#and then I just sob and combust and wails and screams and cries

[latimeria-fell-from-heaven]

I just read the pregnancy question and now I’m just imagining the day Enjoy and his spouse bring their little one into the world and IMAGING ENJOU JUST...CARRYING THEIR CHILD IN HIS ARMS FOR THE FIRST TIME AND NOTING HOW TINY THEIR HAND IS COMPARED TO HIS AAAHHH (cue Enjou tearing up and vowing to always love their little baby...and potentially imagining giving them a sibling so their child is never alone?)

hi hi anon!

sjcbscbjshdcj omg nonnie, this is so cute and wholesome, like omg enjou is so soft for his child. anytime he looks at their little pudgy and squishy face, he swears he's about to combust from pure love and has to hold himself back from squealing at how utterly cute his child is.

when enjou lays his eyes upon the pudgy pink and squirming body that cries and wails out, he nearly thinks that this can't possibly be new life. the new life that he created with you.

you're utterly exhausted, skin gleaming with a sheen of sweat, and your pretty face is stained with tears from cries of pain and other mixed emotions. you'd been screaming and wailing throughout the whole process, the pressure and pain of the contractions as you pushed and pushed the baby out becoming absolutely unbearable.

the baby looks so weird, all wrinkly and covered in mixed fluids that give it a strange smell appearance. it makes all sorts of noises as its pudgy limbs reach and stretch out. it has some of his pyro markings on its skin, but it doesn't quite have the appearance of a full abyss lector. no, it has a human face, a mixture of his and your features that create this strange little baby.

so when he gently picks up his baby, a surge of raw emotions, unlike anything he's ever felt before, completely wash over him. he made this little child, he made it with you, it's breathing and reaching out into the air for something, anything to grip and hold onto. enjou holds up a clawed finger to its soft and delicate face, and a small but firm squeeze of his baby's hand on his finger makes his heart briefly skip a beat.

ahー

a tender smile spreads across his lips, and enjou feels his eyes begin to water up. tears begin to clump his lashes together and begin to spill over like an overflowing spring.

" my baby, it's my baby...haha." enjou doesn't know why he's laughing like this, but he's barely choking back the sobs. he just sniffles and holds his baby in his arms, gently cradling the precious little life that he'd made with you.

they're so small, so unbelievably small that he's scared that if he just gently squeezes it, his baby will burst and disappear. that's whyー

" hey..i'll protect you, okay? my sweet little baby, my small baby.."

enjou can feel the tears, but it doesn't matter. he's so happy to finally hold and cherish his little baby. and he has you there too, even if you're exhausted right now. the two of youーwell, three now, will be a happy, warm family.

enjou is sure of it.

#lati speaks #enjou x reader

[danadeservesadrink]

Do You Believe in Fate Chapter 4

So How’d It Go? Read on AO3 here

Angst warning!! This is an important chapter but damn was it hard to write! Tagging @today-in-fic . Enjoy and please let me know your thoughts!

“Dana Scully speaking”

“So how’d it go?”

“You know hello would have been nice Missy”

“Tell me! You can’t just leave the house on Thursday with that dress in your suitcase and expect me to not want details?”

“Did you go through my luggage?”

“I was looking for a top. But who was the guy? Was it David from work? Or Mark from that bar that one time?”

“And why should I tell you?”

“Dana this is the first time you’ve gone out in a year-”

“10 months.”

“Whatever. I just want to know who the lucky guy is.”

“His name is Mulder…”

“Mulder?”

“It’s his last name. He doesn’t like his first.”

“Mysterious. I like it. Go on.”

“He’s living in my old apartment”

“Wow Danes that seriously some rom com shit”

“I know, I know. He’s cute. Tall, far too confident, obviously brilliant…”

“Sounds like you’re already in love”

“But I don’t think it’s going to work out.”

“What, why? It was only the first date what could he have possibly done wrong”

“He works at the FBI. On unexplained cases of the supernatural variety. X files he called them.”

“Oh.”

“I don’t know if I can see him again.”

“Does he know?”

“Did I tell him on our first and probably only date that if he looks hard enough he likely has a file in his office with my name in it? No, he doesn’t know.”

“Do you think he’s doing an undercover investigation on you?”

“Gee thanks Mis, because the only reason a guy would be interested in me would be because he’s on a secret case”

“I’m not saying that! But don’t you think it’s a little weird that the minute you moved out of your old apartment an FBI agent investigating the paranormal moves in to take your place?”

“I don’t know Missy. I don’t know, it's just too much to think about. I’m going to go to bed now.”

“Ok. You’re coming home on Monday right?”

“Yea. I’ll see you then.”

“Goodnight Danes.”

“Night Missy.”

It was her luck that something like this would happen. Hadn’t she already been through enough? She left Stanford with a medical degree and all the freedom in the world, moved to her favorite city, and started saving lives. She made the world a better place, worked her ass off day in and day out to help children, saving God’s little angels, and how does He repay her? By ripping her life into pieces and throwing them into the trash, and then lighting the trash can on fire. So she moves back home, stays with her family. She recovers, she fights to get the life she had back, and she finally develops some sense of normalcy, even getting confident enough to go back out with a guy. And he’s a fucking alien investigator at the FBI. Like she hadn’t dealt with enough G-men already. Now this man who had somehow captivated her mind for the last month was just another threat. And she really was so naive as to believe the world would throw a perfectly good man in her lap.

She certainly hadn’t been looking. When he had first called her all she wanted was for him to leave her alone. She didn’t trust men anymore, and certainly didn’t feel like putting in the effort to court one. But talking to him in her apartment made her feel those butterflies she hadn’t felt in a long time. He just had this air around him, an aura that projected both confidence and a pure wild energy, a mix that intoxicated her every time she drew near him. He grabbed her wrist and she hadn’t worn a bracelet for the next week. She could still feel the phantom grip of his fingers and the electricity that flowed through them, like a newly connected circuit powering up for the first time. He hadn’t left her head since. She tried to call him as soon as she got home the next day, but she had been so caught up with his floppy hair and lopsided smile that she had completely forgotten to save his number from her mother’s phone to hers. So she placed faith in the postal system and hoped he would be charmed by her antics. And it worked. She was going out on a date with a man who made her head spin, one who tried to pretend that he was unphased by probably the tightest dress she owned even though he didn’t close his mouth for a full minute when he first saw her.

The date was perfect until they had talked about jobs. And then he dropped the bomb and she tried to brush off the feeling in the pit of her stomach by making stupid jokes and he laughed but she couldn’t help but dwell.

“UFO’s, cryptids, anything from crop circles to spontaneous human combustion. If the FBI can’t solve it, they toss it in my pile”

Did he know? He couldn’t have. What kind of psychopath brings up the fact that he studies alien abductions to someone like her. And if he really was undercover he wouldn’t want her to know what his real job was would he? He would have lied.

Unless he was toying with her.

Unless this was another experiment on her, another way to keep tabs on her, make sure she didn’t talk, make sure she was doing her very best to forget everything that happened to her.

She got up from the bed abruptly and shut the blinds on the windows. They clacked together and then the room fell into deep silence again.

