape x reader #reader insert #snape fanfiction #snape fanfict #one shot #snapedom #snape one shot #severus snape one shot #severus #snape #snape x fem!reader

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rothane · 3 years

Photo

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Gang violence, violence against women and violence in general. Nothing super graphic and it’s honestly mostly just fade to black and implied, but just to be safe. References to arson and housefires in part one.

NOTES: Technically the first half should have been posted a week ago but I did not get that far lmao so now it’s just all in one. I didn’t proof read so good luck ig.

TLDR; The man Georgia shot last week approached Ro for help in the hospital parking lot and she turned him down; a week later the Rogues beat her ass.

FEBRUARY 5, 2021 / MIDNIGHT

With fires breaking out all over town, the medical center had been all hands on deck. Rowan was sure she broke every traffic bylaw in the book on her way there, hastily dropping all four children off with her parent’s and barely managing to give them a rundown on what was happening. Her heart felt like it was in her throat when she left, unsure what kind of fresh hell she was going to be walking into when she got there and trying to plan for the absolute worst case scenarios. House fires are always tricky. She has a hard time putting herself in her patients shoes, finding herself walking a balanced line of emotional and professional while she keeps it together for all of their sake, even if she knows she’ll cry when she gets back in her car at the end of the night. It’s getting exhausting --- every day seems like it just brings a new battle for them, and honesty she isn’t sure how much longer the town is going to be able to stay standing.

Her shift at the hospital goes by exactly as she thinks it will. She holds herself together amongst all of the tragedy, delivering care to her patience with professionalism and empathy for their situations. It’s difficult to leave them at the end of the night, knowing that they’ve just had their entire lives ripped out from under them. Harper doesn’t have a home to go back to tomorrow when she’s released, the last memory she had of her fiance having literally gone up in flames right in front of her. Her niece will be staying at the hospital for at least a week, if not longer. Her little body has taken far more damage than it should have, leaving her lungs compromised and her breathing in need of assistance. Rowan knows, sadly, that this is only the start of a long journey of recovery for the little girl not to mention her brothers and her mother, who are all sure to have some sort of PTSD from the ordeal. Part of her doesn’t want to leave at all, knowing that her best friend and her sister could both use the support of her there but honestly, she’s running on fumes and she just can’t stay there any longer. So she makes her rounds and says her goodbyes, promising to be back in the morning and takes her leave.

When she finally makes it down to the parking lot, she’s so tired she isn’t paying attention to her surroundings. It’s something that she can practically hear her husband scolding her about, but in the moment all she can think about is going home, taking a shower and sinking into bed for the next six hours. She’s pulled from those longing thoughts, however, at the feeling of a hand on her shoulder. She nearly drops her keys, letting out a yelp as she spins around to see who it is. She doesn’t recognize either of them. A man and a woman in cuts she can only assume say Rogues on the back of them, the man clearly in need of medical attention as what looks to be a bullet wound on one of his arms seeps blood onto the concrete around them.

“He needs help.”

Rowan barely hears the words over the sound of her heart beating in her chest and she’s already mentally calculating how long it will take her to turn around and get into her car. She’s pretty sure she can outrun them, given the state the man is in but she has no idea if they’re armed or not -- though she has a feeling it’s leaning more toward the former.

“He needs to go inside. The doctor on call will take care of him.”

The response that comes is what she had been expecting, but she backs up enough that her back is against the SUV when the woman begins speaking again. “We’re not here to have a paper trail followin’ us. We know you work for the club off the books. You’re gonna do the same for us.”

Before Rowan has a chance to properly respond, the man makes a noise of pain. His partner is distracted, giving Rowan a window of opportunity to make her move and within a split second, she’s slamming the door behind her as she gets into her car. A second later, the door handle is being violently yanked on, and she glances out the window to see the man slumped against a car a few rows away and the woman banging on the glass.

“If you leave now you’re gonna regret it.”

But it falls on deaf ears, shaking hands moving to put the car into drive, tires screeching as she flies out of the parking lot and watches her figure get smaller in the rearview. For a moment, she wonders if the whole thing had been some kind of exhaustion induced hallucination, sure that something like that couldn’t have actually just happened. But the blood streaked handprint on her window is a difficult reminder that, unfortunately, it had been very, very real. A string of curses leave her lips before taking a deep breath, fighting off the urge to vomit and while she wants to head straight home, Rowan knows better. While she had only seen two people, who really knows just how many members of the Rogues had been there and she picks up her phone to call Ryder while taking random turns on the off chance that someone is tailing her. Ten minutes later she finally gets home, Ryder having met her in the driveway and his presence is more than enough to keep her from completely losing her shit.

FEBRUARY 14, 2021 / 7 PM.

Rowan is late --- something she doesn’t do very well with. A follow up appointment with a patient from a few weeks ago having gone over time and left her scrambling to change out of her scrubs and into her dress in her office bathroom. When she finally comes out, still struggling to get her shoes on, she can tell the prospect who has been stuck with babysitting duty is anxious. It’s clear in the way he checks his watch for the third time since he sat down in the patient’s vacated seat, and the way he can’t stop bouncing his leg.

“You got a hot date waitin’ on you, Todd?” She teases him gently, and his cheeks flush with embarrassment.

His voice is higher than usual when he answers back, sheepish and uncharacteristically shy at being called out. “My girlfriend. She made dinner tonight, and she’s not a real patient lady.”

“Sounds familiar,” she snorts in response, finishing the buckle on her shoe and slipping her jacket up and over her shoulders. Todd is still just a prospect and obviously has a ways to go before he actually finds himself patched in and able to give his girlfriend the Old Lady title but if she’s as impatient and stubborn as he has lead her to believe over the weeks, Rowan has a feeling she’ll be able to hold her own more than well enough. “I’ll make you a deal, once we get down to the parking lot we can part ways. I’m just goin’ over to the restaurant anyways, there’s no need to follow me.” It’s clear that he’s about to protest, surely going over the laundry list of threats her husband has made over the last month and Rowan is quick to interrupt. “It’ll be our secret. If you make it home on time maybe you can still get lucky tonight.”

And that has him embarrassed enough that the poor kid doesn’t bother arguing anymore. Instead, they take the elevator down to the main floor where Rowan signs out and they take their leave. His motorcycle is parked next to her car, and they exchange goodbyes and Rowan gets in one more teasing jab about him having a goodnight before the two of them take separate exits. The drive to the restaurant is less than twenty minutes, and Rowan figures if she speeds, she can make it in twelve. But judging by the flashing lights behind her, she has a feeling that hadn’t been her greatest idea. She curses under her breath, pulling over to the side of the road as what she assumes is a police cruiser pulls up behind her. She fumbles to get her license and registration out after rolling the window down and she’s already spewing an excuse when someone approaches the door.

“I know I was speedin’. Sorry, office I---”

But it dies on her lips when the person leans forward and she sees the same woman from a week earlier. “Hey sweetheart. Remember me?”

The words have her blood running cold, but before she can think of an escape plan the familiar feeling of fingers tangling in her hair pulls her back to the moment, her face coming down with a harsh blow to meet the steering wheel. “You should’ve just helped us when you had the chance.” Rowan’s already disoriented, though she begins to fully panic when her door is flung open and she is pulled from the vehicle. After that, everything seems to be muted and dark, she’s barely aware of what is going on around her and she passes out after only a few moments. Two hours later, she wakes up back at the hospital --- this time finding herself in a paper gown and a hospital bed, a heart monitor beeping steadily beside her.

#the header literally is so irrel i just wanted it 2 look Pretty on the dash NSAIDABNJ #selfie002

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maroonmorons · 4 years

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Not sure if this is fluffy enough but: the team being on a call/hanging out together & buck (accidentally/on purpose) getting punched in the face. He gets a nose bleed/ busted lip & everyone is like super worried cuz blood thinners, especially eddie who coddles him a lot, & buck pretends to be a bit miffed at first, like guys i'm fine!!, but he's actually super happy & feeling loved cuz his family still loves him even after all that shit went down. HE'S A CINNAMON ROLL THAT DESERVES ALL THE LOVE

sorry if my heart a little slow [buck/eddie, T, 1.8k]

The thing is – once they’ve had decent calls for severalshifts in a row Buck forgets how quickly a call can go bad.

They didn’t even have to lose someone on the call for it togo bad.

No, instead the call just had to start moving too quicklyfor them to be able to keep up with it.

Tonight it’s a four car pile up thanks to a drunk driverswerving into oncoming traffic. Luckily no one is DOA on the scene. Theambulance has already left with the mother and son who were in the first carstruck.

That leaves their crew to deal with everyone else, includingthe drunk driver.

Buck thought the drunk driver was secure – well the trick tothat was that the drunk driver had been secure. Until the assholeregained consciousness.

He was belligerent immediately, shoving Madison off andtrying to climb to his feet.

Eddie and Buck look over in the same second but Eddie getsthe jump, roughly two feet closer than Buck is.

Trying to stuff his concern down somewhere below his gut,Buck turns back to the middle aged man he’s treating. He applies anotherbutterfly bandage to the man’s split brow.

Behind him he hears a solid blow and then a body falling tothe ground.

Madison screams and Buck can feel it happening.

Like a projector just getting warmed up - click, click,clickclickclick; the call starts moving too fast.

By the time he’s whipped his head around Eddie’s on theground, one hand on his jaw.

The drunk absolutely looms over him, looking eight feet tallin Buck’s eyes.

Buck might as well be in quicksand.

He remembers enough to look back to the man he’s treating.

“I’m gonna-”

The man waves him off immediately. There’s a deep frown onhis face but Buck knows it’s not directed at him or any of their crew.

Buck shoves back to his feet, glad to see Eddie’s regainedhis feet as well.

Still, it’s one of those nightmares Buck has routinely. He’smoving but not fast enough. He can’t move nearly fast enough to keep up withthis call.

The drunk swings again and Eddie ducks, leaning down tothrow his arms around the guy’s middle and try to take him to the ground.

Sadly, the key word there is try.

Buck knows Eddie can handle himself. The man was street fightingin his free time for fuck’s sakes.

This dude however is tall and truly thick all the way downhis body. He’s got to be over six feet and at least three hundred pounds.

The alcohol his parietal lobe is currently soaking inprobably doesn’t hurt his chances in a fight either.

Buck finally gets over to them, bless his long legs, and launcheshimself at the guy too.

The drunk just grunts in response; he feels as movable as abrick wall.

“Can one ofthe cops get over here,” Eddie grunts, the toes of his boots still digging intothe asphalt. “Maybe with a taser?”

“I-I’m on it,”Madison manages.

Buck stands, rearranging himself. Maybe attacking the centerof gravity is the problem. He wraps his left arm over the drunk’s shoulder,bringing his forearms together behind the broad back to get a good grip. With agrunt of his own, Buck shoves his shoulder into the drunk and tries to topplehim.

After a moment the drunk wavers and Buck redoubles hisefforts, adrenaline pumping steadily through his heart.

But instead of falling back, the drunk just tilts over tothe side. He brings up the arm Buck isn’t wrapped around to shove at Buck.

It barely takes fifteen seconds for the guy to successfullydislodge Buck and send him stumbling off the edge of the road.

Buck’s not exactly angry, nor is he exactly embarrassed.

He catches himself in the dusty silt and turns on one heel.

Unfortunately, he’s in such a rush to get back to help Eddiehe doesn’t think about the fact that he had stumbled off the road.

The toe of his right boot catches on the edge of the asphalt.He’s got too much momentum built up already – or maybe it’s the fact that hisleft leg is just that much slower than the rest of him – but in any case hefalls face first onto the road.

It happens too quickly for him to even put out his arms. Ifhe’d been watching it happen Buck might have even laughed.

But his face catches most of his fall, first his nose andthen his chin.

“Buck!”Bobby yells.

I’m fine, Buck wants to say. He tries to push himselfup, unsurprised to feel hands on his shoulders already helping him.

“¡Dios mío!Are you alright, Buck?” Eddie demands.

“I’m fine,”Buck does say then. “Where’s the drunk? Is he down?”

“The copsare taking care of him,” Eddie says. He clicks his tongue in disapproval as heturns Buck’s face carefully from side to side.

Buck realizes his face is wet then.

“Is itbroken?”

“Might be,”Eddie says tightly. “Come on, let’s get you up.”

Bobby and Madison are already crowding close enough to brushagainst Buck’s shoulders on either side of Eddie.

“Are youokay, Buck? I’m so sorry I didn’t have the guy.”

“Madison,what? No one could have had that guy, it’s not your fault.”

“It’s noone’s fault,” Bobby agrees. “We’re just lucky the cops were here with theirtasers. The 121 is arriving on scene. Madison, let’s go help them. Eddie, areyou good to get Buck cleaned up?”

“I’ve gothim,” Eddie confirms.

“I’m okay,”Buck protests. “Eddie’s the one that got punched in the face.”

“Eddie’snot the one on blood thinners.”

Damn blood thinners.

…

Peculiarly, things only seem to get worse once they get backto the station.

Hen all but runs to Buck’s side.

“Buckaroo!Are you okay?” She’s already reaching up gently to tilt his face into betterlight. “Are you sure you don’t need the hospital?”

“Hen, I’mokay, I promise. My nose isn’t even broken. Everything stopped bleeding andEddie bandaged my jaw up. It’s not even going to scar. Probably.”

Chim’s joined them by then, squeezing Buck’s shoulder firmly.

“Our residentdaredevil,” he says. There’s a certain amount of fondness in his tone and itmakes Buck feel like blushing. “Are you okay though?”

“Guys, I’mfine.”

“You’re notjust saying that?” Hen double checks. “You know you’re not gonna get benchedjust for a minor injury right?”

“We justwant you to be okay,” Chim agrees immediately.

“I promiseI’m okay,” Buck reaffirms.

He feels like one of those little baby dolls with a stringin its back – just repeating the same thing over and over again.

“Eddie’s the one that got punched in the face,” he adds. “AndCap cleared me. I’m all good.”

“Eddie’sfine,” Hen dismisses, even rolling her eyes.

“Dude wasstreet fighting for fun,” Chim reminds Buck.

“C’monguys,” Buck whines, “I’m alright.”

“Good,” Hensays with a decisive nod.

“Is dinneralmost ready?” Chim questions as he starts toward the stairs. “I’m starving.”

Hen makes no move to join him.

“I’ll meetyou guys up there,” Buck tells her gently. “Gotta finish up down here.”

But Hen just shakes her head.

“I’ll doit. Go help set the table – or just sit down. You can’t hold the whole world onyour shoulders, Buck. Honestly.”

“But I’m-”

“I know youare.”

“C’mon Hen.”Buck whines quietly. “I don’t want you guys thinking I’m weak.”

“No one herethinks you’re weak, Evan. We just want to make sure you’re taken care of.”

Hen’s eyes are impossibly warm as she looks directly intohis and Buck feels about four feet tall under the weight of her words.

Seemingly unaware of his internal conflict, she continues.

“Because we love you.”

It’s not as if Buck doesn’t know that. He does.

Still, he feels shaken to hear Hen say it directly to him.

His stubbornness abandons him like the tide going out andBuck manages a tiny smile.

“Okay,” heagrees on a whisper. “I love you too.”

Hen hugs him again before giving him a gentle push backtoward the stairs.

…

While Buck had been allowed to help set the table he’sforbidden from cooking or from helping clean up.

Instead, he’s settled (forcibly) on one of the sofas withEddie.

Eddie even slings both socked feet into Buck’s lap as if tokeep him from getting up any time soon.

His jaw is already starting to bruise but he doesn’t seemconcerned over it and neither does anyone else in the station.

“How’s yourjaw?” Buck questions.

“How’s yourjaw?”

“I’m fine,”Buck stresses. “F, I, N, E – fine.”

“Well, I’vebeen hit harder. I’m fine too.”

“Don’tremind me,” Buck grumbles.

After a moment of tense silence, he forces himself to lookon the bright side.

“At least my nose isn’t broken. I don’t think my Owen Wilsonimpression is any good.”

Eddie arches a dark eyebrow.

“Why wouldyou need to do an Owen Wilson impression?”

“How elseam I gonna find someone to marry me with a fucked up face?”

Eddie huffs.

“Shut up,Buck.”

Buck pouts.

“What? Peopleare fine with hooking up with me but it’s not like anyone wants more. I can’tget any uglier Eddie, I’ll die with twenty four cats.”

“Anyuglier?” Eddie demands, his voice growing much louder than the conversation warrants.“What are you talking about, Buck? You’re at least a ten. At least.”

“Okay,first of all – you have to say that because you’re my best friend. Secondly, Idon’t know if the opinion of a straight man is worth that much to my ego; even thoughI appreciate it. Thirdly, once I’m old and retired you’re gonna have to call meevery two days to make sure the cats aren’t eating my eyeballs.”

Eddie’s mouth moves with no sound coming out for several seconds.

“I probablyshouldn’t say that because you’re my best friend,” he finally settles on. “AndI’m not straight.”

He frowns then, as if deciding whether or not to tackle theeyeball statement.

Buck takes pity on him.