He didn’t talk about work for the whole rest of the dinner. He talked about baseball, about how he goes for runs in the park she used to walk through after a long day shift. He said “Behold, a man” when the waiter brought out her garlic and herb chicken. Mulder wouldn’t do that to her. Mulder was just a man with a job whose only interest in her life was whether she was free next Friday to go out again. He paid for the cab back to her hotel and opened the door for her to get in. He was a gentleman.

He’s trying to get her to trust him.

And suddenly everything clicked into place and the air left her lungs. She found herself stumbling to the bed, she knocked over the lamp but it was in her way and she just needed to be in bed. Her ears were ringing, she couldn’t hear, everything was going in and out of black.

He’s watching you. He’s with them. He’s trying to silence you. He’s going to follow you, gain your trust and then he’s going to kill you. He knows where you live, he can track you down, they’ve tried to take her before and he will try again. He’s with them, he’s with them, he’s going to kill you, they’re going to kill you.

Everything’s bright and she’s back in that place with needles and tubes in and out of her, and she knows she’s in a hotel in DC but as many times as she tries to wrap the blankets around her and tuck her feet under her she cannot become small enough to escape them. She feels tears hot down the sides of her cheeks and the sounds of drills in her ears and there's no escape. She hears pounding and wailing and hands grip her wrists and they burn, they burn, so she screams. She won’t let them take her again, she won’t.

“Scully, Scully it's me”

She fights it, and it’s him, it’s Mulder and he’s trying to take her, like she thought.

“Let go of me!” She shrieks, flailing about but she’s trapped, he’s got her trapped, in bed sheets tied around her wrists and feet. “Don’t take me!”

He lets go but she’s still trapped, still fighting.

“Scully no one’s going to take you.”

“Yes! Yes they’re going to take me! You’re going to take me!” He touches her hand and it doesn't burn but it makes a lump in her throat and her fist turns flat. He pulls a sheet off of her and she feels exposed.

“Scully look at me.”

She does. She looks through tears at a blurred man in her hotel room. He doesn’t look like a threat. He looks sad.

“How did you get in here.” He steps to the edge of the bed and she pushes herself back towards the headboard, away. He raises both hands and walks to the other side of the bed where he sits.

“You left your wallet in the taxi. He called me because I paid and I picked it up and brought it here. I made it to your room and I wasn’t going to come in but I heard the lamp crash. So I used the spare key in the wallet and let myself in.”

He seemed to be telling the truth, holding up the wallet as evidence. She hadn’t even realized it was gone.She unlocked the door with the key she kept in her purse. She started to take in her surroundings, the lamp crashed to the floor, the bedsheets thrown from the bed. She looked up at him and saw nothing but concern over his face.

Every emotion, shame, embarrassment, anger, sadness, all of it hit her at once and she sobbed.

He reached over to touch her but she shouted “No!”, like a wounded dog. Her voice didn’t sound real. “Please don’t touch me”.

“Do you want me to go?”

“No.”

He watched as tears racked her body, never moving from his spot on the bed. She cried in a ball, hands covering her face, arms and knees tucked to her sides, protecting her from nothing. Then, she laid down, and cried until the tears had to be blinked down the sides of her face while she stared at the ceiling. She felt him get off the bed, and she bolted up, dizzying herself, but he nodded and only walked over to the minifridge to pull out a bottle of water. She sat up and he resumed his position at the end of the bed.

“Drink some water. Can you breathe again?”

She hated the way he talked to her, like she was a child. But he was right. She accepted the bottle and drank half, gulping down cold water as a welcomed change to the hot sheets.

“Yes. I’m sorry you had to see that. You can go now.”

“Don’t be sorry. I know panic attacks can be bad.”

“I’m ok now. You can go.” The crack in her voice made both of them wince. A different type of silence filled the room.

“You know I am a psychologist, but it doesn’t take an Oxford degree to diagnose PTSD.”

“I said I’m fine. You can go now Mulder.”

“What happened Dana.”

She sat and stared at him, sitting on her bed, asking her to spill her darkest secrets to him. Everything about telling him felt wrong but this is the first time anyone has offered to listen.

“About a year ago, a man broke into my apartment and abducted me. He drugged me and put me in the back of his truck and drove me to a cornfield in Virginia. I remember waking up and seeing the stars and trying to run but I was tied down. And then a bright light came and I-” She choked back another sob, but he shifted closer to her, eyes wide, and nodded for her to continue. “I don’t remember what happened. But my mother found me on her doorstep a month later in a hospital gown and…” her voice cut out. He again moved closer and when she didn’t pull back he slowly raised his hand and put it on her knee. He looked at her as if to ask “is this ok” and she nodded in response.

“I don’t remember anything except seeing my mother’s face again for the first time. She looked so… so terrified of me. Like I had grown another head or something. And then I looked down, and I was holding a baby”. She felt another tear run down her cheek.

“I was holding a baby and I didn’t know whose it was and I almost dropped it. Mom took it from me and my sister came and helped me inside, the whole time they were asking me where I’d been but I didn’t know. I didn’t remember anything. All of these people showed up at our house and asked me over and over again “where were you?” “what happened” and I just kept answering them I don’t know, I don’t know. They said I went on a bender. That I ran away from work and responsibilities, probably with some friends. They said I was pregnant and didn’t know it, and they tried to take the baby for testing but my mother wouldn’t let them. She didn’t believe them, she knew I wouldn’t do that. I don’t remember much of what happened next, but we packed up everything and moved out of my apartment… your apartment. They didn’t even open an investigation on the man that took me.”

“I can.” She had been staring at the lamp on the ground, she hadn’t noticed him staring at her with such intensity it made her shiver.

“You don’t get it. They didn’t open a case on me because there wasn’t enough evidence-”

“They didn’t open a case on you because you were abducted. The FBI has been trying to suppress alien abductions for years and you are just another victim. I could open a case on you, start an investigation, really stick it to them-”

“I am not a case that needs to be solved, Mulder.”

“But I can help you Scully. Do you remember anything from that night, anything at all?”

“Mulder!”

“I don’t understand, why would you not want to know what happened?”

“Because Mulder, because sometimes the weight of what happened is too much to bear. Because while you try to hunt down monsters they terrorize me in my sleep. Because there’s a baby in my house and I don’t know where it came from.” She realized she was yelling at him but she didn’t care. “Because frankly it’s none of your goddamn business what happened to me if I don’t want it to be. The men who you work for threatened to kill me and my family if I tried to find out what happened to me and for all I know you’re one of them.” Her voice was shrill and sharp like broken glass and it cut just where it needed to.  

“I’m sorry.”

She met his eyes again and they were wide and sad.

“I want to help you Scully. I’ll do…” he took a breath, “anything. I’ll do anything to help you.”

“I need you to leave.”

“Ok.”

He got up and she remained on the bed, drained.

“Will I see you again?”

“I don’t know.”

“Ok. Goodbye Scully.”

“Goodbye Mulder.”

#the x files #txf fanfic #msr #msr fanfiction #Dana Scully #Fox Mulder #angst #txf au #msr au #sam writes #plz let me know if you like this! #also my appologies again for the angst

[a-sirius-problem]

“Drive!” (Wolfstar angst)

// This took me so long to write and it could honestly be so much better. Despite that, I think it turned out pretty alright. Grab your tissues, get comfortable, and prepare to be hit with some big sads//

Sirius Black raced down the dimly lit street, breath coming out in heavy pants. In through the nose, out through the mouth, he reminded himself. The wind was strong and he knew that if not for the running and the adrenaline and the pure rage boiling through him he would be freezing. Over the sound of his pounding head, he could hear the faint cry of sirens in the distance. Sirius’ legs could hardly hold him up any longer and he quickly found the nearest alley way, slinking into it and crouching down behind a trash bin.

He leaned back and sat on his heels, head falling back against the brick wall supporting him and tried to get control of his breathing. The more he recovered from running, the more things started to settle- the more he wanted to break down.

Sirius’ motorcycle zipped down the road; he was on his way to the Potter’s residence. Upon opening the door and stepping through the threshold, he first noticed James laying on the staircase, eyes lifeless. Fear.

Jogging up to the second floor, his mind reeling, he saw Peter huddled in the corner. He was sobbing and clung to Sirius’ leather jacket, begging for forgiveness.

Sirius pushed him away and turned to Harry’s room. Lily was on the floor. Harry was crying in his crib. Anger.  “Peter… what’s happened?”

Peter begged, still, desperately claiming that he didn’t mean to.

Vision clouding with red, Sirius grabbed Peter by the collar of his shirt, slamming him painfully into the wall opposite Harry’s room. He paid no attention to the way the pictures hung up rattled dangerously with the impact. “I could kill you right now, you bloody rotten rat.”

Sirens.

Strong arms pulled him off of and away from Peter and before he could even blink, he was being dragged towards one of the many police cars parked in front of the house.

He struggled against the restraining arms violently, a scream rising in his throat that he refused to let slip out. I didn't do it! I didn't do it!

He broke free and ran.

Hot tears were streaming down his cheeks and his chest felt so tight it hurt. But he couldn't let it detour his mind. Sirius needed to think of something and fast; he wasn’t about to be arrested for a murder he didn’t even commit- let alone the murder of the only people he's ever considered family. The wailing drew closer by the minute and he observed his surroundings. There wasn’t much around- and more importantly, not many people.

Sirius stepped out of the shadows cautiously and not a second later heard a shout. “There! Black, he’s there!”

“Bloody Hell.” He cursed under his breath and sprinted in the opposite direction. He didn’t know where he was going, but he knew he had to get as far away as possible. Sirius watched as a man got into his car not too far ahead and got an idea. It was mad but absolutely brilliant and he thought with a sharp pang of sorrow that James would have loved it.

He hurriedly made his way to the car and clambered into the passenger’s seat without so much as a glimpse at the befuddled owner. His voice was strained when all he said was “Drive!”

Sirius’ panicked state must have woken the man and he complied with barely a hint of hesitance. They drove and drove and all the while Sirius watched behind them, on the lookout for any police that would be on their tail.

After they were a safe distance away, Sirius let himself calm down a little and sat properly in his seat. He allowed himself a look at the man driving.

His breath hitched. No.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” Remus’ inquiry was stern and if Sirius hadn’t known him better, he wouldn’t have heard the concern.

“It… it’s a long story.”

Remus gripped the steering wheel tighter. “My flat isn’t too far from here,” he kept his gaze on the road and Sirius couldn’t tell if Remus was angry at him or perturbed by the situation they had found themselves in. “You can stay there, I suppose. But you’re going to tell me why I just saved your sorry arse.”

In any other scenario, Sirius would respond with something cocky and Remus would scoff at his ludicrousy. But this wasn’t any other scenario.

The rest of the drive consisted of nothing more than thick silence and when they arrived at Remus’ flat, Sirius was careful to subtly scan his surroundings as he followed the other inside.

Remus set his keys on the kitchen counter and gestured to a beat up looking couch. “Make yourself comfortable,” he offered absentmindedly as he filled a kettle with water. “Tea?”

“Please,” Sirius felt sick and even the thought of a bit of tea made his stomach churn. But he wasn’t about to decline the kind gesture. His hands were clasped tightly together in his lap and he could feel his body quivering. “Uh, Remus? Where’s your bathroom?”

“Down that hallway, first door to the left.”

Sirius was out of his seat in a heartbeat, his feet carrying him quickly to the bathroom where he leaned heavily on the counter, turning the faucet on and splashing the cold water on his face. He refused to look at himself in the mirror, head hung low. Only then did Sirius allow himself to break. His hand came up to muffle his broken sobs, eyes squeezed shut and breaths coming out uneven.

How was he going to tell Remus?

-

The two of them sat at a small table in Remus’ kitchen, not speaking nor looking at one another. The window next to Sirius hung ajar, letting cool October air seep into the flat.

Eventually, Remus broke the silence. His voice was soft, almost as if he was hesitant to ask. “So…” he trailed off and Sirius’ focus remained on the steaming mug he held in front of him. Remus sighed. “What’s going on, Sirius?”

Hearing his name roll off of Remus’ tongue so easily sent a shiver down his spine and he finally looked up towards him. Remus looked tired, the bags under his eyes prominent and dark. Sirius thought to bring them up but decided it best not to. They had bigger things to discuss.

Sirius’ shoulders tensed and his brain scrambled for the right way to explain and he realized with dread that there was no way to say it that would make it any better. He took a deep, staggered breath in and exhaled the same.

“It… it's James and Lily. They're,” Sirius’ words got caught in his throat. Tears pooled in his eyes and he blinked them away. “Dead, Remus. They're dead.”

The words spoken were almost inaudible but Remus heard them loud and clear. And yet, he couldn't believe it. “They're… what?”

“Please don't make me say it again,” Sirius’ voice cracked. “Please.”

Remus kept his eyes on the other, his heart pounding, threatening to combust. “How?”

Sirius’ eyes were dark as they met Remus’ from across the table. “Peter.” He spat the name out like it was poisonous, jaw clenched.

The news began sinking in and Remus carded his fingers through his tangled hair. He stood without a word, his body feeling significantly heavier as he left the kitchen, his feet dragging him down the hall and to his bedroom.

He stood there for a moment and then all of his emotions came rushing to him at once. A cry broke past his lips and he picked up the closest thing to him, throwing it hard at the wall and watching it shatter.

-

By the time Sirius moved to the couch, he felt numb. There was a thick, wool blanket draped over the back of it and he pulled it over himself. He didn't know what time it was, but the flat was dark and Sirius could only see shadows of objects as he stared out into the space around him.

The violent sounds coming from wherever Remus retreated to had ceased and only broken sobs remained. He tried to tune it out and squeezed his eyes shut, pulling the blanket over his head. Sirius was exhausted. He felt it in his eyes and in the rest of his aching body that screamed at him to just go to sleep.

But his mind was racing and he didn't see the back of his eyelids- he saw James and Lily.

James accepting him and not associating him with his family. James calling him his brother for the first time, just a day after he ran away from home.

Lily allowing him to confide in her. Lily hugging him tight after a particularly nasty fight with Regulus. Lily telling him about her own sister, Petunia.