“They’d bestarving, Eddie. Everyone knows they eat the eyeballs first because they’reeasy to get to and squishy or whatever. It wouldn’t be their fault. But, I wantan open casket so you need to make sure they aren’t chowing down, alright?”

Eddie pinches the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes andmuttering under his breath in Spanish.

“Why don’twe just get married in ten years if we’re both still single?” he asks after blowingout a large breath.

“Well,sure, but there’s no way you’re still gonna be single in ten-” Buck cutsoff, blinking twice. “You’re not straight?”

Eddie pulls the throw pillow out from behind his back andpulls it over his face with both hands.

“Eddie, you’re not straight?!”

172 notes · View notes

wistfulcynic · 4 years

Text

all the perfect things (that i doubt)

SUMMARY: Zelena is defeated and Emma returns to her quiet life in New York with Henry, leaving Killian brokenhearted and her feelings for him unresolved. Three years later they meet again and quite a lot has changed—but will these changes push them further apart or help them find their way back to each other?

Canon divergence with no time-travel adventure.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY @ohmightydevviepuu! You are brilliant and amazing and a fantastic writer and a kind friend, and so to honour the anniversary of your birth I have attempted to fill this VERY LONG one-shot with all the things you like best. There’s angst and second-chance romance and people needing to sort their shit out before finding their way back to each other and angst and emotions and erotica and did I mention angst? There’s also Tinkerhook and Captain Cobra (implied, but very much there) and oh yeah it’s a 3B divergence. AND the title comes from a song! I’ll Be Good by Jaymes Young, which is just about the most Killian thing to ever Jones. I hope that it leaves your boxes thoroughly ticked.

Much gratefulness to @thisonesatellite and @katie-dub for invaluable suggestions and encouragement ❤️❤️❤️

Rated: M Words: 20k Tags: canon divergence, angst, smut, angst with a happy ending, minor mentions of suicidal thoughts

On AO3

all the perfect things (that i doubt)

Emma parked her bug in front of the red brick row house and got out, hiking her tight skirt inelegantly as she did and teetering a bit on her towering heels as she climbed the steps to the small porch. She went inside and shut the door behind her, then leaned back against it with a small sigh. It was weird being back in Boston after three years in New York—four, really, if you counted the year she and Henry had spent there without their memories—and she hadn’t quite adjusted yet. New York was pretty much home now, or at least that’s what she regularly told herself, and Boston was… well…

Boston didn’t feel like home but it did feel familiar, the uncomfortable familiarity of something—or someone—that knew her far better than she wanted them to. Emma didn’t like places that knew her too well any more than she liked people who did. It was one of the reasons she’d chosen to sublet a place in Brookline—that and the generous relocation allowance her bail-bonds firm was paying—and even though she had to drive into the city every day to help set up the firm’s new Boston branch, coming home every night to a place that wasn’t technically Boston offered at least a small respite.

She hung her keys on a hook by the door and kicked off her heels, flexing her toes in relief. It was only a six month placement, she reminded herself. Six months to get the new office up and running, then she could go back to New York and be comfortably anonymous again.

“Mom, is that you?” Henry’s voice called and Emma grinned, following the sound into the living room.

“Were you expecting someone else?” she teased, collapsing onto the sofa next to her son and putting her feet up on the coffee table. “How was the first day at the new school?”

Henry closed the book he’d been reading and turned to her, his face lit up with excitement. “Fine, fine, the school’s good and kids seem cool, but Mom! You’ll never guess.” He bounced in his seat, almost vibrating with eagerness. Even at fifteen Henry hadn’t lost the enthusiastic nature she’d found so hard to resist in the ten-year-old who’d first come to find her in this city. Despite his occasional bouts of teenage sullenness.

“Guess what?” she asked, smiling at him.

“Guess who my astronomy teacher is.”

“You’re taking astronomy?”

“I need a science and it’s better than chemistry.”

“Well, that’s true.”

“It’s also not important,” said Henry, impatiently refocusing the conversation back to his question. “Guess who my teacher is! You never will!”

“Um, Carl Sagan?”

“Mom, he’s dead!”

“Oh.” Dammit, thought Emma. She’d been pleased with herself for managing to come up with the name. “Um, who’s the other guy? Neil something Tyson?”

“Neil deGrasse Tyson, and no, come on, you’re not even trying.”

Emma sighed. “Henry, I genuinely have no idea. Why don’t you just tell me?”

“It’s Hook!”

“Hoo—what?” Emma stared at him as her heart stumbled then began to pound. He couldn’t possibly mean Hook Hook, could he?

“Captain Hook!” Henry confirmed, and Emma’s heart took off at a gallop. “He calls himself Killian Jones of course and he doesn’t wear the hook anymore but it’s still definitely him! I couldn’t believe it!”

“But I thought…” She took a deep breath to calm herself. “Isn’t he living in Storybrooke?”

“That’s what I said! I mean, I’ve never seen him there but I just kind of assumed. But he said no, he’s lived in Boston almost three years!”

“You—you talked to him?” Breathe, Emma.

“Well, yeah.” Henry shrugged. “It would have been rude not to. He didn’t exactly seem thrilled to see me, but he was nice. He said not to expect any special treatment in class though if I remembered what he taught me about using the sextant that one time it would be helpful. I mostly remember, so…”

Henry chattered on and Emma tried her best to listen but her mind couldn’t focus. She felt breathless and chaotic, buzzing with confusion and with a strange eager excitement. Hook is here, was all she could think. Here. Here in Boston. Where she was. Here. Close by. Possibly very close. Her heart felt like it was trying to escape her chest, and she pressed the heel of her hand against it.

He was Henry’s teacher. Hook was a teacher. She tried to imagine that and found to her surprise that it wasn’t actually all that difficult. Obviously he wouldn’t wear his pirate coat in the classroom like in the image her frazzled brain insisted on conjuring, but he’d always been so good with Henry, she could easily imagine him teaching other kids.

And he’s here, her brain kept reminding her. Here. Where you are. You can see him. You can see him. You can see him…

“…and he’s actually a really good teacher, he explains things so well.” Henry was still talking. “He says he teaches math too, I’m actually thinking I might try doing pre-calc with him, you know I wasn’t going to take that until we got back to New York, but I think he might be able to help me, and…”

“That’s great, kid.” Emma felt bad interrupting him when he was so excited but she couldn’t handle any more talking about Hook or thinking about Hook teaching Henry or about him talking to Henry or really just any thinking about Hook at all. “What do you want for dinner?”

Henry’s eyes lit with a different sort of enthusiasm and Emma hid a grin. How to distract a teenage boy 101: Offer him food, she thought.

“Pizza from Dino’s,” said Henry decisively. “But since that’s not possible, how about something Boston-y that we can’t get in New York?”

“Like what?”

“How should I know, I’ve only been here once. You’re the one who used to live here.”

“Um, baked beans? Clam chowder? Lobster roll?”

“Pah,” he scoffed. “I can get lobster rolls in Maine.”

“Well, how about clam chowder then?”

Henry looked dubious. “Okay,” he said. “I’m willing to try new stuff while we’re here. But if it’s gross, it goes on the list forever. Deal?”

Emma laughed. “Deal.”

…

Later that night when Emma finally gave up after hours of tossing and turning in her bed, kicked off the covers and went to her laptop, she knew what she was going to do. She didn’t exactly like it, but she knew it, and as she opened the website for Henry’s school she didn’t hesitate. She clicked on ‘Staff Directory’ and scrolled through the list of teachers’ names and then she caught her breath.

It wasn’t that she hadn’t believed Henry, just that in the first flush of shock at hearing his name again she hadn’t really been able to process the reality of Hook being here, in Boston, in a normal place with a normal job and presumably a normal life. Not until she actually saw his name, right there on the screen, with her own eyes.

Killian Jones. Mathematics and Astronomy. Latin Club. Debate Team.

With slightly trembling fingers she clicked on it, releasing the breath she’d been holding and gasping in another immediately after as her heart stumbled once more and began to pound against her ribs. The picture was in black and white and tiny, just a thumbnail, but it was unmistakably him. Still with the scruff though his hair looked neater, no eyeliner of course but he’d kept the earring—a small stud barely visible in the tiny photo. And somehow, somehow he still had that look in his eye… the one that promised excitement and adventure and fun… Emma squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head to clear it. When she opened them again the look was still there. His students must love him, she thought. What kid wouldn’t want a pirate as their teacher?

She closed the school’s website and opened the professional one she used to dig up information on her skips. Using it to investigate anyone else was unethical enough that she could be fired for doing it but she was prepared to take the risk. He was teaching her son, she told herself. She had information about him that the school district did not. She had to make sure he wasn’t still doing… pirate-y stuff. Yeah, that was it. That was the reason.

Ten minutes later she had his home address and cell number, his personal email and links to his social media accounts. Or rather, his account. Singular. He didn’t have Facebook or Twitter, which wasn’t particularly surprising she supposed, but he did have Instagram. She clicked on the link and a small smile curved her lips as her screen filled with images of the Massachusetts coastline.

He liked to take pictures of the sea. This was also unsurprising. But although various boats and ships featured prominently in many of his photos none of them were the Jolly Roger, and that did surprise her. What had he done with his ship, she wondered. Probably left it in Storybrooke; it wasn’t like he could sail a pirate ship around Boston harbour. Though he had sailed it to New York… She frowned. Hook loved that ship, it had been his home for literal centuries. Emma couldn’t imagine him just leaving the Jolly and moving someplace else.

It was just… weird, the whole freaking thing. Hook’s presence here, his job, the quiet life he seemed to be living, his absent ship. It was a mystery, and mysteries had never sat well with Emma. Before she could talk herself out of it she copied his home address and pasted it into Google Maps, and when the results appeared on the screen she gave a wry snort. He lived a few blocks away from her sublet. Because of course he did.

Good, she thought. It was good that he lived so close. That way, when she went to his house to confront him tomorrow she’d be able to walk there and pick up some dinner on the way home.

…

Hook, as it turned out, lived in a very nice house on a very nice street in a very nice neighbourhood. A very nice neighbourhood, Emma thought, looking around as she strolled down the sidewalk trying to look casual and not as out of place as she definitely felt. Quiet and well-kept, with tall trees and flowers and carefully tended lawns. Not at all the kind of place you’d expect would appeal to a fairy tale pirate.

His house was made of red brick in a sharp and tidy style, with white-framed windows and black shutters and a white portico with actual freaking columns at the top of the red brick steps. It was completely bizarre to think of him living there but also made an odd kind of sense. The house’s unfussy symmetry and clean colours gave it a nautical sort of air, and aside from a few shrubs on either side of the porch the lawn was neatly kept but bare. He’d always kept things neat, she remembered.

Emma’s heart was galloping again, her hand trembling as she rang the bell. She could hear it echo through the house and panic gripped her chest, and she wondered wildly if it was too late to turn around and run away. Then the door swung open and her mind went blank.

His eyes were exactly as she remembered them, as blue as the ocean he so loved and just as deep, their expression shuttered now but still compelling. Still beautiful. They stared at each other for a breathless moment as she scrambled to think of something, anything to say to him, then he stepped back and held the door open.

“Come in, Swan,” he said, and her heart beat even faster at the sound of her name in his voice, “I’ve been expecting you.”

“You—you have?”

“Aye.” He smiled wryly. “Ever since Henry appeared in my class yesterday. I knew your curiosity wouldn’t allow you to stay away for long.”

He ushered her into a living room that was as tidy as his cabin on the Jolly Roger had been, with broad-planked hardwood floors and one wall lined with bookshelves. A large, comfortable-looking sofa sat at the centre of the room and Killian gestured to it. “Have a seat. Can I get you anything to drink? Coffee, tea, beer?”

“Beer.” Emma latched on to the idea of alcohol like a lifeline. “I think I could use one.”

“Aye,” he replied. “As could I.”

He disappeared through a door in the corner of the room as Emma sank weakly onto the sofa and tried to calm her frantic heartbeat. A minute or two later Hook returned with two brown bottles, handed one to her then sat on the opposite side of the sofa and took a long drink from the other. Emma drank as well, surreptitiously studying him from the corner of her eye as she did.

He was wearing jeans. Well-worn, soft looking ones. And a t-shirt in a similar condition with ‘Boston College’ across the front in faded letters.

“Boston College,” she blurted, desperate to fill the stretching silence.

“Pardon?”

“Your shirt. Boston College.”

“Oh, aye.” He looked down and shrugged. “Where I studied.”

“But—you didn’t,” said Emma, feeling thoroughly off-kilter. “You couldn’t have. Did you?”

“Obviously I didn’t,” he replied. “But I have both memories and official documentation that says otherwise. Courtesy of Tink.”

“Tink?” Emma frowned, both at his words and the nasty tendril of jealousy that curled in her gut.

“Indeed. She gave me what I needed to start a new life in this realm. Much as Regina once did for you.”

“But—Regina did that for me as part of a curse. How did Tink… for you..?”

He shrugged again. “Damned if I know. I try not to ask too many questions where magic is concerned. We… rekindled our old companionship after you left. She knew I wanted to leave Storybrooke and once her magic was fully restored she offered to help me do that. The results are as you see. She gave me what she said was the same realm-specific knowledge Regina gave the Storybrooke residents she cursed, along with an identity and accompanying memories so I could get a job outside of Storybrooke.”

“But—” Emma’s head was spinning, the jealous tendril writhing like a snake. “Why did you want a job outside of Storybrooke?”

“There’s nothing for me in that town,” he replied, in echo of the last time they’d sat like this, drinking together. “Why would I stay?”

“Well… I mean…”

He drank again, deeply, and she tried not to watch his throat work as he did. “I saw an opportunity for a fresh start in a new place,” he said. “One that thinks Captain Hook is an object of ridicule with a perm and a waxed moustache.” He smirked wryly though anger flared in his eyes.

“You saw that, did you?”

“And read the book.” He drank again. “And as much as I may like to wring the neck of this J.M. Barrie, he did in a roundabout way afford me the chance to slip unnoticed into this realm and become someone new. And so I did.”

“I’ll say you did. A high school teacher?”

“And why not?” he challenged. “You’ve said yourself I’m good with children. And I enjoy it. It’s honest work, and rewarding.”

Emma shook her head, struggling to get to grips with everything he was saying and everything she was seeing in him. He looked so familiar; even with the drastic wardrobe change his face and his hair and his voice were all just as she remembered. But he was different. A kind of different that couldn’t be explained away by the knowledge Tink had given him or his new life. His face and eyes were so expressionless, his body language cool and distant. She couldn’t detect event the smallest hint of the flirtatious pirate who used to invade her space whenever he could, always challenging her, always understanding her, always watching her with that unnervingly intense focus—like he wanted to uncover every inch of her. That man seemed so thoroughly absent from the one now sitting opposite her that for a moment Emma wondered if she had imagined him.

“Well, you seem to be good at it,” she said brightly. “Henry can’t say enough good things about your class. He’s thinking of taking another one with you, actually. Pre-calculus.”

“Aye. I’ve already approved his request. He’ll start tomorrow.”

“So are you as good a math teacher as you are an astronomy one?” She made her voice light, teasing, edging into flirtatious, hoping to draw out the pirate—even just a brief glimpse of him, just for a moment. Hook’s face remained impassive.

“I do my job to the best of my ability in every class I teach,” he replied, then drained the last of his beer and set the empty bottle on the sea chest in front of the sofa. Emma sipped hers, feeling cold and confused and with a sharp ache of loss in her chest.

Hook leaned back against the arm of the sofa and gave her a hard look. “So is your curiosity appeased, then, Swan?” he asked. “Do I pass muster? May I be allowed to continue with my job and my life?”

She frowned, hurt by the harsh sarcasm in his tone. “I didn’t come here to—to investigate you,” she said, forgetting that this was the exact excuse she’d given herself for her visit. “I just wanted to see you.” I’ve missed you, she did not say. I thought maybe you’d missed me too.

“And now you have,” he replied. “Is that all?”

“I—I guess so.” Emma put her own beer on the table though the bottle was still mostly full. “I guess I’ll be going.”

“I’ll see you out.”

He could sound less eager about it, she thought, following him to the door. He opened it for her and she looked at him again, at this man so familiar and yet so strange, and realised that even though he was standing right in front of her she still missed him. She missed him.

On impulse she leaned in close and wrapped her arms around his waist, hugging him tightly and kissing his cheek. His scruff was surprisingly soft beneath her lips and she heard him catch his breath, felt him flinch as if to hug her in return then stop himself. She lingered as long as she dared before stepping back, and when she looked into his eyes again she caught her own breath.

There was the heat she’d started to think she had imagined. Heat and longing and that edge of danger that even a black and white thumbnail photo couldn’t disguise. In that split second he looked like he wanted to devour her, his breath hot on her cheek as he leaned closer, his eyes blazing with everything she had missed about her pirate.

Then he blinked and his eyes were shuttered again. He grabbed her arms roughly, pulling them from around his waist and shoving her away, towards the open door. “Well, thanks for stopping by, Swan,” he said, not looking at her. “So nice to see you again. Tell Henry I said hello and not to forget his astronomy homework. Goodbye.” He shut the door behind her and she heard the click of the lock turning.

She fought the urge to cry all the way home.