James and Lily Potter being two of the best people he's ever known

Sirius could hardly breathe as he cried and he found himself standing outside of what he assumed was Remus’ room after the living room began to feel too suffocating to tolerate.

He knocked tentatively and waited until a muffled “yes?” came from the other side of the door. Sirius pushed it open slowly and stumbled into the room. “R-Remus,” his voice was airy and quiet and he almost didn't recognize it as his own. “Remus.”

Tears were pouring from Sirius’ eyes and he didn’t register Remus even getting up until the man was stood in front of him, pulling him into his arms.

Sirius clung to Remus like a lifeline. “P-Please believe me, R-Remus,” he choked around sobs. “Please it wasn’t m-me.”

Remus held him tighter and ran his fingers through Sirius’ curls. “Shh, Pads. I believe you. It’s okay, I believe you.”

The two of them stood there for what felt like an eternity until Sirius finally calmed down and even then, neither of them wanted to let go. Remus took Sirius’ hand in his; it was cold compared to his warm ones and he hoped it was a comforting gesture when he placed gentle kisses along Sirius’ knuckles.

And it was. The action caused butterflies to flutter in Sirius’ stomach and he felt his cheeks heat up. However, there was still one thing on his mind.

“They’re after me, Moony.” The words came out in a whisper.

Remus was confused. “The police? Why?”

“Because of my family, I reckon.” Sirius shrugged and sighed heavily, burying his face into the crook of the other man’s neck. He breathed in Remus’ scent- so foreign and yet so familiar.

They didn’t know how they had gotten to this point. But Remus knew one thing…

“I won't let them get you.”

#wolfstar #hp #harry potter #sirius black #remus lupin #angst #feels #wolfstar one shot #one shot #fanfic #mine #wolfstar fanfiction #jily fic #james potter #lily evans potter #peter pettigrew #non-magic au #alternate universe #hurt/comfort #major character death #marauders #marauders era #moony #wormtail #padfoot #prongs

[deansmyapplepie]

Only You - Chapter 2

Title: Calm Before the Storm

Summary: When a man who left the reader six years ago suddenly reappears on her doorstep, she does everything she can to stop herself from falling in love with him all over again. Little does she know that his seemingly brief return will open an entirely new chapter for both of them.

Only You Masterlist

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 2,100

You wandered over to one of the cots in the hospital's break room. The smart thing to do would be to try and get some rest, but how could you? You couldn't wipe the boy's hollow, expressionless face from your mind. You had watched the light leave his eyes. He was only 19, and he was gone. Leaning forward on your knees, you buried your face in your hands, tears rushing to your eyes. You had never lost anyone on your table before now. This boy had his entire life ahead of him, and you were the reason he wouldn't get to live it. The door swung open with a familiar squeak, and the cot sunk down a little lower as someone sat next to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. Face still hidden by your hands, you glanced over to see Linda, one of your coworkers, at your side.

"This isn't your fault," she said, rubbing your back soothingly.

"You did everything you could, Y/N." Your other coworker, Geoff, was leaning against the doorframe, his lips set in a grim line.

"I could have done something different," you cried. "If I had worked a little faster, maybe I could've-"

"Y/N, you can't do that to yourself," Linda said firmly. "I was right next to you in the OR. Geoff was, too. We saw how hard you worked to save him." You knew Linda and Geoff wouldn't lie to you. You had been working at their side for three years now, and you had an ongoing deal. As the heads of trauma surgery, it was important to point out and realize mistakes when something went wrong so you could do it better in the future. Thankfully, big mistakes like this didn't often happen, because, in this line of work, there wasn't much room for them.

"The paramedics in the ambulance said the internal bleeding started when the car hit him," Geoff added in. "You did a real kick-ass job in there trying to make sure he would live, but there was no way he was going to make it. By the time he got here, too much damage was already done." You shook your head. 

"I've never lost anyone before," you whispered. Geoff knelt down in front of you.

"But think of how many people you've saved in comparison. Yeah, it really, really sucks, but this isn't the last person you're going to lose. Sometimes people die on our tables, and that's not anyone's fault. I wish I could tell you this is something you'll forget, but I'll be straight with you: you're going to remember this for the rest of your life." You looked up at Geoff and noticed an immense sadness in his eyes. It wasn't hard to tell he was speaking from experience. Linda glared at him harshly.

"I don't think you're really helping much right now," she growled.

"Now," Geoff continued, ignoring her. "I know better than anyone this will take a long time to heal. But in the meantime, there are still people out there who need you. What really matters is how you're going to let this affect you in the long run. Are you going to pretend it didn't happen and try to avoid it? Or are you going to get back out there and save some more lives?" Sniffling, you nodded as you wiped away tears.

"We're here for you, Y/N," Linda promised. You opened your mouth to thank them, but a resonating wail from the hallway interrupted your train of thought. The three of you rushed from the break room to see a middle-aged woman sobbing uncontrollably on the floor. Her raven hair was lightly streaked with gray, and currently in a halo of crazed frizz around her face. You recognized this woman. She had been in the ambulance when the boy arrived.

"Oh no," you said quietly to Geoff. "Is that the mother?" He only replied with a somber nod. You forced your professional face back on and braced yourself as you crouched down next to the grieving woman. This wasn’t going to be easy. "Ma'am, I'm so sorry about your son," you tried regretfully. Linda placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"We did everything we could." The woman's piercing blue eyes snapped up to meet Linda's, scanned over to Geoff, and then turned to you.

"It was you three," she snarled. "You killed my only son! My only child! You killed my Emilio!" Her face contorted, and the sorrow filling her eyes was replaced with a fury unlike anything you had ever seen before. Alarmed by her sudden change in demeanor, you quickly stood, scrambling away. With an unnerving amount of strength, the grieving mother slammed you against the wall. As she leaned in closer, you could faintly hear Linda calling for security.

"Ma'am, you need to calm down!" Geoff exclaimed, reaching for her. Without turning around, the woman thrust a hand to the side, causing your coworker to go flying into the wall.

"Geoff!" you called out, concerned.

"Suffocetur!" When she spoke the Latin word, it came out in a hiss. The second she said it, all air was painfully forced from your lungs. The initial shock was replaced with panic as your lips began to tingle. You were suffocating. The moment security pulled the woman away from you, you could suddenly breathe again. You pressed a hand against your heart, which was hammering loudly in your chest as they dragged her away. "You'll pay for this!" She was screaming. "All of you will pay for this!"

You were expecting the heavy feeling of uneasiness to pass when you got home, but it didn't. Not even after locking the deadbolt and putting the chain into place. And although you lived on the fourth floor in your building, you still checked to make sure all of the windows were locked, too. You already knew what this woman was. You knew from the second she had tried to kill you in the hospital's hallway. Six years ago, when you were still waitressing your way through the last part of med school, you had helped the Winchesters hunt one. You were dealing with a witch. The dark magic she had performed on your body left you feeling exhausted, not to mention petrified. And what was worse, you had just stood there as she had attempted to take your life. Had security not intervened, you would likely be dead. An involuntary shiver ran down your spine as you remembered the woman's words again. You’ll pay for this. The only thing worse than a grieving mother was a vengeful grieving mother. And with her ability to cast a lethal spell with just a word, you knew you were toast. Though you were still unbelievably pissed at Dean for leaving you twice, both times without a goodbye or any sort of explanation, you wished you had his number. As much as you wanted him out of your life for good, you had to admit, it would be awfully nice to have a Winchester around right now.