…

Killian leaned back against his front door and slowly slid down it, squeezing his eyes shut and letting his head drop into his shaking hand. Tremors racked his body and his chest was so tight he struggled to draw in gasping breaths.

Three years. Three years since she’d left Storybrooke, left him, returned to the life she’d had when she couldn’t remember him and never looked back. Three years since she’d shattered his heart.

Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, he thought bitterly, she walks into mine. He should have taken that job in Montana instead. Emma would surely never show up there.

Of course, he hadn’t thought she’d show up here either, not in this city she’d already lived in and left. Emma wasn’t the sort of person to go back to places—or people—she’d put behind her. He’d thought he was safe here.

It seemed he’d thought a lot of things that weren’t actually true. That he could withstand seeing her again, for one. That he was prepared. He’d coached himself, steeled himself, buried his feelings deep and locked them away. And all it took was one brief press of her body against his, one gentle brush of her lips across his cheek to break right through his carefully constructed defences and reduce them to dust.

Tears prickled behind his eyes and he blinked them angrily away. He would not weep over Emma Swan, he told himself firmly, not again. Not today. Instead he would pull himself together again just as he had in Storybrooke, as he did every time thoughts of her overwhelmed him, and he would get on with his life. Now that she’d seen him surely her curiosity would be assuaged and she wouldn’t return. He could find his peace again.

…

The next morning Killian walked to work, a thing he did as often as possible. It wasn’t that he disliked driving, quite the contrary in fact. Cars, in keeping with many of the mechanical innovations of this realm, fascinated him, and aside from his house his car was the one possession in which he had truly indulged.

In the staid upper-middle-class neighbourhood where he lived his sleek gunmetal-grey Aston Martin was almost acceptable, not outrageous enough to give his neighbours anything to actually complain about but more than sufficient to irk them in a way they couldn’t quite articulate when he zipped along their tree-lined streets with the top down. Had they known that the money he’d used to buy it was ill-gotten pirate treasure magically converted into the currency of their realm, they would have been even more displeased. The thought of that delighted Killian nearly as much as the car herself.

And his car did delight him; the powerful hum of her engine and the way she responded to the smallest twitch of her wheel was the closest thing he’d yet found in this world to standing at the helm of the Jolly Roger in full sail. He’d purposely chosen a convertible for the feel of the wind through his hair, and as often as possible he took her out of the city, driving far too fast along quiet country roads and almost hoping the local police would catch him doing it.

Once a pirate always a pirate, at least in some small ways.

But still he preferred to walk to work. Idling in traffic was an insult to his car and a waste of her skills and anyway the walk was not a long one—hardly more than a good stretch of the legs, as Liam would have said. It took him barely twenty minutes along the shortest route and less than half an hour even if he stopped for coffee first.

That morning, he stopped for coffee. He’d not slept well, too plagued by thoughts of Emma and then by dreams of her to manage any real rest. His eyes felt gritty and his head ached, and though the walk in the brisk morning air cleared some of the cobwebs from his brain it hadn’t made much of a dent in anything else.

He ordered his usual black coffee and a not-so-usual blueberry muffin. The intense sweetness of breakfast foods in this realm he didn’t generally care for but this morning he needed a boost of something and sugar seemed as good a thing as any, despite the inevitable mid-morning crash it would bring. There were always donuts in the staff room, perhaps later he’d finally give one of those a try. Anything to get him through this day.

He took his coffee and the bag with the muffin from the barista with the best approximation of a smile that he could manage and wished her a good day. She blushed.

“Thank you, sir,” she said, and Killian shook his head as he turned to go. When had it come to pass that he, the erstwhile Captain Hook, was referred to as ‘sir’ by sweet and blushing young women? Probably right about the time he’d stopped calling himself Captain Hook.

Still, the blush and her shy smile brightened his mood and he was just thinking that perhaps this day might not end as dreadfully as it had begun when he walked through the cafe’s outer door and straight into Emma.

Coffee sloshed from his cup and onto his hand and he barely managed not to drop it or his muffin as he caught her around the waist with his prosthetic before she could fall, hissing in a breath at the feel of her pressed against him for the second time in less than twenty-four hours. She gave a small cry and grabbed his shoulders for balance, her eyes wide and startled.

“Hook!” she gasped.

“Killian,” he snarled, using the arm around her waist to steer her out of the path of the other people trying to get into the cafe. “I’d prefer it if you didn’t use that name anymore, particularly not in public,” he hissed, low for her ears only.

“What, you think someone’s going to recognise you?” She smirked. “You don’t have enough hair for that.”

“This isn’t a joke, Swan,” he said harshly. “I’ve left that man and his name behind me, and I don’t particularly care to be reminded of them.” Her fingers flexed on his shoulders and with a start he realised that they were still standing close together, his arm tight around her waist. He released her and stepped back so abruptly she stumbled, and cleared his throat before he spoke again. “What are you doing here, anyway?” he asked, though he had a terrible suspicion he already knew the answer.

“Getting coffee,” she replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “This place was recommended in all the neighbourhood guides.”

Neighbourhood bloody guides. “So you live nearby, then,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Yep. About three blocks that way.” She gestured vaguely behind her. “I’m working in Boston, though. Setting up a new office of my bail bonds firm. What about you?”

“You know where I live.”

“Yeah, but I mean are you headed to work already? Isn’t it a bit early?”

“The school day begins at 7.30, Swan, as I would expect you to know, being the parent of one of my students,” he said shortly. “And I am now officially running late. If you’ll excuse me.” He turned to go.

“Killian.” Emma caught his arm and he flinched, both from the feel of her hand on him and the way she said his name.

“What?” he snapped.

“Can we—look, can’t we just—”

“Spit it out, love.” He risked a glance at her, his fingers tightening on the muffin bag as their eyes met.

“Can’t we be friends?” she burst out. “Please?”

He stared at her for an incredulous moment and then the fury he’d been so carefully holding back exploded in his chest. He rounded on her, backing her up against the fence of the cafe’s outdoor seating area, keeping his voice low so as not to draw attention, spitting the words in her ear.

“No, Swan, we cannot be friends,” he hissed. “We have never been friends.”

It was far too tame a word, he thought, too tame a concept to ever encompass the complex tangle of emotions that Emma inspired in him. They had always been both more than friends and a good deal less, and as far as Killian was concerned she’d thrown away the more when she turned her back on him three years ago. The less was all that remained.

They were standing much too close again, close enough that he could see the flecks of gold in her eyes and hear the rasp in her breath and he was so tempted, so bloody tempted to give in. To agree to be her friend and anything else she wanted, to accept whatever scraps of affection and attention she was willing to spare him and be grateful for them. But he’d accepted those terms before and they had all but broken him.

With a massive effort he reined in his anger and stepped back, drawing a deep breath to calm himself. “As it appears that we are neighbours of a sort, I don’t doubt we’ll see each other around,” he said. “When that happens I will nod politely to you and exchange pleasantries about the weather and Henry’s progress in school and perhaps the latest performances of Boston’s various sports teams. Beyond that I can’t imagine that we would have anything to discuss.”

He spun on his heel and stalked away, leaving her leaning against the fence, trembling and once more on the verge of tears. She stared at the door of the cafe for a long moment before turning away, no longer hungry but with an aching emptiness inside her that she had no idea how to fill.

…

As he had predicted, Emma ran into Killian everywhere she went, or at least that’s how it felt. After their third encounter at the cafe—each at a different time—she’d started arriving early and lurking in her car until she saw him leave before venturing in herself. Even with that precaution she still spotted him at the grocery store and at the bank, and at the only pizza place in town Henry deemed acceptable as a temporary stand-in for Dino’s. He was everywhere she turned, nodding civilly at her each time they met and making a bland remark, his face and eyes so expressionless it made her want to claw at something. Preferably at him.

Finally after two awkward weeks Emma found a welcome distraction, a temporary one but at least it was something to take her mind off Killian for one night: a skip that was a perfect target for a honey trap of the kind she hadn’t pulled in far too long. Anticipation buzzed in her veins as she approached the restaurant where they were set to meet, a swankier one than she usually preferred for these sorts of things but the skip was a banker who was clearly out to impress.

Emma was out to impress too, in a dark red strapless dress that hugged every curve and heels that made her legs look endless. Her hair was perfectly curled and her makeup on point, and she flashed a smile at the doorman as she strode in, feeling slightly reckless and more confident than she had in some time, and completely failing to notice the woman standing just inside the doors until she’d bumped into her.

“Oh, sorry!” she said, catching the woman’s arm as she stumbled. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

“No problem,” replied the woman with an apologetic laugh. “I probably shouldn’t be standing in the doorway, but my boyfriend’s running late which is really not like him, and I’m not entirely sure what to do with myself while I wait.”

She was a very pretty woman in a wholesome sort of way, with golden brown hair and dark blue eyes, and a warm smile that Emma couldn’t help responding to.

“Well I hope he turns up soon,” she said, smiling back.

“I’m sure he will,” replied the woman. “Have a great night!”

“You too.”

The skip was waiting for her at the bar, with a martini for himself and a glass of white wine for her. Emma ground her teeth behind a brilliant smile. Men who ordered for women without consulting them were the worst kind of assholes. She was going to enjoy nailing this fucker’s balls to the wall.

“White wine!” she exclaimed, settling gracefully onto the barstool next to him and crossing her legs, making sure a generous portion of thigh was on display. “How’d you know?”

“I know what the ladies like,” he replied with a smirk he probably thought was charming.

“You sure do.” Emma picked up the wine glass and took a sip, not missing the way his eyes lingered on her mouth as she did. She set the glass down and ran her fingertip along its rim, looking up at the skip through lowered eyelashes. “So tell me about yourself,” she cooed.

“Well, I work for the biggest bank in the city…” he began, and Emma widened her eyes in feigned interest. From the corner of one of them she caught sight of the woman from earlier approaching a small table not far from the bar, accompanied by a dark-haired man who had his hand at the small of her back and was leaning down to whisper in her ear. Emma smiled to herself, glad that the woman’s boyfriend had finally showed, and then she got a good look at him.

Killian.

Emma’s heart stumbled and she froze, her eyes fixed on the couple as they arrived at their table. The woman was holding a pink rose, sniffing it with a soft smile as Killian pulled out her chair for her and kissed her cheek as she settled into it. He spoke a few words to the hovering waiter who nodded eagerly and scurried away, then sat down next to the woman and took her hand, lacing their fingers together and murmuring something that had her blushing and sniffing the rose again.

My boyfriend’s running late… my boyfriend… boyfriend… the woman’s words rang in Emma’s ears as she watched them. They looked comfortable together but still with an undercurrent of excitement, like the relationship was new but not too new. Killian must have been dating this woman for at least a few months. Long enough for her to know that it wasn’t like him to be late, and not to feel insecure when he was. Long enough for her to casually call him her boyfriend.

The waiter reappeared with a bottle of wine and a small vase for the rose. The woman laughed when he set it down in front of her and the look she gave Killian made Emma’s heart ache. The waiter poured their wine and they clinked their glasses together, then settled into what appeared to be easy and pleasant conversation.

Killian looked… not precisely happy, Emma thought. But he looked content. Relaxed and at ease in a way she’d never seen him be before. He smiled often as the woman spoke and there was no flirtation in it, no smirk or leer or defensiveness. Just simple smiles from a man enjoying the company of his date.

“Hey,” said the skip, snapping his fingers in front of her face. “You’re not even listening to me.”

“Sorry.” Emma dragged her eyes away from Killian and tried to focus on her mark. She needed to stay sharp to spot the moment when she could jump in and cuff him with the least amount of fuss. It would be better if she could get him outside first; he looked like a runner and although she’d taken the precaution of clamping his car she didn’t really want to cause a commotion in a restaurant this nice. He started in again boasting about his job and she did her best to appear attentive but she couldn’t keep her eyes from darting back to Killian. That woman had seemed so nice, sweet and friendly and she didn’t even know who he was, thought Emma with a burst of anger. She didn’t know anything about him, not about his past and the terrible things he’d done… or about the losses he’d suffered… the way he could read her like an open book… how he used to look at her… the way he kissed…

Oh she knows exactly how he kisses, whispered a nasty little voice in the back of her head. And a lot more.

Emma snarled at that thought, clenching her fist on her wine glass so hard that the stem snapped and its jagged point sank deep into her palm.

“Ow!” she cried, loudly enough that several people at the neighbouring tables turned to stare. She didn’t look at Killian—she couldn’t—but she could sense his eyes on her and for a crazy moment she wished she still had magic and could disappear in a puff of smoke.

“What the hell,” said the skip, glaring at her. “What is wrong with you?”

“Nothing! I just—it just broke.”

“You’re bleeding everywhere.” His lip curled in disgust but he made no move to help her.

“Sorry,” she said. “I—I’m sorry.”

“Fuck this,” said the skip, tossing back the rest of his drink and standing up. “You’re really hot but no lay is worth this much effort.” He tossed some money on the bar and walked away.

“No—wait!” Emma tried to follow but as soon as she stood up a jolt of pain shot through her hand and made her woozy. Her wound was bleeding profusely now, dripping into the spill of white wine on the bar and turning it pink. The bartender was frantically trying to mop up the mess with one hand and waving a handful of cocktail napkins at Emma with the other.

“Ma’am…” he said faintly, “please don’t bleed on the upholstery…” Emma took the napkins and tried again to pursue the skip. She squeezed the paper against her palm in an attempt to stop the bleeding but her wound twinged agonisingly under the pressure and she stumbled, crying out again, and then a warm hand gripped her elbow.

“Swan,” said Killian’s voice in her ear. “Let him go.”

“No—he’s a skip—he’ll get away—”

“You can’t chase him down with a bleeding puncture wound on your hand,” said Killian impatiently. “Let him go. You’ll get him another day.”

Emma looked up at him, her head spinning from the combined effects of pain and blood loss, and his touch on her skin. He eased her back onto the barstool and she didn’t protest, sitting quietly as he took the napkins and dipped them into a glass of water he must have brought from his own table. Cradling her hand in his prosthetic one he gently dabbed the blood from her wound, easing out a tiny shard of glass that had been lodged within it.

“You should get this seen to properly,” he said, his voice deep and gruff. “But I suppose you won’t.”

“I hate doctors.”

“Very understandable, but it might get infected. At least wash it well when you get home.”

“In rum?” she challenged, hoping to rile him. He didn’t look up.

“No need,” he said. “A good antibacterial soap should do the trick.”

He finished rinsing the wound and set the used cocktail napkins aside, pulling a large cloth one from his pocket. She caught her breath as he wrapped it several times around her hand and secured the ends in a tight knot. His new prosthetic moved, she noted vaguely. Much more useful than a hook. No need to use his teeth.

“There,” he said, stepping back. “That should do it.”

Emma’s chest was aching, her mind whirling with how familiar and yet how strange this felt. Never, in all the times she’d thought of him over the past three years, not once had she imagined a situation in which Killian Jones didn’t flirt with her. Didn’t challenge her. Didn’t even fucking look at her. Flirty Hook she could handle, and cocky Hook. Even hot as fuck Hook breathless and wrecked after their kiss in Neverland she could handle. But this calm and controlled man who bandaged her hand without once looking at her face, this man she absolutely could not. She had no idea even what to say to him.

“I guess you think I should thank you,” she snapped. Her pain and confusion were too raw, too much for her to process right now. Anger was easier. It was hot and clean and she had more than enough to spare.

Anger flashed across Killian’s face as well and she felt a perverse thrill at the sight of it. Good, she thought, he should be angry. She wanted to make him furious.

“Don’t trouble yourself,” he snarled. “I have no need of any gratitude from you.”

She hissed in a breath sharp with hurt and they glared at each other, the air thickening with the tension between them, brittle and volatile and unbearable.

“Killian,” said a small, quiet voice, and they both turned to see the woman standing awkwardly a few feet away, twisting her hands together. “I’ve paid the bill,” she said. “I—I’m going to go.”

The anger drained from Killian’s face, replaced by regret and guilt and a deep sorrow that made Emma feel ashamed. “Aye,” he said. “I’ll accompany you.”

For a moment Emma thought the woman would refuse, but then she gave a small nod. Killian offered her his arm and she slid hers through it, and they left the restaurant together, not looking back.

Emma shifted uncomfortably, feeling as if a million eyes were watching her. She swept the room with a defiant glare and as soon as Killian and the woman disappeared through the doors she headed towards them herself. With any luck she’d still be able to catch the skip before he could get the clamp off his car. She hoped so. She hoped he ran when she confronted him. She hoped he fought back and gave her an excuse to punch him in his stupid smug fucking face.

…

Killian dropped Anabel at her door with a kiss on the cheek and an apologetic smile, hating himself for the hurt confusion in her eyes.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said, squeezing her hand. She gripped his fingers hard.

“Who is she?” she whispered.

Guilt stabbed at him, followed by suffocating regret. He genuinely and deeply cared for Anabel, and he’d tried so bloody hard to be happy with her. He was almost happy, as close as he could remember being for the best part of three centuries, and so naturally he’d gone and buggered it the first chance he got. One glimpse of Emma pale and bleeding had wiped Anabel and his hard-won contentment and every other bloody thing clean out of his mind, and he had acted without a thought for anyone but her.

“Someone from my past,” he replied. “I haven’t seen her in years. I thought I’d put her behind me but—”

“You still love her,” said Anabel flatly. It wasn’t a question.

Killian sighed. He really didn’t want to talk about this here, or now, or ever, but he owed Anabel the truth.

“I don’t know how to stop.”

She nodded, blinking hard as tears filled her eyes. He pulled her into his arms, tucking her head against his shoulder, soothing her as they fell. “I’m so sorry, Bela,” he said softly. “I care so much for you and I truly thought that we could—”

She pulled out of his embrace and shook her head. “Don’t,” she said. “Don’t make any decisions now. Sleep on it. Talk to her, figure out whatever needs figuring. I’ll wait.”

“I couldn’t ask you to—”

“I’ll wait, Killian.” She leaned up and kissed him softly on the lips. “You’re worth it.”

…

You’re worth it. Those words followed Killian home, chased him through his door and straight to his stash of rum. He’d mostly given up drinking it, needing to be sharp for his classes and limiting himself to a beer or two when he wanted to relax, but there were times that simply called for the hard stuff.

He poured himself a generous glassful and tried not to let the words ring in his ears. You’re worth it. It was worrying, how hard such things still were for him to hear. No one had thought him worth much of anything for so long that he’d come to believe it himself. To internalise it, in the terminology of this realm.

He knew of course that he had some good qualities. He was intelligent and quick to learn, resourceful and decisive and courageous. A man couldn’t survive centuries in command of a pirate crew without at least a few of those attributes. But they counted for little when his shortcomings were constantly cast up at him by the one person he most wished to impress. Well you are a pirate… I’ve got magic, he’s got one hand… let me guess, with you?

Emma had certainly never thought he was worth much. Not worth staying in Storybrooke for. Not worth taking a chance on. Not worth loving.

While he, fool that he was, could never stop loving her.

He was deep into his fourth glass when his doorbell rang, and he knew without even looking who it was. Ignore it, whispered his sensible voice in his ear, but Killian was too drunk and too angry for the sensible option.

The moment the door swung open Emma charged in, shoving him back and slamming it behind her. She rounded on him, fisting her uninjured hand in his shirt collar and pulling him against her.

“I lost my skip because of you,” she hissed.

In her heels and his stocking feet they stood eye-to-eye, pressed together from chest to knee, and every nerve in Killian’s body screamed in pleasure at the contact. He grabbed her hand and yanked it off him, pushing her away so forcefully she nearly fell. “You lost your skip because you broke your glass,” he snapped. “It was nothing to do with me.”

“You distracted me. While I was working.”

He glared at her. “What are you on about? I was having dinner, or about to—”

“You were flaunting that woman—”

“Flaunting?”

“With the rose and the pulling out her chair and—”

“That is simply how I treat the women I date, Swan,” he said, stepping closer to her again, backing her against the wall.

Emma’s cheeks flared bright pink but she didn’t back down. “What, even when I’m not watching?” she sneered.

“I wasn’t aware you were watching tonight!”

“Oh, like you didn’t notice me as soon as you walked in.”

Her breath was coming in short pants, the tips of her breasts brushing against his chest with each inhale, and his lust clawed inside him like a living thing desperate to get out. Killian leaned in until their lips were almost touching, torturing himself with her little gasp and the way her eyes darkened. “No, actually,” he growled. “I didn’t.”

He pushed away from the wall and smirked at her. “I know this is difficult for you to grasp, love, but not everything in my life revolves around you,” he said harshly. “Until two weeks ago I thought I’d never see you again.”

“Oh, so you just happened to be out on a date at the same place I was?”

“That place being my girlfriend’s favourite restaurant, where we’ve dined many times before, you mean?”

Emma’s lip curled. “Your girlfriend—”

“Aye. Of nearly a year.”

“—you expect me to believe that Captain Hook has a girlfriend?”

“No, Killian Jones has a girlfriend,” he hissed, stepping closer again. “What, Swan, did you imagine I would pine away in celibacy forever because you wouldn’t have me?”

“Of course not! That was never—we were never—”

Abruptly all his anger, his frustration, his lust, the electric thrill of sparring with her again drained away, leaving him numb but for the gnawing ache in his heart. “Indeed,” he said, and turned away. “We were never.”

“That’s not what I meant, Killian.”

“Isn’t it?”

He stalked into the kitchen and retrieved his glass of rum, tossing it back and refilling it with a hand that was not quite steady. Before he could pick it up again Emma appeared at his elbow, whisking the glass away and taking a long drink.

“Help yourself, love,” he snarked. She handed the glass back to him and he drained it, setting it down on the table. She refilled it without a word and took another drink. He sighed.

“Why are you here, Swan?” he asked. “What do you want from me?”

“I don’t know.”

Fury licked at him again. “You don’t know,” he hissed. “Is that so? Well perhaps I can enlighten you.” He took the glass from her and emptied it, then slammed it down. “You wanted to make sure that I was still your faithful pet,” he spat. “That I would still come running the moment you crooked a finger, desperate for any scrap of your attention—”

“That’s not true—”

“—despite your utter rejection back in Storybrooke and your complete lack of interest in me or my life in all the time we’ve been apart.”

“I asked about you, or I tried—”

“You tried.”

“Yes! Every time I talk to my parents I ask—well, not ask but I try to—I thought you were still in Storybrooke!”

“And so you thought you’d just use your parents to check up on me? And it never struck you as odd that they didn’t know anything?”

“I just—I couldn’t—”

“You couldn’t ask them directly because then they would know you were curious,” he concluded. “And we couldn’t have that, could we darling?”

She grabbed the rum glass and refilled it. He watched as she tossed it back, wishing he could ignore his body’s reaction to her—that constant itch to touch, to trace the curves outlined by her clinging dress and sink into the softness of her hair. He still remembered how it felt beneath his fingers in Neverland, the taste of his rum on her tongue… he wanted to taste it on her again, to lick the traces of it from her lips and then deep into her mouth, wanted to rip that dress from her body and plunder her. The dark heat that flared in her eyes as she caught him staring, as she let the rim of the glass trail across her lower lip, said she knew exactly what he was thinking and she wouldn’t stop him. That she wanted everything he did.

Slowly she set the glass down and stepped closer, close enough that he could smell her hair and feel her breath against his cheek. His cock was rock hard and he cursed it, cursed his helplessness to resist the pull she exerted on him. His hand curled around her waist without his permission, and when a small, satisfied smile curved her lips it slid down to grip her arse and pull her tight against him.

She stiffened and for the briefest moment he thought she might pull away, and then she moaned and rolled her hips and he was lost. His arm wrapped around her waist as hers curled around his neck, he plunged his hand into her hair and she tugged at his, bringing their lips together in a clash of heat and lust and fury. She tasted just as he remembered and this time he chased it, battling her for control of the kiss. If they were going to fuck like this, he thought, in anger and animosity and not lovingly, reverently as he had so often dreamed… if they were going to fuck, they were going to do it his way.

He slid his hands beneath her dress and hooked the index finger of his prosthetic beneath the thin strap of her thong, snapping it easily. She gasped against his mouth and he chuckled darkly, trailing into a groan as his fingers found the slick heat between her legs. She was so soft and so bloody wet—wet for him—that his head spun and his knees went weak, and he forgot his anger and their fight and sought only to pleasure her, pushing two fingers inside her and stroking her clit with his thumb, thrilling to the sound of her low moan and the sharp pain of her fingernails digging into his arms.

He tugged her head back and trailed his mouth down her neck as his fingers worked inside her, dragging the neckline of her dress down with his teeth until her breast was freed then swirling his tongue around her nipple.

“Oh, fuck,” she gasped. “Hook.”

He jerked away like she’d doused him in ice water, his anger flooding back.

“No,” he hissed. “Killian.”

Emma’s eyes flashed defiance, “Hook,” she insisted, scraping her fingernails down his chest, popping buttons as she went. He knocked her hands away with his prosthetic and backed her up against the kitchen counter, his fingers still inside her, squeezing his hand to grind the heel of it hard against her clit, wrenching a helpless moan from her.

“You want Hook?” he snarled. “Do you?”

“Yes!”

“Well, you can’t have him. It’s me or nobody and I swear by all the gods in the heavens, Swan, if you call me by that name again I will kick you out of my house as you bloody are.”

She glared at him, chest heaving, and he could see how badly she wanted to defy him. He prayed he’d have the strength to carry out his threat if she did. Their harsh breaths sounded unnaturally loud in the stillness of the kitchen until Emma bucked her hips against his hand and conceded.

“Killian, then,” she said, grudging but breathless, like the name was an intimacy that she resented but also craved. He pressed her clit harder and she moaned again. “Killian,” she breathed, and it sent a spear of pure lust through him.

He pulled his hand from between her legs and stepped back, holding her gaze as he put his fingers in his mouth and sucked them clean. “My bedroom is upstairs,” he said. “First door on the left.”

Her eyes flashed again and then she straightened up, reached behind her back and in one quick movement unzipped her dress and shimmied free of it, smirking when he hissed in a breath at the sight of her naked body. She stepped out of the pile of fabric, still in her heels, and tossed her hair over her shoulder.

“I’ll be waiting,” she said, and sauntered from the room.

Killian ground his fist into the countertop and forced himself to count to sixty before following her.

When he arrived she was sitting on his bed, leaning back on both hands with her legs crossed, one shoe dangling from the tip of her toe. He stopped in the doorway and feasted his eyes on the sight of her toned limbs and smooth skin as he slowly undressed, not missing the catch in her breath when he undid his trousers.

“Curious, love?” he taunted.

“Very.”

He pushed the garments down, trousers and underpants together, smirking as her eyes widened and she drew a deep breath.

“Well,” she purred, “you did promise I’d feel it.”

He ignored the stab of anger, bit back the retort that it was Hook who’d told her that, and put a swagger in his hips as he closed the short distance between them. She sat up eagerly and reached for him but he caught her hand and held it back.

“I want your mouth,” he said. “No hands.”

She shot him a venomous glare but complied, laying her hands flat on the bed as she took his cock in her mouth, swirled her tongue around the tip then sucked hard. He clenched his teeth against an aching moan, wove his fingers through her hair and tried not to perish from the sheer pleasure of living out one of his favourite fantasies.

She took him deep in her mouth, alternating hard suction with lazy strokes of her tongue and quick scrapes of her teeth until he couldn’t take any more and pushed her away, shoving her back onto the bed where she lay panting and looking very pleased with herself.

“Too much?” she taunted.

“For now.” He leaned over her, running his hands up the insides of her thighs and spreading them wide, then slipped his arms beneath them and buried his face in her cunt. She gave a strangled cry as he licked through her folds then sucked on her clit, pressing the tip of his tongue hard against it. Her hips bucked as she tried to push them up against his face but he held her down, licking her far more gently than he knew she wanted and forcing her to accept it.

“Damn you, Killian,” she snarled, clutching at his head. He laughed and she gasped at the feel of the vibrations on her swollen flesh, then moaned when he resumed his onslaught, as hard as she liked this time, licking and sucking her roughly until she lay teetering just on the edge.

“No…” she whimpered when he pulled away, blindly reaching for him as he leaned across her to yank open a drawer on his bedside table and withdraw a condom. He handled it with practiced ease, holding it securely in his prosthetic and tearing the packet open with his hand.

Emotions flitted across her face as she watched him, anger laced this time with a touch of hurt. The hurt cut deep into his heart and made him furious. She really did think she’d had him on such a leash that he wouldn’t sleep with anyone else after she rejected him, he thought, giving her a nasty leer as he rolled the condom down his length. Her nostrils flared but she didn’t look away, and when he finished she grabbed his shoulders and shoved him onto his back, straddling him, kissing him roughly and digging her fingernails into his skin as she positioned his cock at her entrance and took him inside her.

They groaned together at the sensation, the tight, slick squeeze of it. He thrust up as she ground down, groaning as she tilted her hips and arched her back to take him deeper, dragging her sharp nails down his chest.

“Ugh that’s so good,” she moaned, and as they found their rhythm and began to move in perfect tandem Killian could only agree. Emma's head was thrown back, her hair curling wildly over her breasts and down her back, her muscles squeezing him as they rocked together in the most glorious dance of his life, and had he not already been as deeply in love as a man could be Killian knew that he would have fallen then. His hurt and anger ebbed away and he lost himself in sensation, in the indescribable bliss of sinking into the woman he loved and feeling her clenched tight around him, the sound of her sighs and moans in his ear. It was a feeling he never thought he’d know again after Milah, and certainly never dreamed he might know it with Emma.

You don’t, he tried to remind himself. This is only sex. She doesn’t love you. She never will.

He didn’t care about that though; in this moment with this woman he couldn’t care. He could only feel, and make the most of this one chance to feel these things with her.

Emma’s breaths grew faster, harsh and short and catching in her throat, and as her rhythm began to falter he could tell that she was close. Gripping her arse tightly he flipped them over until she was spread out beneath him. She hummed in approval and hiked her leg up over his hip as he thrust in deep, driving her hard into the mattress over and again until she gasped and cried out, her eyes squeezed shut and back arching as a pink flush spread across her skin. It was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen and it sent him flying over the edge, choking out his own cry as ecstasy gripped him harder than ever before. He collapsed onto his side and pressed his face into the crook of her neck, conscious of little more than the smell of her skin and the gentle caress of her fingers through his hair.

They lay like that until their breathing calmed and their skin cooled, and gradually reality began to encroach. Killian forced himself against every will he had to move, untangling himself from her and rolling over to remove the condom and dispose of it in the bin next to his bed then grabbing a handful of tissues to clean them both up.

He dreaded what he would see when he turned back again but Emma still lay where he’d left her, her face calm and showing no signs of panic or regret. She took the tissues he offered without comment and cleaned herself, grimacing a little when she handed them back. He dropped them in the bin along with his own and took a deep breath, waiting for the excuses he knew had to be coming, for the sound of her getting up and running away, leaving him yet again. When the bed shifted but none of those things came he risked another look at her.

She was snuggling back against the pillows, and as he watched she pulled back the blankets and slid beneath them. He held his breath and did the same, swallowing hard when she slid over to him and curled herself against his chest.

“Emma—” he began.

“No,” she said firmly. “No.”

She cuddled closer, slipping a leg between his and an arm around his waist. He tangled his fingers in her hair, stroking a silky strand between his thumb and forefinger as she hummed in contentment and closed her eyes. A moment later so did he.

He didn’t know how long he lay there, his eyes half-closed and his nose in her hair. He was adrift in the moment, this extraordinary, unbelievable moment of softness between them when Emma not only allowed him to hold her but actually snuggled into him, fitting her body to his like it belonged there, like there was nowhere else she wished to be. Killian suspected she would regret it in the morning and when she woke she would push him farther away than ever. But now, here, in this moment, she was his.

Her skin was so soft, he marvelled, so silky beneath his fingertips that he couldn’t stop himself from touching her, gently stroking down her body, the dip of her waist and the curve of her hip, down her thigh and up again, over her arse and along the ridge of her spine to sink once more into her hair.

Slowly he became aware that she was touching him as well, her hand trailing over his thigh and hip, up his back and down his shoulder, pausing briefly to explore the tattoo there then slipping further on to sift her fingers through the hair on his chest. He caught his breath as she discovered the scatter of tiny stars tattooed across his heart, almost lost among the dark strands, and traced the pattern they described with unnerving accuracy.

She looked up at him with eyes hazy with desire, blinking slowly as he brought his hand up to cup her cheek, his thumb caressing the dimple in her chin. He kissed the dimple, thrilling to the little hum of enjoyment she gave. He kissed her nose and her forehead and both her cheeks, and then, finally, her lips.

The kiss was slow and soft and and achingly tender. Killian poured his whole self into it and everything he felt for her, fully aware of what he was confessing but unable to care. Emma knew his feelings whether she wished to accept them or not, and he had nothing to lose.

She opened her mouth with a soft moan and took the kiss deeper, pulled him closer, her tongue on his sending heat licking up his spine, her hands stroking it across his skin. He wanted to touch her everywhere, worship her as he had in his dreams, distil a lifetime of devotion through the prism of this one act. But there wasn’t time for all he wished to do and so he made do with what he craved the most. The soft weight of her breast in his palm and the hard peak of its nipple, how she moaned into his mouth as he stroked it with his thumb. His fingers caressing her, slowly down her belly then between her legs, sinking deep into her velvety heat. Her tongue soft and wet as she licked down his neck, nipping at him, leaving marks that would linger on his skin for days and break his heart anew each time he saw them.

Emma shifted beneath him, aligning their bodies and lifting her knees to cradle him, holding him close and kissing him hard as he slid inside her. The wet warmth of her mouth and her cunt made him dizzy; the squeeze of her legs around his waist and the clutch of her hands on his shoulders and back urged him on. He tried to go slowly, to make this last as long as possible, but the sounds of her pleasure, the way she clung to him, the sheer elation of sharing this with her—however illusory it may be—was too great to withstand, and far too soon they fell.