The next few days went by in a blur. Whenever you weren't at work or at home sleeping, you were at the gym, taking out your troubles on a punching bag. You were exhausted. And even worse, you couldn't get your thoughts off of Dean again. Avoiding your emotions was proving to be more difficult than you had initially thought. You splashed cold water on your face from the bathroom sink. When you looked up at your reflection in the mirror, you cringed. With your eyes puffy from lack of sleep, and your cheeks practically hollowed, you looked like death warmed over. You could try to slap on some concealer, but it wouldn't do any good. You had been through this once before, years ago. You already knew despite how much makeup you piled on, the dark circles would never disappear entirely. And no matter how hard you tried to evade the prominent pain in your heart, you would have to face it eventually. You sighed. Your case was hopeless. When your cellphone vibrated loudly from the counter next to you, the number on the screen was one you immediately recognized as the hospital. You groaned. Yes, you were trying to keep busy, but would it kill anyone to give you a second to catch your breath?

"This is Y/N," you answered tiredly.

"Oh, thank God you picked up," Linda said, sounding panicked. Her tone had you fearing the worst, and your stomach twisted itself into knots.

"Linda, what's wrong?" You could hear others speaking in the background, and judging by their panicked tones, whatever was happening couldn't be good.

"It's Geoff," she sniffed tearfully. "Y/N, he's dead."

You got to the hospital in record time, rushing over to your coworker.

"What the hell happened?" you demanded. A haunted look filled Linda's eyes as she slowly shook her head.

"I-I," she stuttered, lip trembling with emotion. "Geoff was taking a quick break, and he'd been in there a while. I went to check on him, and he was dead!" You pulled her aside in hopes she would lower her voice. There was no doubt this was a hellish situation to be in, but it would only be worsened if the patients got wind of it.

"How did he die?" you asked quietly. Linda shook her head again.

"He burned to death. I've never seen anything like it."

"Burned to death?" you repeated, confused. She nodded.

"When I went in there, he was on the floor, and his skin was just... charred." You turned your attention back to the scene at the end of the hallway. More hospital staff emerged from the break room with a body bag, trailed by baffled-looking firemen and policemen.

"But that doesn't make any sense," you said, more to yourself than anything. "There obviously wasn't any other sort of fire, or the patients would have been evacuated."

"That's what I said," Linda agreed. "They're all saying it was just 'spontaneous combustion.'" Suddenly, a thought crossed your mind. 

"Linda, have you seen the woman from the other night in here?" you asked, quietly but urgently. She frowned.

"No. What does she have to do with anything?" You studied the fright in Linda's eyes, trying to decide what to say. If you told her of your suspicions, it would only scare her more. Not to mention, she would probably think you were criminally insane. Linda tugged anxiously on your arm.  "What is it? What's wrong?" No. It wasn't fair to tell her. She was already terrorized enough as is, and this wasn't her burden to carry.

"Nothing," you finally replied.

"Don't lie to me," she pleaded. "I see that look in your eyes. There's something going on, isn't there? Y/N, you always have an answer for everything. Please tell me you know what's going on. Or better yet, tell me I've lost my mind. Maybe all these late hours have finally driven me off the edge." You could barely keep up with how quickly she was speaking. At this point, she was beginning to sound crazed. You wanted so badly to tell her the truth, but you had no idea what you would even say. You tried to remember how the Winchesters broke the bad news to you all those years ago but drew a blank.

"Linda, I wish I could give you an answer. But I truly have no idea what is going on," you lied. Tears rushed to her eyes, and she clung on to you, more desperate than before.

"Y/N, I'm terrified," she whispered.

"I know," you acknowledged. "But right now, we have to keep calm. For the sake of our patients." You nodded down the hallway at patients peering out from their rooms curiously at the commotion. Linda followed your gaze and nodded with understanding. With both the firetruck and police cars out front, there would no doubt be news reporters here soon, and it was your job to keep the peace. Linda took a deep breath, seemingly regaining her composure.

"You're right," she agreed. "You're right." As you scanned the hallway once more, your heart stopped beating for a moment. The raven-haired woman was grinning at you with malevolence from an empty room. You opened your mouth to call out for security, but when you blinked, she was gone. Seeing her there only moments after Geoff's death only further confirmed what you already believed. That woman was a witch. Geoff's death was at her hands. And you were next.

Thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it!

As always, links to my masterlist, taglist, and inbox (requests are open!) are in my bio!

Chapter 3 - Thirty Seconds

Taglist:

@cole-winchester @formulafun @greenarrowhead @alexwinchester23

#Fanfiction #Supernatural Fanfiction #Mentions of Dean Winchester #Mentions of Sam Winchester #Dean Winchester #Sam Winchester #Original Female Character #Reader #Dean Winchester x Original Female Character #Dean Winchester x Reader #Multiple Chapters #Fanfiction Series #Only You #Only You Part Two

[vennilavee]

the space between: part III

TSB masterlist TSB Extras: Drabbles/Headcanons/Music

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x poc Reader

Summary: Bucky Barnes has been dead for a few years. You’re reminded of him and his love every time you look at your daughter, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Chapter Summary: You visit Bucky’s tombstone to talk to him.

Warnings: Character death, vague descriptions of post-partum depression, angst, mentions of pregnancy, cursing, smut

Word Count: 1827

A/N: I know nobody wants angst right after infinity war but like I had to lmao. Also sorry I’m trash for not updating anything else. enjoy/let me know what you think!

Coming to Bucky’s tombstone was cathartic for you. You tried to come once or twice a month. Bringing Mira with you was an idea you had toyed with, but ultimately decided against it. She hadn’t started asking questions about her daddy yet, and you didn’t want to tell her that you had absolutely no clue where he was. That you came to an empty grave to speak to his tombstone because you needed some form of release.

Sometimes when you come here, you think you can feel him around you. But that’s impossible, because even if something paranormal was going on, it wouldn’t make sense- there was no body in his grave.

You were deluding yourself into thinking that he could still hear you from beyond the grave. But you were desperate for him. You needed something to anchor yourself to sometimes.

Most of the time, it was Mira. It was Mira, Steve, Natasha, Sam, Tony… it was everyone who had made you feel a little less empty.

But sometimes… sometimes you just needed Bucky.

That’s how you found yourself sitting in front of his tombstone in the cemetery in the middle of Brooklyn. The wind picked up around you, swirling past you as if it was comforting you. Golden, red, brown, and orange leaves were spread across the ground around you. Some of them flew along with the wind, and you watched, wondering where they would end up.

Maybe the orange one would end up on the street. The red one stuck to a tree. The gold one might get stepped on.

You sighed, crossing your legs and clearing your throat. You tug your coat tighter around you, trying to gain some semblance of warmth but it doesn’t help, not really.