She gasped and he groaned as ecstasy gripped them both, her fingers curling through his hair and pressing his forehead to hers, their eyes locked as she fluttered around him and that gorgeous flush suffused her skin once again. Caught in the delicate tenderness of the moment, wrapped in intimacy and awash in sensation, Killian struggled to contain the words he longed to say to her. He tried his best to hold on to what he knew was true—that this was just an interlude, a moment soon to end—but against all good sense, his better judgement, and even his will, he felt that tiny, stubborn bud of hope bloom yet again in his heart. Perhaps, it whispered to him as he rolled onto his side and Emma followed, curling herself tightly around him and sighing contentedly against his chest as they drifted off to sleep. Perhaps.

…

A prickly sensation in her arm woke Emma. She resisted it, groaning internally and trying to will herself back to sleep. It was far too early to be awake, she could tell that much even through her drowsy haze. It was early and she was so comfortable but for the prickly arm, warm and contented and relaxed, with Killian’s chest beneath her cheek and his arms tight around her.

Killian— With a jolt Emma came fully awake, staring up at his sleeping face with eyes gone wide in dismay. What the hell had she done?

Slept with Killian Jones was what she’d done—God, she couldn’t even call him Hook in her head anymore. She’d charged into his house and drunk his rum and had sex with him—twice!—and it had been just everything she had ever fantasised about and more. So much more. Far, far too much more.

She forced herself to pull away, away from the warmth of his arms and of him. The fact that she had to force herself had panic gripping her chest. She wanted to stay, she realised with a flash of the same terror that had sent her running from him in Storybrooke and the same regret she’d felt on realising, not even a week after her return to New York, that leaving him had been a terrible mistake. For three years she’d tried to bury her regret over that one rash decision, buried it and ignored it and denied it, without success, and now here, finally, she had the chance to make things right. All she had to do was slip back into his arms, curl up where she wanted so badly to be and go back to sleep.

But she couldn’t—it was too much, too fast, and she wasn’t ready. His feelings were too big for her to deal with and hers… hers she couldn’t even bear to think about. She scrambled away, trying not to jostle him, but his eyes blinked open anyway and she froze just on the edge of the bed, caught by the look in them. He had such expressive eyes, true windows to his soul as the saying went, laying bare his every thought and feeling, and it had always amazed Emma that he never seemed to mind how vulnerable they made him. He’d hidden nothing from her, not since Neverland and not until these past few weeks when the cold, shuttered blankness in those beautiful eyes had cut her more deeply than she’d realised. They weren’t blank now, though, but brimming with emotion—with hurt and anger and a weary, hopeless resignation that clawed at her heart.

“I...” she began, trailing off when she realised she had no idea what to say, how to explain. How to make him understand.

Killian sighed and leaned over the edge of the bed. She heard a drawer opening and then a soft t-shirt landed in her lap. “You can wear that downstairs,” he said. “Your dress is on the kitchen floor.”

“Killian—”

Emma groped for the words to tell him that she didn’t want this to be the end, that she wasn’t trying to run from him again. She just needed some time and a bit of space to process all the things that had happened and how she felt about them. But his face was blank again and his eyes so terrifyingly hard that the words wouldn’t come.

“Don’t,” he snapped. “Don’t fucking bother. Just go.”

She swallowed over the aching lump in her chest. “I never meant for this to happen,” she whispered.

He snorted. “Let’s not kid ourselves, love,” he said, and she flinched at the bitter edge in his voice. “You’ve wanted to know how I fuck since the beanstalk. Now that you’ve finally got it out of your system perhaps we can both move on.”

“Move on,” she choked. “You’ve done that already.”

“I’ve certainly tried,” he said. “Anabel makes me happy. She actually likes me for myself and while you may not think I deserve that I choose to believe I do. I’ve worked bloody hard to put my past behind me and build a respectable life in this realm.”

A life that doesn’t include you, his words implied, and she nodded, fighting the tears that prickled behind her eyes. She slipped the t-shirt over her head and scrambled from the bed, grabbing her shoes as she fled, desperate to get away from him before he could see her cry.

…

Killian managed to hold off his own tears until he heard his front door close behind her and then they came in a torrent. All the anguish he’d kept so tightly locked away these last three years—the heartbreak and the guilt, the regret over the life he’d led and the choices that had shaped him into someone a woman like Emma could never love—came rushing forth like the sea through the hull of a sinking ship. He turned his face into the pillow that still carried her scent and wept for all he had lost in the course of his long life, for every terrible deed he’d done and every beautiful thing his touch had destroyed. He wept until he had nothing left inside him, until he sank into a restless, dreamless sleep.

When he awoke again the sun was pouring in through his windows with offensive brightness and he groaned, rubbing his eyes and wishing that just once the habits born of centuries on the sea would leave him alone to wallow in his bed. Instead he dragged himself up and stumbled into the bathroom where he splashed cold water on his face and ignored his hollow-eyed reflection in the mirror as he brushed his teeth, then went downstairs.

In the kitchen he found his t-shirt, folded almost neatly and draped across the back of a chair. With shaking hands he picked it up and pressed it against his cheek—just for a moment—then with a guttural cry flung it away against the wall.

…

Emma spent the next week driving herself as hard as she could, working the toughest cases, the longest hours, hounding the staff at the new office with her demands. Anything, anything, to avoid having to think. If she stopped moving even for a second she saw Killian’s face in her mind’s eye and heard his voice telling her to go, and the ache of loss would hit her again, as fresh and raw as the moment it happened.

Losing something she’d never really had shouldn’t hurt so much, she thought, and frankly she resented it. She felt swamped by a strange sort of untethered frustration, an uncomfortable feeling and uncomfortably familiar. She’d last felt it back in Storybrooke, that antsy itch under her skin whenever Killian was near, in the few quiet moments they’d shared in between battling flying monkeys and breaking curses. She’d managed to ignore it then, seizing on the witch and the curses and Neal as convenient distractions, excuses not to think about Killian or her feelings or what he wanted from her. What she wanted from him, what they could have. And as soon as those distractions were gone she had run. Just as she always did. As she would continue to do, damn it, until she found something that made her want to stay.

She refused to think about how badly she’d wanted to stay in Killian’s bed.

...

“Mom,” said Henry the following Saturday, coming into the living room to find her dusting the corners of the bookshelves, “can I ask you something?”

“Hmmm?” Emma dragged her attention away from her determined assault on the cracks in the wood. “Sure. What’s up?”

Henry shifted uncomfortably. “Um, have you—have you seen Hook at all since we moved here?”

“Killian,” said Emma automatically.

“What?”

She felt her face grow hot. “He prefers to be called Killian now.”

“So you did see him!” cried Henry.

Emma set her dusting rag down with a sigh. “Yeah. I did.”

“Did you guys have a fight or something?”

“Kind of, I guess. It’s hard to explain.” She cast a sideways glance at her son. “Grown-up stuff.”

“Mom,” sighed Henry, with his special ‘I’m a teenager now’ eyeroll. “I’m not a kid anymore and I’m not stupid. I know that you and Killian—that there was something going on with you guys in Storybrooke and I know that’s part of the reason you left.”

“Henry—”

“And I saw how you reacted when I told you he was here. It’s okay to talk to me about it.”

Emma made a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob.

“I mean, no details,” he said with a grimace. “But like, in general.”

“Henry.” Emma rubbed her temples. “I appreciate it, really. But I can’t. I can’t even think about it.”

“You really should. It’s not a good idea to hold stuff like that inside.”

“Stuff like what?”

“You know. Feelings. You hold yours in too much.”

“I know. I know I do.” She frowned at him. “How did you know there was… something with us in Storybrooke?”

“It was pretty obvious, Mom. He came all the way from the Enchanted Forest to New York to get you, and then when we got back to Storybrooke you two were always talking together or at Granny’s, and when you weren’t with him you asked him to babysit me. Which you wouldn’t do unless you trusted him.”

“That’s true,” Emma whispered. She had trusted Killian. She did.

“And then after we moved back to New York you never asked about him,” Henry continued. “When you talked to Grandma and Grandpa you asked them about everybody in Storybrooke, even my mom. Even Leroy. But you never asked about him. If he’d only been a friend you would have.”

Emma shook her head. “Kid, when did you get so smart?”

“Duh, I always have been. Thanks for noticing.” They were silent for several minutes before Henry spoke again. “And you know,” he said, “I wouldn’t mind. If you wanted to, you know. Date him.”

“Really? Would you really want me to be with a pirate?”

Henry shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s kind of hard to think of him that way anymore. But I always liked him, mostly. He took me sailing and told me about my dad. And he’s probably the best teacher I’ve ever had. And he’s been looking really sad all week.”

“He has?”

“Yeah. Everyone’s noticed. He’s all quiet in class, not like he usually is. And he hasn’t been having lunch with Miss Hartfield.”

Emma’s heart gave a painful thump. “Miss Hartfield?”

“The physics teacher,” Henry clarified. “They always used to have lunch together. All the girls in my class thought they were dating and now they’re all crying cuz they think they’ve broken up.”

“Is Miss Hartfield a very pretty brunette with dark blue eyes?”

“Yeah.” Henry looked surprised. “How did you know?”

“I—met her. Last weekend. She was having dinner with—with Killian. I guess they really are dating. The girls in your class should be happy.”

“Oh.” Henry’s eyes filled with sympathy. “I’m really sorry, Mom—”

“It’s okay.” Emma swallowed hard and forced a smile when he gave her a skeptical look. “Really! I’m okay.”

“You’re not—”

“I am.” Emma wrapped her arm around Henry’s shoulders and pulled him into a hug. “Or I will be. I just—need a little time. Is your homework done, by the way? Speaking of your teachers.”

“Oh, yeah, nice segue.” Henry rolled his eyes, playing along, though it was clear from his face that he didn’t believe her. “It’s nearly done.”

“Well, get it all done and then what do you say we order pizza and watch some bad movies. Unless you’ve got other plans?”

“Nope. I’m all yours.”

…

By the next Thursday, Emma had almost convinced herself that she was fine. Killian still crept into her thoughts far more than she’d like but the ache he brought she convinced herself was less severe. She didn’t have to fight so hard to stop the tears from welling up or keep herself constantly distracted.

It’s like he said, she told herself fiercely. It was just an itch that needed scratching, and now it’s scratched that’s it. No hard feelings. No feelings at all.

Thursday afternoon as Emma was leaving work, Henry texted her that his friend Becca was having some problems and wanted to talk and he was going to her house for a little bit. His homework was nearly done, he said, and he promised to finish it when he got home.

Said homework was spread out over the dining table when Emma returned and she went to gather it up and put it to one side so she could sit there herself and have some dinner. Her heart skipped when she saw it was astronomy he’d been working on, the book still open to a page illustrated with several constellations. One of them caught her eye. It looked like a slightly tilted cross with bent arms, and it tickled something in her memory.

She frowned and bent down to get a closer look. That pattern of stars looked so familiar. Emma racked her brains trying to remember where she could have seen it before. It couldn’t have been that long ago, she thought, and—oh. Oh. She flushed as the memory resolved with uncomfortable clarity, and her heart began to pound.

She recognised that pattern because she had traced it herself through the hair on Killian’s chest, connecting the sprinkle of stars tattooed over his heart. She remembered thinking how odd it was, him having a tattoo there where it was practically invisible. His other tattoos were elaborate and brightly coloured and on places where he had less hair, but those tiny stars she would never have noticed if she hadn’t had her face pressed right up against them.

It did make sense, she reasoned, for an astronomy teacher to have a constellation tattoo, though all his others featured names and clear associations with people from his past. But this one—Emma peered more closely at Henry’s book looking for the constellation’s name, and when she found it sank slowly into the chair, her knees gone too weak to support her.

It was the constellation Cygnus. The swan. Killian had a swan tattoo. Right above his heart.

He was in love with her.

Emma let her head fall into her hands as the full force of that realisation hit her, with the strength and fury of a hurricane. She was aware he had feelings, strong ones, and though she’d never let herself think too much about them she couldn’t pretend she hadn’t known. But this… this was serious. He wouldn’t put her permanently on his body with Milah and with Liam unless it was big-L love. Killian loved her, or at least he had. Did he still? Could he still, after what had happened between them?

She closed her eyes and thought about the last words he’d spoken to her, about his girlfriend—Anabel—and how happy he was. Her breathing sped up an her hands trembled as she recalled it, the memory she’d tried hardest to escape and with the least success. The closed expression on Killian’s face and the flat tone of his voice were etched into her mind as clearly as if she were back there in his bedroom living that terrible moment all over again, and she realised with a flash of shock that he’d been lying. She’d been too upset to see it at the time but now her superpower was screaming at her. He’d lied to her, and not even well.

A bubble of hope rose up in her heart. If Killian was lying about being happy, about having moved on, then maybe… maybe there was a chance that he still loved her. Maybe if she told him how much she missed him… if she reached out, if she tried… maybe they could actually talk. The way he’d acted the other times they’d met… his coolness, his distance, his anger… of course he was just trying to protect his heart from further hurt. She could certainly understand that. But if she told him, if they talked, then she could fix this. She could get the old Killian back again—the one who looked at her with warmth in his eyes and always believed in her. The one she could now admit to herself that she deeply and desperately missed, not the way you miss a friend you haven’t seen in a while but like a part of herself was gone.

She sent Henry a quick text telling him where she was going and raced out the door. Ten minutes later she was standing in front of Killian’s, practically leaning on the bell.

Killian opened his door and for the first time looked surprised to see her standing there on his small porch.

“Swan!” he exclaimed. “Is Henry okay?”

“Um.” Emma frowned. “Yeah, he’s fine. Why would you think he wasn’t?”

“Why else would you be here?”

“I wanted—” She took a deep breath. “Can we talk?”

“Talk,” he repeated in an incredulous tone, then eyes moved from her face to something behind her and he smiled a huge, fake smile and waved his hand. Emma turned around to see a middle aged woman waving back as she walked down the sidewalk, a similar smile on her face and a very sharp look in her eye. The moment she looked away Killian grabbed Emma’s arm and pulled her through the door.

“Come inside, Swan, before the whole neighbourhood sees you,” he hissed.

“Since when do you care about the neighbourhood?”

“Since I have to live in it.” He glanced around then shut the door tightly. Emma went into to the living room and perched on the edge of the sofa, trying not to fidget. Killian followed but remained standing in the doorway, watching her with a dark scowl.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“I told you—to talk.”

“I don’t believe we have anything left to say to each other.” When she didn’t reply he sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. “What is it you wish to discuss?”

“Your tattoo.”

Emotion flashed in his eyes, apprehension and a hint of alarm. It flared just for an instant and then was gone, as thoroughly as if it had never been. Had she not been looking for it, Emma thought, had she not known how to read him as easily as he did her, she’d have missed it completely. “I have many tattoos,” he replied.

“I’m talking about one in particular. The stars over your heart. It’s a constellation, isn’t it?”

Killian’s face was like stone. “Aye.”

“Which one?”

“Swan—”

“Exactly.” Emma pounced. “It’s Cygnus. The swan. You have a swan over your heart, Killian.”

He shrugged. “What of it?”

“What of it is I don’t think you get tattoos that have no meaning. You’ve got Milah on your arm, Liam on your shoulder, someone called Alice on your hip who I’m willing to bet is your mother, and over your heart is—is—”

“Is you,” said Killian flatly. “Is that what you want to hear, Emma? The swan is obviously for you. Because I love you, and because I can’t resist torturing myself with permanent reminders of everyone I loved who is lost to me, etched into my bloody skin. Is that what you came here to get me to confess? It’s a poor confession when you already knew.”

Guilt swamped her, heavy and suffocating. “I didn’t know,” she attempted to protest, her voice quiet but falling like lead in the face of his stark confession.

Anger snapped in Killian’s eyes, fuelled by a pain she hadn’t seen before. Hadn’t allowed herself to see. “Don’t lie to me, love, and don’t lie to yourself,” he snarled. “Of course you knew. You knew when I all but begged you not to go back to New York, and you still left. You knew when you slept with me and you still tried to sneak away before I awoke. You’ve always known exactly how I felt and it has never once stopped you from breaking my heart.”

“Killian—”

“No. I can’t hear this.” He ran a hand over his face. “Go now, Swan, and don’t come back.”

“Don’t come back?” she choked.

“What would be the point? We both know where we stand and I—” his voice broke “—I can’t live with a gaping wound in my chest.” He turned to look at her, his face for once not blank but open and raw and with a plea in his eyes that tore at her heart. “Please, Emma. If you care anything at all for me, leave me alone now. Let me have the chance to heal.”

Emma’s brain was screaming at her to say something, stop him, don’t let this happen, don’t let him go. FIX THIS. But everything he said was true, every angry, hurtful word of it. She had known his feelings and had she had taken them for granted, even used them against him, never thinking of how that might hurt him. She’d caused him so much pain already that she couldn’t now refuse this one small, heartbreaking thing he asked of her.

It’s too late. You pushed him away one time too many and now he’s gone.