You still feel bone-chillingly frigid. The ice around your heart hasn’t melted and you’re not sure it ever will. It’s formed a home inside of you, creeping into your blood, and comforting your sadness. It’s become a part of you, the same way that Mira has, the same way that Bucky has.

But it exhausts you. It exhausts you in a way that no physical activity ever could. Your mind is tired, you are certain your bones have cracked from how tired you are. The dark circles under your eyes that not even concealer can properly hide are telling. But it’s not a fatigue that comes from needing sleep. It’s the fatigue that comes from being too worn out to do anything more than just exist.

When Mira was born, you could hardly look at her without feeling like you were being ripped apart, put back together, and then ripped apart over and over again. Her unknowing blue eyes that reminded you so much of Bucky left you sleepless for so many nights.

Mira deserved better than you. Mira deserved better than a mother who was barely there. Who existed only in the sense of the word. Who was terrified of being a mother, who wasn’t even sure she wanted to be a mother. Mira sucked all the air out of your lungs every time you saw her tiny, brown face. You were all alone with a baby who you couldn’t stand to look without feeling like you had let her down.

But you weren’t alone, were you? No, absolutely not.

You smile at the memory of Steve trying to help you when you first had Mira-

“She won’t stop crying, Steve,” You sob into the phone, “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to make her stop. I’m terrible, I’m the worst- I’m the worst with kids. I can’t do this-”

“Okay, listen. I’ll be there in ten minutes,” Steve tries to soothe you but you just start crying even harder. He winces at the sounds of Mira wailing coupled with your own sobs. The sounds go straight to his heart, scratching at him.

Steve stays on the phone with you, calming you down as you try to rock Mira to get her to calm down. You don’t know what you’re doing, you’re in way over your head, you’re not meant for this-

Bucky was always better with kids than you were. The topic of kids had come up a few times with the two of you. He never pressured you into anything, but you knew he was hopeful that you would come around from hesitancy.

You wanted kids. Not now, but someday. Someday far, far into the future. Far enough into the future that you could worry about it later.

It was almost poetic that you had found out you were pregnant only three weeks after Bucky was declared dead. You had actually laughed, unable to process absolutely anything, when your doctor told you that you were pregnant. She had taken your laugh for joy and beamed at you. But you were screaming inside and you wanted to jump out of your skin.

You weren’t even sure if you wanted this baby. For a few days, you had refused to think about it. Until Steve forced it out of you. And he had already known what you were thinking before you even said anything.

“I think I’m going to be a terrible mother,” You confessed, “This was always Bucky’s thing.”

“We’ll help you,” Steve promised, “If you decide to have this baby. We’ll help you, you know that.”

“I don’t know the first thing about how to be a mother,” You whispered, “But… but this baby… it’s the only thing left of Bucky. And maybe that’s not a solid reason for me to keep the baby. But… I want to keep him or her. I want to.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Steve reassured you, “We’ll figure it out.”

When Steve finally comes over, he checks Mira’s diaper and asks you when she last ate. Mira immediately quiets down once Steve is rocking her and she stares intently at him.

You’re inadequate. You can’t even comfort your own baby. Steve notices you get lost in your head and tugs your hand towards him.

“Hey,” He murmurs, “Come on. I told you, we’ll figure this out. I think she just wanted to be held.”

“Yeah. Maybe I was rocking her too fast?” You ask, leaning your head against his shoulder and poking Mira’s cheek with your index finger.

“Maybe.”

You laugh at the memory, remembering how clueless and scared you were. You were a pro now, with Mira. You think Bucky would be proud of you. To see the progress that you’ve made.

You remember the reason why you came to Bucky’s tombstone.

“Hey,” You say, placing the bouquet of flowers you had gotten for him beside his stone, “I’ve been showing Mira pictures of you for a while now, remember? I still have all those pictures up around the apartment. I swear, she just starts looking like you more and more everyday. God, she’s just like you, Buck.

“So the other day, I was showing her pictures of you and she just pointed to you and said ‘Dada!’ and man, I haven’t cried like that in a long, long time. But it was a happy cry, I think. I just… she’s so fuckin’ smart, baby.

“She has a sweet tooth, just like you. I think I’ve told you that. She’s so good, baby. Mira is so good. She can just look at you and you’ll be putty in her hands. She’s such a good baby.

“I went on a date a few weeks ago,” You say, hesitantly. The wind begins to pick up a little and the sun is starting to set. You watch the colors gradually change in front of you. It’s absolutely maddening to you, that the sun still sets and rises when your world has turned itself inside out and combusted.

That’s time, though. It takes and takes, until you’re almost empty inside. But still, time gives too. Time is healing, to a certain extent. You want to believe that time heals all things, but it’s taken longer for you.

“It was so incredibly shitty. You know at some point we were talking about when he gets his lawn mowed? Like I don’t even know how the conversation steered in that direction.

“And then I realized… I didn’t care about really finding love ever again. I think you were it, baby. You were my great love story. You are my great love story. I’m pretty sure your smile was what powered both the sun and moon.  I just- I can’t-I don’t want anyone else.

“And I know… I know what you’d say. That I should move on, that I deserve to be happy. But I think I am happy. Some days are tough, but in a general sense, I think I’m okay.

“You… you deserved better,” You whisper, “You deserved so much more than the world gave you, baby. You deserved everything- you should be here, watching Mira grow up, you should be eating your damn pancakes, you should be going on your daily jogs with Steve. You deserve all of the light and sunshine this terrible world has to offer. And I’m… God, I miss you, James. I miss you.”

You don’t realize you’re crying until you feel an itch on your cheek. You laugh and say goodbye to his tombstone, knowing that nobody is listening.

The sun has almost fully set by now, but the streaks of burnt orange over the New York City skyline is comforting.

“I think she needs a new onesie, don’t you?” Tony asks, bouncing Mira in his lap, “Or maybe ten new onesies. Ten new Iron Man onesies.”

“Get me one of each of your costumes and you got yourself a deal,” You reply, leaning back on your couch and sipping your tea. Mira babbles at Tony with a toothy grin and pokes his facial hair. Her eyes light up when she sees the light of Tony’s arc reactor through his shirt.

Tony doesn’t answer, instead, he tickles Mira’s tummy until she’s howling in laughter.

Tony has a secret to tell you. He wants to tell you so bad, but he’s sworn to secrecy. You’ve asked him about five times why he’s been off. To anyone else, he would’ve looked like he was acting no different. But you know his tells- he’s constantly itching at his left eyebrow, his lips pursed together and he rings his hands together once in a while.

You’ve stopped asking, but you know something is up.

He wants to tell you that they think they’ve found Bucky. They aren’t entirely sure if it’s really him and he doesn’t want to get your hopes up just to shatter them.

You have come so far in the past few years and he can’t be the one to break you. Not again. So he keeps his mouth shut and babbles along with his honorary niece.

He doesn’t miss the way you’re quietly analyzing him, wondering why he’s being so damn strange.

tag list: @coal000 @hottrashformarvel @a-sound-of-thunderig

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes #reader insert #poc reader #my writing

[messy-voltron]

What about a scenario or headcanon of s/o who observes Keith. Notices how he is in season 4. Quietly watching him. Cried when he nearly sacrificed himself. Eventually they get Keith in private and ask him if he is ok. They know something is wrong. They want to help him.

This is great!! As I was typing this however i got….carried…….away. Hope this isn’t too far away from what you thought about when you asked haha i’m really sorry friend 

P.S. I wrote this as if there was a small relationship already happening it just starts to get more serious later on

Warnings: swearing

………………………

Of course this was something that’s been going on for a while now. No matter how hard you tried to ignore it, Keith Kogane is a self sacrificing idiot.

He’s always ready to put himself into harms way if that involves the mission moving forward. He doesn’t believe he’s a member of any worth besides becoming a casualty. He pushes himself away so that nobody has to rely on him more than just an extra. He even told you this after the whole blow up of him not being there when the refugees were attacked. 

“I’m glad that my absence made it so Shiro could be the leader,” he told you, “It shows them that I’m not the leader they want me to be. And it made me realize that I’m not as needed as they tell me.”

And when he told you the news of how he wanted to join the Blade of Marmora full time, it hurt. Keith was just going to push himself away from you and the rest of the team because he doesn’t believe that he’s truly needed. You want to yell and scream and show him some how or in any way shape or form that he’s needed and that he’s important and he’s loved to prove to him he actually means something. But with a heavy heart you smiled and told him that you’d miss him and he’s always welcome back. You could tell he didn’t take it to heart. 

But what he did take was a communication device that was only directed to the one you have. “If you need anything in this whole wide universe, you tell me,” you told him, “No matter when or where; I’ll be there.”

You hadn’t expected it to go off during the midst of the battle. You were in charge of the castles shield systems, and it wasn’t enough that you were worried about Voltron escaping the planets combustion and making sure the rebel forces took down the battle cruiser, but suddenly your communication device buzzed in your pocket. Ignoring everything else, you reached for it as quickly as you could to listen. 

“Keith? Keith, is everything all right?”

It’s hard to hear over the static, but you can make out his voice, “The battle cruiser, it-it won’t go down with just our weapons. I’ve already been hit- chance to say goodbye before I hit this thing- tell everyone that I’m sorry for everything-”

“Keith, what are you saying?!” You shout, your heart suddenly racing, “Are you going to crash your ship into the field?!”“(Y/N)…” he says quietly, the only thing louder is the static and his heavy breathing, “I just wanted- I love-”

And then a boom could be heard, and the connection cut off, and the only thing you could feel was your heart shattering in two. Did Keith just die? Were those his final words? Did he just sacrifice himself in a single blaze of glory?

Heavy tears slide down your face as you crash to the floor, unable to keep yourself up. Your sadness weighs you down like the earth just crashed all of its weight against you. 

“(Y/N)?” Coran asks from across the room, not noticing your distress until now, “Are you alright?”

The only noise you can make is a sad wail as the only thoughts in your head run circles around your mind. Keith’s dead Keith’s dead Keith’s dead-

Coran speaks again, only this time he’s kneeling next to you, “Why are you crying? An unknown weapon just shot down the battle ship and destroyed the witches plan! Everyone’s safe!” 

You shake your head, “No no no Keith just destroyed the barrier he killed himself he sacrificed himself for the mission and it’s all my fault!”

“Is that who you were talking to? Because I can show you right here that the ship he was in is still intact.”

That immediately got you to sit up as you look at him confused. “What do you mean?” He stands up and holds out a hand, which you take, then points to a blimp on the screen. 

“He’s right there,” he assures you, “Nobody got hurt on this mission.”

Relief flows through your body like you took the most effective happy drug in the universe. He’s alive. He’s safe. It almost makes you guilty about how much the other team members were in the back of your mind. 

When the other land safely at the castle, you make sure to congratulate them on the successful mission, but when you hear the doors open behind you, you turn so fast that you almost fall to the ground. Standing there as if nothing serious had just happened is Keith, the self sacrificing idiot himself. Of course you’re relieved to see him, but your anger takes ahold of you as you storm over to meet him.

Before he can say anything you shout, “Are you FUCKING insane?! You were just going to kill yourself just like that?!” He stands there helplessly as you continue, “You didn’t want to be the leader? Fine, it’s your choice. You join the blade because your willing to put yourself in danger for the greater good? Fine whatever I’m not your damn mom. But you were going to kill yourself just like that?! Did you even think about what that would do to the rest of us?! What that would do to me? God Keith you’re such fucking idiot and I love you too much just to hear you almost die made me want to-” 

You stop before you go off more than you already had. You spare Keith a glance only to see him shaking in grief and his nose start to drip as he holds back tears. You give up and wrap him tightly in your arms as you hear him start to sob.

“Are you ok?” you whisper and he doesn’t respond right away. You let him just rest as he embraces you like he’s never done before. Like he’s making sure he remembers this as if there isn’t a next time. But you know there is. You’ll make sure to keep him safe. 

He pulls away and there’s a small smile on his face. “I’m going to be,” he tells you, “I’m so sorry.” With the courage you’ve never had before, you kiss him and he accepts it and you realize that this will be the start of a entirely different relationship.  

#keith kogane #keith (voltron) #Keith x reader #swearing #self sacrifice #little bit of angst #sorry I haven't posted in a while #my job is killing me #hope you enjoy!

[dergonageloser]

okay I know there’s already a few Inquisitor!Fenris fics out there but I’m just gonna slide my own in somewhere. this is a quick draft of the first chapter/snippet/whatever, i doubt i’ll actually be able to write a whole story but w/e

Hawke’s heart pounded in her chest, echoing the rumbling blast that shook the earth below her feet. The trees around her shuddered, cracked, some limbs and leaves crumbled and fell about her. Snow slid of their banks and branches and stones, powdered by the disturbance.

She stared in the direction of the Conclave, eyes wide and stinging, mouth ajar, body strung tight like a bow ready to fire. A single breath passed her lips in a faint cloud, her grip on her staff white, tight, and both frozen and burning at the same time. A step forward, a tremble through her knee. Another step forward, then another more quickly, and then she was running, running towards the black pillar of fire and death where the Temple of Sacred Ashes had stood.

Branches struck her face and body as Hawke plowed through the forest, kicking up snow and stones, disregarding her earlier stealth for the urgent need to find her husband.

Fenris. He’d been there, observing (spying), taking note of anyone interested in the Champion’s whereabouts. He’d also been there to get a feel for the situation at hand, of how the tentative talk between the warring mages and templars would go. The life and wellbeing of his wife, a mage, kind of depended on it.

Something warm trickled down her cheeks, chilling instantly and irritating the skin. Hawke scrubbed at her eyes, irritably, frustration and fear building in her chest, warring cold and heat pooling there like a vicious maelstrom. She skirted around a cluster of trees, jumping down a small cliff jutting off the side of the sloping mountain.

Hawke had told him not to go. He was too recognizable, and his safety was worth more than hers. But he wouldn’t be dissuaded, as he was at least as stubborn as she was, if not more.

I won’t be there long, he’d assured her.

It doesn’t take long at all to be shredded apart in devastating explosion, as her personal experience told her.