“I talked to your girlfriend, you know,” she said, forcing the words past the clawing ache in her chest. “At the restaurant, before you got there. She seems really nice.” She risked a look at his face and almost cringed at the wariness in his expression. “I’m glad you’ve found someone like her, Killian. I really am. You do deserve it. You deserve to be happy.” She stood and moved towards the door, refusing to be hurt by the way he visibly tensed as she drew near. “I—I hope you’ll be happy.” With one last look to fix his face forever in her memory she turned and ran from his house.

…

When she got home Henry was back, sitting at the table with his homework. He looked up to greet her, the cheerful words dying on his lips when he saw her face. He jumped to his feet and hurried over to wrap her in a huge hug. Emma gripped him tightly and let the tears she felt like she’d been holding in forever finally, finally fall. She cried as she could never remember crying before, great heaving sobs that left her empty and drained and clinging limply to Henry’s shoulders.

“What can I do?” he begged. “Mom, tell me what I can do.”

Emma sobbed again, wondering what she’d ever done to deserve him. “Do you think it’d be okay if I came back to Storybrooke with you this weekend?” she asked. “I just really don’t want to be alone.”

“Are you kidding?” Henry smiled, a bright smile that did nothing to disguise his worry. “Grandma and Grandpa would love that!”

“They would. What about Regina?”

“Honestly, I think she’d be glad to see you too. Everyone would. People have missed you.”

“And you wouldn’t mind me tagging along?”

Henry hugged her again. “I’d love it.”

…

They drove up to Storybrooke as soon as Henry finished school the next day, arriving at her parents’ loft just in time for dinner. Snow and David were as thrilled as Henry had predicted, hugging her between them, smiling widely with damp eyes. Emma found her own eyes growing damp as she leaned into the comfort of their embrace, her heart tripping when David gently cupped the back of her head.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” said Snow when they finally pulled apart, cradling Emma’s face between her hands. “Why don’t you and Henry go sit at the table?”

“Is there anything I can—”

“Nope,” said Snow firmly. “It’s all under control.”

Emma seated herself at the table between David and Henry and looked around at the loft. “Wow, have you guys changed anything in this place since I was here last?” she asked.

“Um, I think those curtains are new,” said David absently as he attempted to wrestle a protesting Neal into his high chair. Henry grabbed a toy and distracted his uncle with it long enough for David to get the toddler’s legs through the holes and settle him in. Emma’s heart tripped again. Henry was so comfortable here, far more comfortable with her father and brother than she was, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

“We’re thinking of moving, actually,” said David, sitting down next to Emma. “There’s a farm just outside of town that’s for sale, we might buy it.”

“You want to be a farmer?” said Emma blankly.

“I grew up a shepherd,” he reminded her. “And this place won’t be big enough once Neal is older and wants his own room. Plus we haven’t entirely ruled out the idea of more kids. So I think it’s an opportunity we shouldn’t pass up. Your mother, on the other hand—”

“I don’t object to it, exactly,” said Snow as she set a bowl of salad and a large platter of chicken on the table. “It would just mean a long commute if I’m going to keep working with Regina.”

“You’re working with Regina?”

“I’m the deputy mayor,” said Snow.

“You are? Since when?”

“Um, about two years now?”

“Oh.” Emma fell silent as her parents launched into a debate on the merits of farm vs town in a way that made it clear that this was an old, comfortable discussion, frequently rehashed. Henry chimed in with a comment every now and then, egging them on, and Emma ate her chicken rather sullenly and tried not to feel left out.

“So what’s it like being back in Boston after so long?” David asked her, when the conversation hit a lull.

“It’s fine, I guess.” She shrugged. “A bit weird. I don’t normally like to go back to places I’ve left.”

An awkward silence fell and Emma felt herself flush. “I mean, I’m not saying I never would, but—”

“How about you, Henry?” Snow jumped in. “How do you like Boston?”

“It’s pretty cool. I like that there’s so much history. And my school’s really good.”

“Are you still having a hard time with math?” asked Snow, smiling fondly. “I remember that was always your downfall when you were in my class.”

“No, actually, I’ve got a really great teacher at the new school.” Henry shot Emma a questioning look and she nodded. “It’s, um, actually it’s Hook.”

“Hook?” David frowned. “What, like Hook Hook? He’s your teacher?”

“Captain Hook?” said Snow.

“How many Hooks do you know?” snapped Emma, irritated by their disbelief.

“Well,” said Snow, now looking surprised at Emma’s vehemence. “It’s just a bit strange, isn’t it? That Hook’s a teacher?”

“I don’t think so,” said Emma. “He always taught Henry stuff when he used to watch him before.”

“And my dad too,” said Henry. “In Neverland.”

“Really?” asked David, still frowning.

“Yeah. He’s the one who taught my dad how to navigate and how to sail. Seriously, Grandpa, he’s really good at it,” said Henry decisively. “Everyone loves his classes.”

David shook his head. “Not that I don’t believe you, Henry, it’s just hard to imagine. It’s hard to imagine Hook as anything but a pirate.”

“It’s not that hard,” retorted Emma, stabbing at a piece of lettuce on her plate.

“Well, you know, after Pan’s curse when we all landed back in the Enchanted Forest he could hardly wait to get back to his pirate’s life,” David pointed out. “He barely stayed with us for an hour.”

“Though to be fair, it was mostly his ship he wanted to get back to,” said Snow. “And it’s not like that was an option for him here.”

“That’s true,” David conceded. “I guess it’s hard to be a pirate when you’ve got no ship. He could’ve stolen one, but I genuinely did have the feeling he wanted to turn over a new leaf.”

“Wait, wait—what do you mean, no ship?” demanded Emma. “What happened to his ship?”

Snow, David, and Henry all turned to her in surprise. “Don’t you know?” asked Snow.

“Know what?”

Snow and David exchanged a glance. “Hook traded his ship,” said David. “For the magic bean he needed to get to New York to find you. Didn’t he tell you?”

“He traded his ship…” Emma’s head began to spin. “For me?”

“Well, yes, in a way,” said Snow. “Did he really not tell you?”

“No. He never said a word.”

“Well I guess we only know because David basically dragged it out of him,” said Snow.

“He was moping around the town so much after you left,” said David. “Drinking and getting disruptive. I threw him in the cells for a night and in the morning tried to gently suggest he might be happier if he took his ship out for a few days to clear his head, and he said that would be a bloody challenge when Blackbeard had his ship.”

“Blackbeard!” Henry exclaimed. “I didn’t know that part. He hates Blackbeard. Said he’s the worst kind of pirate, a man with no code and no honour. Why would he trade his ship to Blackbeard?”

“He didn’t say. I guess he just really wanted to get back here and find Emma.”

No one was looking at her but Emma could feel the weight of their attention, and she groped desperately for something to say, some way to respond to this revelation. But as always when she was overwhelmed with emotion, no words came. She poked at her food, feeling frozen and numb and so terribly sorry, and desperate for a distraction.

One came a minute later in the form of a knock on the door. Emma had never been more glad in her life to see Regina, come to pick up Henry with Robin Hood and a delighted Roland at her side. In the bustle and confusion that followed their arrival, Emma slipped away to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water, downing half of it in one gulp then pressing the cool glass to her temple as she tried to calm her turbulent thoughts.

Regina hugged Henry and watched as he hugged Robin and Roland, smiling a smile that made Emma blink with a new shock of astonishment. It was unnervingly soft for the erstwhile Evil Queen, warm and happy.

“What the hell happened to Regina?” she whispered to her mother when Snow came into the kitchen with their empty plates.

“What do you mean?” Snow frowned. “She looks just the same to me.”

“Yeah but remember I haven’t seen her in three years. She looks… well, she looks happy.”

“She is happy,” said Snow. “She and Robin got married last year you know, and—” she broke off when she saw Emma’s face. “You didn’t know.”

“Huh-uh.”

“But didn’t Henry tell you? He gave her away.”

“I—don’t really ask Henry about his visits here. And you never mentioned it.”

“You don’t ever seem to want to talk about Storybrooke with me either,” Snow replied. “You ask how everyone is, but whenever I try to offer details you change the subject. Have you left this place behind so completely, Emma?”

“I’ve tried to,” said Emma, in a burst of honesty. “I wanted to get away from all of it—magic and villains and being the Saviour. I never wanted any of that and I never really felt like I belonged here.”

“You never really tried,” said Snow. “But there’s always a place for you in Storybrooke, sweetie, whenever you want to take it.”

…

Killian parked his car in front of Granny’s and got out slowly, taking in the sight of the familiar streets and buildings with a resigned sigh. He hadn’t been back to Storybrooke since he’d moved to Brookline, hadn’t had any desire to return until seeing Emma again had stirred up all the old feelings he’d worked so hard to bury. This past week his new life had felt like it was suffocating him—the students who looked up to him, the colleagues who respected him, Anabel who loved him. All of them so obviously concerned by the shift in his mood, caring about him, and the weight of all the pretence he’d built around himself threatened to crush him. Not a single one of them truly knew him, what he was and the things he’d done, the life he’d led for so very many blood-soaked years, and Killian hadn’t been able to bear another second of their kindness.

The Rabbit Hole was just as he remembered, loud and raucous and full of people playing their own game of pretend, fuelled by alcohol and shielded by the brittle jocundity of such places. He looked around for Tink but couldn’t see her, and though he strained his ears could hear nothing over the pounding music. He pushed through the crowd towards the bar where he finally caught sight of her, perched on her knees atop a barstool and waving him over.

“Hey!” she cried, leaping down from the stool and throwing her arms around him. He froze in surprise for a minute then tentatively hugged her back.

“Tink,” he said cautiously. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, fine.” She released him and stepped back, grinning as she took him in. “I guess I just missed you.”

“That’s new,” he snorted.

“Well you used to call me, if you remember, the first year or so after you left. Now I barely hear a word for months on end until suddenly you text to say you’ll be here in three hours and can I put you up for the night. So I have to ask, is everything okay with you?”

Killian tried to summon his old cocky grin and some quip to reassure her, but they refused to come. Everything wasn’t okay, far, far from it, and he knew this was at the root of his spur of the moment decision to come back to Storybrooke. He needed to talk to someone who truly knew him, all of him, and who had known him at his worst. Tink was, as strange as it may be to think about, his best friend.

“No,” he said, and watched her eyes widen at the stark honesty of his reply. “I’m not okay. At all.”

Tink’s face softened and she looped her arm through his, and he let her lead him to an empty pair of stools at the very end of the bar. They sat and Tink ordered a bottle of rum and two glasses, then rested her hand just above his prosthetic and listened, keeping his glass filled as he told her everything. He told her of how hard he’d worked to make a place for himself in this land and build a new life to go with it, and how at times he felt that he’d succeeded in that aim but at others felt a complete fraud. He spoke about his job and how much he loved it and the joy of helping his students learn, but how he still felt unworthy of the trust placed in him by the school and by their parents. He told her about Anabel and how much he wished that he was whole enough to love her and then finally, haltingly, he spoke of Emma. About seeing her again and all that had occurred between them, and the way he’d spiralled afterwards into a depression so deep he wasn’t sure he could recover.

“I’m so tired of living sometimes,” he said. “You know what I mean.” It wasn’t a question but Tink nodded anyway, memories of long nights spent sharing rum and companionship in Neverland hanging thick between them. “Obviously time passes differently there, you have less of a—a sense of it passing, but—”

“But it still passes,” she said.

“Aye. It still passes, and I’ve passed so bloody much of it. And sometimes I think about how in terms of the physical age of my body I’m only about thirty-five. I could live another fifty or sixty years, easily, what with the medical marvels in this realm, and at times I just wonder—” he drew a deep breath “—I wonder if that’s really what I want.”

“You want to die?” Tink asked carefully.

“Not precisely.” Killian tossed back his rum and she poured him some more. “I’m just exhausted by the prospect of more living. Does that make any sense at all?”

Tink nodded, sipping her own drink before speaking. “Years can be a burden,” she said. “Fairies are immortal so we don’t feel them the same way humans do, but we see how they affect you. Most humans your physical age would still have a lot left to look forward to but you’ve already lived the lifetimes of at least three men. It’s understandable that the prospect of living another might feel overwhelming.”

“So what the hell am I supposed to do about it?”

“Well, assuming you don’t actually want to end your life?”

“I don’t,” he assured her. Though he couldn’t deny that the thought had crossed his mind in his more desperate moments, Killian had fought too hard for his survival to ever end himself by his own hand.

“Then you have to find something to live for,” said Tink. “Or someone?”

He shook his head. “Emma doesn’t want me.”

“It doesn’t have to be Emma.”

“It can’t be anyone else,” he muttered, glowering into the depths of his glass. “Not for me.”

“You felt that way about Milah too.”

“I thought I did, but this is different. Milah and I—we were in love but our relationship wasn’t healthy. I can see that now. We didn’t bring out the best in each other; in fact we probably brought out the worst. She wanted the cocksure pirate and so I leaned into that role, for her. We both leaned into it, and we enjoyed it, the plunder and the destruction and the casual cruelty. I think it made us both feel powerful.” He sipped his rum and shot a sideways glance at Tink, who was watching him attentively and still without judgement.

“But Emma, though,” Killian continued, setting his glass down and flexing his fingers around it. “Emma makes me want to be better. Even when I thought I’d never see her again, even though I know we’ll never be together I still want to be the man she inspired me to become.” He squeezed the glass harder, almost hoping it would shatter in his hand. “But then, if I’m only being that man because of her is that truly who I am? And how can I try to build a life with someone like Anabel when I know I can’t love her as she deserves and I’m only even remotely like someone she might want because of my feelings for another woman?”

Tink wrapped her arms around one of his and squeezed it sympathetically, resting her head on his shoulder. “I wish I had an answer for you, Hook,” she said. “But who you truly are, or can be, is a question you have to work out for yourself.” She paused as they both drank. “Have you ever considered telling Anabel about your past?”

He snorted. “Tell a sensible science teacher from the land without magic that I’m Captain Hook? Oh yes that would go over brilliantly.”

“That’s not what I meant,” said Tink. “I meant telling her a modified version of what happened to you, with your parents and Liam and Milah. Letting her see a bit more of who you are and what shaped you.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Killian sighed and ran his hand over his face. “I’ve thought about it. I genuinely don’t know if it would help or just be a burden on her. For all she knows I’m just a normal man born in Bristol, England in 1981. How would I even begin to fit parental abandonment, a dead brother, and two tragic romances into that man’s life?”

“Two?”

“She already knows about Emma.”

“Right. Well, you’d have to get creative, but if it helped her know you better? At least you could try.”

Killian drank again then tightened his arm to pull Tink closer, resting his cheek on her head as the the pleasant haze he craved began to settle over his mind. “Do you know why I fell in love with Emma?” he asked. Tink shook her head, her hair tickling his nose. “It wasn’t her courage or her kindness or her beauty, though those are all contributing factors. It was because she understood me. We understood each other, from the very beginning, in a way I’d never known before. It scares her but I—I crave it. And that’s what’s missing with Anabel and with every other woman I’ve known, even Milah. That connection of the whole self. It’s something that can’t be forced or—or brought into being. It is or it isn’t, and that’s that.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure that I don’t have the energy to sort through all of this realm’s women in hopes of finding a pale reflection of it. I’ve found the love of my life, Tink. It took three centuries but I found her, and I offered her my heart, and she refused it. I don’t think the answer is to try to patch over that wound with another woman. I don’t know what the answer is. Perhaps there isn’t one.”

He frowned as Tink tensed against him, her eyes going wide. “Perhaps the answer is Emma,” she said. “And you just haven’t asked the right questions yet.”

He followed her gaze and felt his jaw clench. Tink clung to him for another brief moment, whispering in his ear. “She might still be your answer, Hook. Don’t lose hope just yet.”

…

Once Henry left to spend the night with Regina and her parents went to put Neal to bed, Emma muttered something about taking a walk and fled the loft, desperate for some space and time alone to sort through her muddled thoughts. As painful and chaotic as they were she knew she had to think them, and feel the feelings that they brought. Already she’d lost so much by trying to run from her feelings. More even than she’d known.

Killian had given up everything for her. That was the thought that kept echoing in her brain. He’d given up his ship, his home, his most prized possession. He’d given it to a man he hated, all so that he could get back to her, knowing she wouldn’t even remember him. All to bring her back to her family. Her home.

And what had she done? She’d scorned him and pushed him away, denied her feelings and run away from them and from him the first chance she got. No wonder he was so hurt. No wonder that pain had turned to anger. He should be angry, she thought in disgust, he should hate her. Yet she knew that despite everything he didn’t. He may not want anything to do with her anymore but he didn’t hate her. She almost wished he did. It might actually make the weight of her guilt and regret easier to bear.

For the first time in her adult life Emma actually, genuinely faced her feelings, and thought seriously about what they were and what they meant. She didn’t love Killian, not the way he loved her, but she could. All the elements were there, from the way they had always understood each other to how easily she’d trusted him to the electric sizzle of their sexual chemistry. It was that could that had scared her, sent her running three years ago. The vulnerability it represented, the loss of control, terrified her. It felt like standing at the edge of an abyss with her her toes hanging over the edge and a gale force wind at her back. She’d fallen into that abyss before with terrible consequences, but then Killian was not Neal. She knew, somehow, beyond any doubt, that if she let Killian Jones into her life he’d never leave her.

If she had let him in. It was too late now.

She began to cry again, not with the wrenching sobs she’d cried the day before but with heavy, drenching tears that flooded her cheeks and dripped off her chin faster than she could wipe them away. Her chest felt hollowed out, aching and empty and hopeless.

She caught sight of the neon sign for the Rabbit Hole and swerved abruptly to her right, cutting across the street without looking for cars. Fortunately there were none. This was Storybrooke, after all, even on a Saturday night. And she really, really wanted a drink.

The Rabbit Hole was fairly busy, its noise and bustle comfortingly familiar. Emma kept her head down as she moved towards the bar, hoping no one would recognise her. It wasn’t until she was nearly there that she spotted Killian.

He was sitting at the end of the bar with a half empty bottle of rum and Tinkerbelle beside him, her arms looped through his and her head on his shoulder. The obvious, comfortable intimacy between them sharpened the ache in Emma’s chest and reminded her of her suspicions about what their relationship had been in Neverland. She was certain it was more than either of them had let on.

As she stood frozen and wondering what to do, Tink looked up, her eyes widening in recognition. Killian frowned and followed her gaze and when he saw Emma the look that flashed across his face nearly broke her heart. He shook Tink off and stood up, tossing back the rest of his glass of rum and heading for the door.

Before she could think better of it, Emma spun on her heel and took off after him. She caught his arm just before he could reach the door and he spun around, yanking it from her grip.

“Bloody hell, Swan, can I never be free of you!” he cried, and the hopeless defeat in his voice made her tears well again. She forced herself to remember that his feelings were justified, that she had done this to him and that he didn’t owe her forgiveness or anything else.

“I’m sorry,” she said in a small voice. “I didn’t know you’d be here and I don’t want to bother you, but Killian—”

“What?”

“My dad—he told me what you did. How you traded your ship for a magic bean to come find me in New York.”

A faint flush coloured Killian’s cheeks and he shifted uncomfortably. “It was nothing,” he said. “Anyone would have—”

“No, anyone definitely would not have,” cried Emma fiercely. “You gave up everything you had to get me back here and then I just turned my back on it, and on you. And I’m sorry. I’m truly sorry, Killian, and I don’t expect you to forgive me. I just—I wanted you to know.”

He swallowed hard and gave her a small, guarded smile. “You made what you thought was the best decision for yourself and Henry,” he said gruffly. “That’s all anyone can do. I’m just glad you’re happy.”

“But I’m not,” she burst out. “I’m not. I mean, I’m not unhappy exactly but I miss—I miss you.” She heard his sharp intake of breath but barrelled on before she could lose her nerve. For once in her life she knew just the words she wanted to say and she was going to say them.

“And you were right,” she continued. “I knew how you felt about me and I threw it back in your face and pushed you away whenever I could. I was scared of my own feelings, of how strong they were, and I know that’s no excuse but all my life I’ve always run from things like that. I run from things that make me feel too much and I still can’t believe that anyone could really care as much about me as you seemed to and so I ran before I could find out that you didn’t. I know I hurt you. It wasn’t always unintentional, and God, Killian, I am so fucking sorry for that too.”

She swallowed hard, twisting her hands together, feeling the intensity of his gaze on her but not daring to meet it. “And I know that there’s no chance for—for us anymore but I wanted you to know how much I regret it. There’s nothing in my life I regret more than ruining things between us before they could even really start.”

Gathering her courage she looked up at him, and caught her own breath at the expression on his face, that soft, intense expression she’d missed so much. “Do you want there to be a chance?” he said hoarsely. “If there was a chance, would you—could you take it?”

Emma gasped again as hope exploded in her heart and it began to race. She nodded. “Yeah. I think I could. I would.”

“You think?”

She stepped closer, looking up at him, hardly daring to breathe. Music pounded through the air around them, voices shouted, bodies danced, and they were the only two people in the world.

“I could,” Emma whispered, “I can and I will if—if that’s what you want too?”

Killian drew a shaky breath and his fingers trembled as he reached up to caress her face, brushing softly across her cheek before sliding into her hair. He pressed his lips to hers in the gentlest kiss of any they had shared, a butterfly’s wing of a kiss, a kiss of promise and forgiveness and hope. Emma sighed into it as it slowly deepened, as Killian’s fingers tightened on the back of her head and hers gripped his jacket and she couldn’t suppress a moan.

When they broke apart she was breathless and dizzy and he was beaming, a bright, dazed grin that made her heart soar as he leaned his forehead against hers. “Do you really mean it, Emma?” he whispered. “You really want—”

“You,” she said. “Yeah. I want you, and I want us.”

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. “I’m yours, love,” he said. “As you know.”

“Just like that?” Emma pulled back enough to look at his face while keeping her arms tight around him. “After all the hurt I caused you, you can just forgive me?”

“Aye, just like that. I’m not saying all the hurt is healed or that we don’t have things to work through. But of course I can forgive you. I love you.”

“Killian—”

“Shhhh, let’s just leave it there for now,” he said. “It’s nothing we didn’t both already know. We’ll work on the other half later.”

“Later,” Emma murmured, snuggling back into his arms. “I like the way that sounds.”

…

@thisonesatellite @katie-dub @mariakov81 @stahlop @teamhook @kmomof4 @shireness-says @thejollyroger-writer @snowbellewells @jennjenn615 @tiganasummertree @lfh1226-linda

#cs fic #captain swan #canon divergence #3b divergence #angst #smut #angst with a happy ending #cs ff #cs ff au #lots of feelings #some heartbreak #they get there in the end #all the perfect things (that i doubt)#profdanglaisstuff #birthday fic #ohmightydevviepuu

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talesofstyles · 5 years

Text

On S’envoie en L’air?*

*Shall we have a shag?

So, here we go again ladies. We can never have too many husband!harry and dad!harry on holiday mode, can’t we? Enjoy this 6.5k of Harry dealing with a wriggly baby on the plane who couldn’t sit still, to him teaching his little one how to swim. Followed by a quickie at nap time and a little cockwarming on the balcony to end the day. Yes, you read it right, on the balcony. But no, they didn’t get arrested for indecent exposure. Let me know what you think!

With Harry’s break aligned with your eldest son’s half term, you both figured it would be nice to squeeze in a little early summer holiday where you got a few days of much-needed quality time with your little family. Harry had been away for four weeks and it was the first time you had to handle your two children on your own. Normally, you wouldn’t think twice before packing your stuff and your kids’ to tag along with him wherever he goes, but your three year old just started nursery back in January, and your days of being able to drag him around the world whenever you want were finally over.

However, that wasn’t entirely a bad thing. Both of you knew right from the start that you wanted to give your son as much stability as he could get, and although the circumstances wouldn’t allow it sometimes, you and Harry knew you would fight for your children to have a normal childhood just like what both of you had. Juggling a three year old—which however sweet he could be, he still has his moments just like any three year olds would—and a one year old who just got the hang of walking—on your own wasn’t easy. Thankfully though you had the most amazing support system. Both yours and Harry’s parents and siblings, even some of your close friends were happy to help you to keep two children alive. Harry called about a hundred times a day—thank goodness for FaceTime because otherwise, you might need to dip into your children’s school fund to pay for the phone bill. You knew that both of you had your own challenges; for you were to stay home and hold the fort and for him was to be away from his family. There was no point on arguing whose position was more difficult because you knew both of you had your own struggles, but that didn’t stop the nosey comments saying that you were basically a single parent although you knew were the furthest thing from it. Comments like that pissed you off because even though sometimes they said it with a good intention to praise you, you hated hearing it because to you it felt like you were dishonouring your husband and all the work he had to do to provide for your family. Before Harry went away, he made sure that all the bills were paid and your cars tuned up so you wouldn’t have any problems whilst he was away. He made sure that your home was good and that there were no leaks. Even though he wasn’t physically with you, it felt as if he was through phone calls and video calls and all that. He was always present.

Still, though, nothing beats his actual presence. The kids were over the moon to have him back home. He slipped back into his role perfectly, effortlessly. Whenever he’s home, you’re reminded again of how much of a husband and a dad he is.

If it was a holiday for just the two of you, Harry would definitely take you on his private yacht to cruise around the Mediterranean. But you both learnt your lesson the hard way last time you went yachting, that toddlers do NOT belong there. There was almost no safe space for your oldest to play outside so you saw less of the sea and spent most of your time inside the cabin making sure that those curious grubby fingers didn’t touch anything and that he didn’t crawl around the area that he wasn’t supposed to. With two toddlers now, you knew that wasn’t an option.

So you settled in a hotel in the French Riviera, or Côte d’Azur, with a private beach where you could let your kids run around without having to worry about the paps lurking around. Amalfi Coast has always been your favourite destination, but this time you wanted to take your children to the Mediterranean coast of France for a change. A cot and an extra bed were placed in the separated living room area for your babies, which was perfect because it wasn't far from your bed yet it wasn’t that close should you and Harry needed some privacy.

It was your second day at the hotel. You’d arrived in the evening the day before and didn’t get to do much besides ordering room service and putting the kids to bed straight away. The flight from London to Nice was only two hours, but there was a two hours delay, which ruined your plan because you’d planned your flight around the time your youngest’s nap time but the delay making her slept at the airport instead of on the plane. Having just recently discovered her feet and got the hang of walking, she could barely sit still, making Harry walk up and down the aisles the whole time holding his baby girl’s hands above her head. You were lying if you said you didn’t enjoy the sight of Harry being on full dad mode as you sat down through a whole movie.

You put your excited three year old to bed with a promise that you’d take him swimming when he woke up. Something that both you and Harry immediately regret the next morning when your little boy woke you up at six am sharp.

“Mummy! Daddy!” a bright voice piped up waking you up from your slumber. “Wakey, wakey!”

Harry groaned from beside you. “Too early, mate.”

“But daddy,” the three year old whined as he walked to Harry’s side of the bed. “You promised we could swim when I woke up!”

“After breakfast, yeah? We’ll swim then,” Harry tried to convince him again, reaching out his hand to ran his fingers through the blond mop that had a curly end now that it was humid. “Now get in ‘ere and give yer old man a cuddle,”

“No!” he scowled, crossing his arms across his chest to make a point of how annoyed he was. His eyebrows knitted, and Harry had to bite his lower lip to keep him from laughing at your little chap.

“No?” Harry repeated his answer before letting out a yawn, as he sat up to lean against the plush pillow before he growled playfully. “How dare you?!”

“Ssh,” you shushed him. “Pipe down, you’re gonna wake the baby.”

“Sure you don’t want to give me a cuddle?” He asked the angry toddler again, his voice lower this time after your warning, and he shook his head firmly. A deep frown visible on his little face. “Right then, I’ll get m’cuddles from mummy.”

You groaned as Harry dropped his body weight dead on top of yours. “Oi! Get off me you fatso!” you protested, trying to push him away and failing miserably. Harry just hummed as he locked you in a bear hug.

You were about to let out another groan when you heard a babbling sound from the living room. The sound made Harry climbed off you and made his way to the living room to get your littlest love. With Harry away, you tapped Harry’s empty side of the bed, trying to convince your oldest again to climb up so you could have at least a few more minutes in bed before you had to get up. “C’mere, yeah? Five minutes. Then we’ll get ready and head downstairs for breakfast. How does that sound?”

“Then we’ll swim?”

“Then we’ll swim,” you nodded as he ran to your side of the bed so you could pick him up. The bed was way too high for him to climb.

Harry reappeared with your fourteen months old on his hip. Her hair, much darker from her older brother, was sticking out and the humidity also made it curly at the end. “Good morning sunshine,” you greeted her and she flashed a huge grin as Harry placed her on the bed so she could crawl to you.

“One of these days we need to get you two to sleep in,” Harry joked as he sat back down on his side of the bed, another yawn escaped from his mouth. “We’re on holiday.”

“M’hungry,” your three year old mumbled.

“Are yeh?” Harry simpered. “Think you’re just saying that so we can go and get breakfast and you can swim.”

George wasn’t quick enough to fight a cheeky smile that was creeping onto his face, realising that his father had cracked his code. “Tha’ a smile I see?” Harry cocked his head, smirking at your smart three year old.

“Alright, come on let’s get ready.”

***

It took nearly an hour just to get everyone out of the door and go downstairs to the buffet area to get breakfast, which didn’t surprise you anymore since you had kids. The weather was lush so you decided to sit on the terrace, taking in the amazing view of the blue sky meeting the blue water of the Mediterranean sea. From where you were sat, you could also see the large outdoor pool and the rows of sun loungers by the pool. There were also several cabanas a little tucked away to the side, and you already had your eyes on one on the left where you could already see yourself chilling when your baby girl naps and Harry takes your little lad swimming.

“Oh, look, there’s crêpes au nutella. Would you like that, George?” you asked your little boy and he nodded eagerly at the mention of his favourite food. You were pretty sure that he could live on crêpes if you would let him.

Harry cleared his throat before he decided to be the party pooper. “No chocolate for breakfast please.”

“Oh come on, we’re on holiday,” you stood up for your little boy. Although that mainly just because you wanted to get the same thing and you knew you wouldn’t be able to if Harry didn’t let him have it. Harry had always been a pretty laid back parent, but when it came to food it was a whole nother story. He was—and still is—the health freak one in your family. “What’s the harm in that?”

“Fine,” he finally sighed. “You better enjoy that mate, none of that when we get back.”

Your little boy squealed happily and Harry knew he made the right decision when he saw how happy he made him just for saying yes.

“Should we head to the beach or the pool after this?” you turned your head at Harry as you fed your littlest her fromage frais.

“Think the beach first would be nice,” Harry said, looking over at the sea in front of you. “Look at the water, s’unreal,”

“Gorgeous innit,” you agreed.

“Are there sharks in the water?” your three year old asked, and both you and Harry laughed. “I don’t wanna go to the beach, they’re gonna bite me!”

“That depends,” Harry deadpanned. “Are you a good boy? Sharks don’t like good boys, they don’t taste as nice. So if you be a good boy and listen to mummy and daddy, sharks won’t bite you.”

“I want to listen to mummy and daddy,”

“Good boy.” Harry praised him, winking at you as you rolled your lips inwards to keep yourself from laughing.

***

“It’s sticky,” George grimaced, twisting his face as you applied the sun cream all over him properly. Getting Harry’s porcelain-like skin mixed with your sensitive skin, your wee bairn burns like he’s ginger so it required proper care under the sun. With his sunnies resting loosely on top of his button nose, he looked beyond adorable with his Finding Nemo swim shorts, the one that you caved in to buy because he didn’t want to let it go even when you were already paying for it at the till.

“I know my love, I’m sorry,” you scrunched up your face in empathy. “But I’m almost done, just a sec- there you go. All done. Harry!”

“Yeah?” Harry replied from the living room, bouncing your baby girl on his hip as he walked to where you were sat on the bed. “S’my turn?”

You hummed in response. “I’ve put it on the kids, now sit here so I can rub it on your back.”

“Oooh back rub!” He exclaimed excitedly. “Been ages since the last time I got a back rub.” He smirked at you before he made his way to the bed and sat down, your baby girl babbling happily on his lap, playing with the cross on his chest.

“Last time this happened, that happened,” you tilted your head to your baby girl and Harry snorted. “All done.”

“Thank you,” Harry stood up, his hand reaching out to take the bottle of sun cream from your hand and tapping the space at the end of the bed so you could crawl forward and he could apply the sun cream on you. “Back’s done. Now turn around.”

“I can do the rest, thanks,” you turned around, reaching out your hand for the bottle of the sun cream and huffed when your husband cheekily shook his head.

“Nonsense, I’ve still got some on my hands here. Don’t wanna waste it, love,” he said as he began to apply it on your arms, shoulders, before his hands creeping down and sneak into your bikini top.

“Hey!” You scolded him. Your tone chastising, stopping him from applying the cream in inappropriate places right in front of your fourteen months old.

“Wha’? S’for the girls!” He defended himself, smiling cheekily as you rolled your eyes. “We don’t want ‘em to burn, do we?”

“Your daughter is right there!” You tilted your head to your baby who was sat on the floor. “Gimme the bottle,”

Harry jutted out his lips in protest but he handed the bottle to you. To make himself useful he double checked the beach bag that you were going to take with you downstairs. “Got everything we need?”

“Think so,” you mumbled. “M’also thinking about bringing the pushchair so your daughter can nap in it.”

“Good idea,” he agreed, before scooping the baby up into his arms and brought her back to the living room area where the pushchair was, and buckled the baby on it. “George, you ready mate?”

“Daddy, can I take this?” He looked at Harry with puppy dog eyes as he showed Harry his Schleich figurines that he took with him. “Please?”

“Yes but not all,” Harry nodded and George beamed with such joy. “Two should be enough, shouldn’t it?”

“Mhm,” the little boy nodded eagerly as he took a blue whale and a dolphin. “We don’t want it to get lost.”

“Alright, let’s go,” you said as you walked into the living room with the beach bag.

“Let’s go to the beach, each, let’s go get a wave~” Harry started singing as he pushed the pushchair out the door and you shook your head as you laughed at your dork of a husband, which you weren’t surprised, really. He had always been such a dork, but what surprised you, it was when your darling three year old started to sing along with his dad as you walked down the hall to the lift.

“They say, what they gonna say? Have a drink, clink, found the bud light,” he sung proudly and you knew if there was any social worker nearby who heard him singing that song they would probably take him away. “Bad bridges like me is hard to come by.”

“Bad what?” Harry stopped and asked him, trying his best to stifle his laughter.

“For the love of God, Harry, don’t correct it,” you lowered your voice so Harry could hear but not your smart little boy because otherwise, he would definitely ask for the correct word. You rolled your lips inwards to keep yourself from laughing.

The private beach was right behind the hotel, so it only took you about five minutes from your room to get to the beach. At just a little after nine, it was still so quiet and empty and the four of you were the first there besides the lifeguard who was already on duty. It was a little chilly, but luckily still warm enough for a dip in the sea. You put all your belongings in one of the empty cabanas and took your baby out of her pushchair so she could walk around on the sand.

Harry was wearing his black swim shorts. His current state of hair that was similar to the one he had back in 2015, shoulder length with the front casually flipped to one side, was put up in a man bun. His tattoos were on display and it took everything in you to keep your hands to yourself and not to run your fingertips along the ink out in public and in front of your children.

Although on the other hand, Harry clearly couldn’t keep his hands off you. You had to keep yourself together when Harry’s cold palm lingered on your bare stomach as he stood behind you, looking at the lush view of the intense blue sea in front of you.

“Come on, mate,” Harry reached out his hand for your little boy to hold. “Let’s get in the water, shall we?”

“No, daddy,” he shook his head and hid behind Harry��s legs. “S’too big. Can we just go to the pool?”

“You’re right, it’s very big,” Harry agreed, nodding at the little boy who was still holding his leg. “But daddy will hold your hand. Can we try to walk there first? You’ll love it when the waves hit your legs. But if you still don’t like it we can go to the pool and try again tomorrow.”

“Y’won’t let go?” He looked up at his daddy as Harry took one of his hand, his other hand clutching the blue whale figurine.

“Never.”

George was hesitant at first, but Harry looked over his shoulder at you and you smiled at each other proudly when your first born walked alongside his daddy to where the small waves can hit their legs. You held your baby girl’s hands above her head and walked with her. You knew then which one you had to keep an eye on as they grow, realising that your little girl was much braver than her older brother. She was wriggling away trying to let go of your hands so she could crawl freely.

It didn’t take too long for George to finally cast out his fear. You laughed as you ran around after your littlest who had been crawling around and trying to eat the sand all morning, looking at Harry and your oldest who were playing with the waves.

“One… two… three… RUUUN!” Harry shrieked as the waves were coming, taking your little boy’s hand to ran away from it. “Fun, innit? Now should we go to the pool so daddy can teach you how to swim?”

“Yeah! But wait,” George cheered as he ran to the loungers to get the dolphin figurine and ran back to where Harry was, now holding both of his figurines on each of his hand. “They need to say goodbye to their friends!”

***

“Y’alright, mate?” Harry asked your little boy as he held him just above his waist. They’d just got into the pool so Harry wanted to make George as comfortable as possible with the water before he started. He was wearing a swim vest so he knew his little boy was safe, but Harry still wanted to take the opportunity to teach him how to swim properly. Harry glided him around, keeping his little body on top of the water.

“Mhm,” he hummed. He had gained a little more confidence in the pool rather than when he was still at the beach.

“First, daddy will teach you how to hold your breath. Can you do ‘aah!’” Harry demonstrated, inhaling as much air as possible before closing his mouth and blowing his cheek. “Then make big giant cheeks! Can you make big giant cheeks?”

The three year old giggled at his daddy as he nodded. “I can!”

“Great! Should we do it together? On the count of three, one… two… three… go!” They both inhaled and blew their cheeks, holding their breath for three seconds before they opened their mouth. “You did so good, mate! I’m so proud of you! Now should we try holding our breath under the water? Can you do it?”

“Yes!” He nodded excitedly, inhaling as much air as possible when Harry said ‘go’ and blowing his cheeks as Harry took him under the water and popped him back up after a few seconds. “Mummy, I can hold my breath under the water!”

“You really did! I saw that,” you praised him as you swam closer to them, holding your baby girl’s pool school floaties so she wouldn’t swim away. “That was really good!”

“Now should we show mummy how to blow bubbles? We’ll go ahead and put our mouths just at the top of the water, alright? Can you do that?” Harry asked him again and he nodded eagerly, mimicking what Harry did.

“S’fun, daddy!” He beamed as he blew more bubbles around the water, making his baby sister threw her head back in laughter.

“I’m glad you’re having fun, mate!” Harry said as he held the toddler on his arms, his little back leaning against his chest. “Now can you show me your soldier toes, sir? Can you point your toes? Good job! Keep them nice and pointing.”

“Soldier toes!” He giggled as he pointed his toes.

“Now can you keep your legs absolutely straight? Not bended knees, but straight legs,” Harry instructed and George listened to him, and began singing a random tune to help George to remember. “Nice straight legs, pointed toes, don’t bend your?”

“Knees!” George cheered excitedly.

“Exactly! Now daddy will sing a song, it goes like this; ring around the rosy, pocket full of posies, splashes, splashes, we all blow bubbles,” Harry sung. “First I will glide you around, and when I do, I want you to kick with your soldier toes. Then when I say splashes, I want you to splash with your hands,”

“Like nemo flipping his fins?”

“Yes! Then you remember how to blow bubbles, don’t you? Now can we start?” George nodded eagerly and Harry began singing. “Ring around the rosy, pocket full of posies, splashes, splashes, we all blow bubbles!”

***

“I feel bad he’s at the kids club,” you mumbled as you entered your hotel room. You’d spent all morning at the beach and at the outdoor pool with your husband and kids and even had lunch by the pool. But before you came back to your room, George wanted to see the playroom so Harry took him there and signed him up at the kids club and came back alone. “How did you drop him? Did he cry? You didn’t force him, did you?”

“Cry? He’d cry if I try to take him here,” Harry laughed. “The place looks sick, it’s huge. ‘Sides, I’ve got this pager and they could just ring if he wanted us to pick him up or if something happened.” Harry held the numbered pager for you to see. “Relax, love, he’s fine.”

“How long is the program?”

“Two hours. But he could stay afterwards and play there until five,” Harry explained as he walked towards the end of the bed where you were sat, fingers intertwined. “He’s fine, yeah? We’ve got nothing t’be worried about,”

“You’re right,” you finally admitted, taking your intertwining fingers closer to your mouth before placing a subtle kiss on his knuckles.

“Give me a proper kiss, darlin’,” he pleaded, holding your chin so you looked up at him. “Haven’t got a proper’un.”

“If you could move the baby to her cot without waking her up, I’ll give you more than that,” you smirked, the tip of your thumb running over his knuckles lightly, moving in circles.

“I’ve got a better idea,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss your hair before walking towards the entrance where your baby girl was fast asleep in her pushchair. You thought he was going to move her into the cot, but you were surprised when he appeared in your bedroom a few seconds later with her pushchair.

“What are you doing?!” you hissed, your eyes narrowed, looking at him in disbelief.

“Sssh,” he took his index finger onto his lips, motioning for you to be quiet as he opened the door to the huge balcony that was connected from the bedroom. He pushed the pushchair to the balcony, making sure your baby girl was tucked underneath a blanket incase it got too chilly for her, before coming back into the room with a cheeky grin that matched your three year old’s as he closed the door to the balcony. “How smart is your husband?”

“More like how terrible is the father of my children,” you joked. “Are you seriously leaving our baby daughter out there in the balcony?”

“Hey!” He complained. “She’s living her best life, y’know. The weather’s glorious outside.”

“Doesn’t mean you can just put her outside. She’s not your mum’s cat, y’know,” you deadpanned. Trying your best to keep your facial expression firm and not to smile at your husband.

“Course not, she’s way cuter,” Harry agreed, the corner of his mouth quirked up. He interlocked his fingers back with yours as soon as you were within his arm’s reach again. “We make pretty cute babies.”

“Did we?” You mused, smirking at him. You knew for sure what he was up to, but you decided to tease him a little. “Let me pluck your brows while we’ve got time.”

He looked at you in disbelief, his brows knitted and you rolled your lips inwards so you wouldn’t burst in laughter looking at his expression. “Are you joking? We’ve got time just for us for God knows how long and that’s what you want to do?”

“Could always take a nap if you don’t want that,” you shrugged. “I could use a nap.”

“Absolutely not,” he insisted, taking your chin and leaning down to press a long kiss to your lips whilst he’s got the chance. “We’re,” he paused to press another kiss, this time shorter than before, before he continued. “Not," he took another pause to peck you on the lips. “Taking,” you smiled on his lips as he gave you another kiss. “A,” this time, he didn’t even bother leaving your lips as he spoke. “Bloody,” the pause was far longer this time as he sucked on your lower lip. “Nap.”

“George could page us anyt-” you sucked in a harsh breath as Harry left a trail of kisses down your jawline to your neck and bare shoulders. “Anytime. And Eleanor could-”

“Could what?” Harry smiled smugly, knowing he had already won all along. “It’s gonna be fine, darlin’. She’s just right there, yeah?”

You looked at him, then to the floor to ceiling windows that separated the bedroom and the balcony where your baby girl was snoozing in her pushchair. She was knackered after swimming all morning, and her belly was full as well after you fed her lunch so you knew she wouldn’t wake up anytime soon. Harry knew it was just a matter of minutes before you gave in, knowing you wanted it just as much as he did. Hell, you needed it. Both of you.

“On s’envoie en l’air?” Harry whispered, still standing between your legs as you sat on the edge of the tall bed. You let out a little chuckle. “Wha’?”

“Nothing. S’just your three year old speaks better French than you,” you teased him and he tickled your sides, earning a burst of giggles from you. “It’s true! I swear you only know three sentences; going to the cinema with your family and friends, how to make a coffee this delicious and sh-”

“Shall we ‘ave a shag?” He cut you off, finishing your sentence. A boyish grin plastered across his face as he continued. “Think we shall, hmm?”

“Alright,” you gave in, scooting your body further up to the pillows so Harry could climb on the bed, his body hovering over you. “But we better be quick.”

He smiled smugly as his hand crept down to the waistband of your shorts. Humming as he left his palm lingered a few seconds too long on the particular spot on your knickers where it was far from dry. “Made me went through all those troubles of trying to persuade you yet you’ve been ready all along.”

“Harry,” you choked out his name as he applied more pressure right where you needed him the most. “Don’t tease. The kids-”

“Love, you’re the hottest bird I’ve ever laid my eyes on but if you keep talking about ‘em, m’afraid I won’t be able to do my job,” he shook his head and smiled, purposely licking his lips for a second just to wind you up. “Just lay there and enjoy, yeah? I’ve got you.”

“Where else am I gonna g-” your scoff was cut and turned into a whimper as he thrust himself into you without so much as a warning. “Harry,” his name came out of your mouth in a breathless voice repeatedly.

You knew it had been a while and that’s why you weren’t surprised when the first thrust only allowed you to take a few inches of him. You gasped when Harry pulled out, ready to scold him for doing so and leaving you empty before you felt the tip running up and down collecting your wetness.

On his second attempt, you felt more of him was inside you although not fully just yet. He let out a guttural groan as he lifted up your bum and rolled his hips to try and encourage you to take the last inch.

Dragging back, he repeated his attempt and slid himself into you again, this time completely filling you up to the brink and making you sob into the pillow. His thrusts were sharp and perfectly aimed and he didn’t stop when he felt you spasm beneath him. His lips almost never leave yours, kissing you deeper and longer and more passionate after each time.

You were glad he didn’t take his time. You loved it when it was slow, creating deeper intimacy that you certainly never really shared with anybody else before him. But you knew this time was called for a different kind of intimacy, which you were more than okay with because that was exactly what you both needed in that moment. There was this rush. There was this desperate need. Both of you not arsed to drag it longer than you needed to.

“Harry!” You scolded him as he sucked on your neck a little too hard, really not wanting him to leave any kind of visible mark because you didn’t plan to walk around the beach and chill by the pool in your turtleneck.

“Sorry, sorry,” he apologised, beaming cheekily, not looking sorry even just in the slightest bit.

“You’re inveterate,” you chuckled lightly.

“Such a big word,” he murmured as he slowed down his pace, aiming for a deeper and harder thrust each time. “M’not fucking you hard enough then if you can still think properly.”

“You’re all mouth and no trousers, Styles,” you teased him before you let out a gasp when he went even deeper as a response to your teasing remark.

“Better shut that pretty little mouth before I put it to work, doll.”

***

There was nothing like watching the sunset from one of the loungers on the huge enclosed balcony with medium-high walls in your hotel room. Sure, watching the sunset from the beach sounded like a dream, but you knew it was just not possible since it was past your littles’ bedtime, and the view from your balcony was more than enough. The sound of the waves crashing was like music to your ears, beyond peaceful and relaxing, and the sky was a perfect mix of violet, pink and still with a hint of orange.

Both you and Harry had just finished your last parental duty for the day that was tucking your babies in for the night. Bringing your children on holiday means you knew that you wouldn’t be able to go anywhere after their bedtime, so you were stuck with in-room dining for dinner which wasn’t bad at all since you didn’t need the fuss to get ready and could just eat in your bathrobe.

“It’ll be here in half an hour,” Harry announced as he opened the door to the balcony and stepped outside to join you watch the sunset. He had just called the room service to order your dinner, making sure to remind them not once but twice that when the food got there they should knock and not ring the bell because you had sleeping babies. You didn’t think about that on the night before and it took you about an hour to put your babies back to sleep. “Got you some gin and tonic as well.”

“Well, aren’t I the luckiest,” you smirked.

“Wanna sit behind yeh,” he mumbled, his fingers running through your hair. You loved it whenever he played with your hair, and you still do.

“Hmm,” you hummed in response. “Wanna rub my shoulders?”

“Well, I was thinking your cl-” Harry said nonchalantly and your eyes widened, you felt like they were about to pop out.

“Harry!” You scolded him, your tone chastising. You swore sometimes he sounded more like a sex-obsessed seventeen year old rather than a thirty something father of two. “I’m pretty sure that is considered as indecent exposure.”

Harry snorted in laughter. “Fine, we’ll just do something less risqué then.” He took your hand and helped you to stand up before sitting on the lounger and tapping his lap, motioning for you to sit on it, which you obliged. “Can I?”

“Can you what?” You asked him, tilting your head so you could meet his eyes.

“Slip it in,” He whispered. “Please?”

“Harry we’re not doing that out here,” you breathed, shaking your head. “’Sides I’m knackered and we literally just did it a couple hours ago.”

“I’m knackered too, we don’t have to do it. Just sit on it love, please? Nobody would see anything,” Harry begged desperately, his voice low and deep. “Wanna be inside yeh. Don’t have to move. I’m just- fuck, how am I supposed to keep my hands to myself after seeing you walking around basically half naked all day. Darlin’ pl-”

“Alright, alright,” you caved in and cut him off when he started rambling. The word just barely left your mouth when you felt his finger tugged at the hem of your white nightdress, feeling his fingertips ran further up your inside thigh before pushing them apart to spread you a little bit open for him. He let out a pleased hum when he realised that you weren’t wearing anything beneath your nightdress, knowing it would just make it easier for him.

“Fuck me,” he groaned. “No knickers, huh?”

“Eh, can’t be arsed,” you giggled. “You’re welcome, I guess?”

“Gonna be the death of me, y’know that,” he murmured as he pulled down his boxers just enough to let it free, before lifting up your bum to roll up your dress and nestled himself between your folds. You lifted yourself up just slightly higher, feeling the tip settle right where you need it to, and you slowly sank onto his length. You held onto his arm as you felt him disappeared inside you, slowly engulfing him in the warmest, wettest, and tightest spot he’s ever had the pleasure of being in. You threw your head back and he took the chance to pepper kisses down your neck, a small part of your throat, your shoulder. Your body accepted him with not even a slight resistance.

If someone asked you to choose your favourite sound in the world, right in that moment, you would probably say it was the sound that was currently filling your senses. The ocean waves crashing mixed with low hums and quiet gasps and soft, breathless “I love you”s. It was perfect in every way.

You could feel him getting harder inside you. His fingers played with the bow on top of the low V cut of your nightdress, untying it, exposing even more skin. Luckily it was completely dark outside now, so nobody would be able to see anything, not that anyone could even in broad daylight because your balcony was secluded. The feeling of him being inside of you, unmoving, was overwhelming yet somehow calming all at the same time. He was all bare and warm inside you, and you could feel his veins throbbing against your walls as he started to get worked up.

And as if it wasn’t enough for him, you had to sneeze, causing you to squeeze him even more and he moaned rather loudly at the sensation. “Fuck,” he growled, bucking up his hips to thrust into you despite your previous agreement, but he just couldn’t help it.

You whimpered as you felt him nudge a particular spot, and you decided to sit up straight to take more of him as deep as you could. But right just as you were about to start moving on him, you heard the doorbell rang and you jumped off your husband. Harry groaned in annoyance.

“Guess who’s just lost their tip?”

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