My fault, my fault my fault my fault—

There was nothing to be done for the familiar mantra chanting in her head, beating against her chest with icy claws. She pressed on, ignoring the aching chill in her feet and her hands. Her face was wet with tears, sweat, and the condensation from her quick, hot breath.

Not soon enough, she caught sight of a village. Haven. Varric should be there, if his recent notes were any indication. The notes were few, now that he was in the custody of one of the Seekers, but he was a clever man and he found a way.

There were screams drifting from the village, wails of fear and horror as a chaos of movement bustled through the village. The shockwaves from the blast had rattled the wooden cottages and huts, bits of debris floated in the air, ash drifted down like snow. The gates drew closer with each grating breath, each shaky step, but it wasn’t fast enough.

Hawke rushed past the scrambled guards, through the gate and into the village. It was a mess. A guard or two tried to grab her, an obvious intruder, but she easily shook them off—perhaps punched one, she wasn’t really paying attention— and lost them in the mayhem. She frantically scanned the crowd for a crossbow, a hairy chest, anything to indicate her best friend.

There, arguing fiercely with a tall, armored woman. His cheeks were pink with cold, but under that he was pale with fear and stress and worry, his brow pinched in frustration. The woman, the Seeker, was arguing back, her face a painting of shock and grief and rage it was a wonder she didn’t combust.

“Varric!” Hawke cried, sprinting towards him.

He looked up, eyes widening at the sight of her. He pushed past the Seeker, who whirled around in fury but froze when she saw who Varric was turning to.

“Hawke!” Varric responded, pushing through the crowd. “What in Andraste’s flaming knickers—!”

“Fenris was at the Temple!” Hawke all but screamed. She stopped short of him, her chest heaving—nearly sobbing—and it was all she could do not to fall to her knees. “He was there—he was—Varric—”

Varric paled, sucked in a harsh breath. He reached out and gripped her elbows, holding her shaking body still—as still as it could be anyway. His eyes bored into hers, searching for something, a lie perhaps, a chance that she wasn’t in the right of mind.

When he found nothing but desperate fear, he opened his mouth—

“Champion!” a woman’s voice interrupted.

Hawke whipped her head up to see the Seeker marching towards her, a righteous fury blazing in her eyes and bleeding from her pinched brow and the tight-lipped grimace of her lips. A burst of defiant anger bubbled in Hawke’s chest, but now wasn’t the time, there wasn’t time.

When the Seeker was close, she hissed, “Varric, you lying scheming bastard of a—!”

“Yes, we covered that bit,” Varric replied, impatiently waving his hand at her. “There are at least a couple more pressing things right now, Seeker.”

The Seeker turned her fury to Hawke. “Did you have a hand in this?” she demanded, hand gripping the hilt of her sword.

Hawke could have laughed at the hilarity of the statement. After all, it wasn’t the first time she was involved in the destruction of a holy establishment, and it seemed to be something of a recurring theme. But all she could feel was anger, stemming from the multitudes of emotions that whirled inside her at that moment.

“Contrary to popular belief, I actually don’t enjoy blowing up churches,” Hawke snapped. Her hand still held her staff, fingers tightening around it in response to the Seeker’s implied threat. “Particularly if my husband was inside one.”

That gave the Seeker pause, but it was a small thing.

“Why, then, was he there?” she asked, her tone biting.

“Oh for bloody—this really isn’t the time for that!” Hawke slashed her free hand in the air. “I’m going to find him, and I’m taking Varric with me, thank you very much.”

Heat flared in the Seeker’s cheeks, but from anger. She jutted her chin out and lifted her head in a commanding fashion.

“You’ll do no such thing,” she spoke, with the tone of an officer. “I cannot allow you two outside of Haven.”

“The fuck you will—!”

“Enough, you two!” Varric stepped in between them, looking from one to the other. “We’re losing daylight and we won’t find Fenris by fighting!”

Hawke bit her lip and breathed heavily through her nose, turning away. With a glance around, she realized her rather loud conversation with the Seeker had attracted onlookers, with varied expressions of confusion and horror. Villagers and soldiers alike, murmuring to each other in worried voices. The air was thick with tension, tasted and smelled like nauseating fear.

A voice rose above the crowd, firm and solid, “Troops! Rally to me!”

Cullen. Of course, of course he was here.

The Seeker nodded in his direction as soldiers rushed past them and gathered where Cullen likely was. “The Commander will organize the troops to rally the defenses. Leliana will assist by sending out search parties for survivors. Everything is being handled, and you are not leaving my sight.”

Hawke, in that moment, had an internal debate. She’d sparred with Aveline before, and while she couldn’t match for strength, she could with speed and magic. This Seeker, intimidating as she was, had nothing on Aveline’s sheer force of existence. The question, however, was whether or not it was a good idea to strike down the person holding Varric in custody and likely commanding a troop or two.

No, it wouldn’t be a good idea, but since when has that stopped her?

Varric, as though sensing her aura of bad life decisions, turned to her and took her hand.

“Hawke, I know you’re scared—,” he paused, blinked, then shook his head. “Damn, you’d think a writer could come up with better. Look, everything’s on fire up there.” He gestured to the Temple, where pillars of billowing smoke stood out against the snowy peaks like a fly in milk, or, rather, a hundred flies in milk. “If you go up there, there’s a hell of a chance you’ll get hurt too. Besides, by the time we even got there, the search parties will have already done their thing.”

Hawke narrowed her eyes. “So I’m just supposed to sit here while Fenris might be—no, I need to find him.”

“We’ll just get in the way,” Varric reasoned. “All of this sucks and it goes against everything you are, I know, but the best we can do right now is deal with what’s happening here.”

“Oh? And what’s happening here?”

The Seeker pointed to the sky. “That.”

Hawke looked up, and her jaw dropped.

A great, gaping chasm, ripping through the sky, as though a giant claw tore through blue fabric. It glowed with a sickly green light, unnatural, unreal. Then, as she stared, it pulsed with energy, spreading in a wave across the sky and over the mountains. The pulse, the energy, hummed with a sort of magic that she’d never felt before. It was sick, nauseating, like smoke sticking to her lungs.

“We think there may be more, smaller ones scattered across the countryside,” the Seeker continued. “Demons are appearing around the village already, and we do not know why.” She turned her gaze to Hawke, harsh and firm. “That is why we need you here.”

“I’m not your soldier,” Hawke retorted stubbornly.

“No, but you’re a Champion of the people, and these people need you.”

“Fenris needs me.”

The Seeker’s gaze softened, just a little, but she gritted her teeth. “He may already be dead.”

“Don’t you even—”

A hand on her arm. “Hawke,” Varric spoke. “We don’t have time. If Fenris is alive then he’s being brought here as we speak, and this place needs to be clear of demons before he gets here. Let’s do what we can, alright?”

Hawke glowered, her grip on her staff tightening and loosening and tightening again. Then, she deflated.

“Fine,” she gritted out, then turned away without another word.

#fenris #hawke #fenhawke #f!hawke #inquisitor!fenris #dragon age #dragon age 2 #dragon age: inquisition #da:i #au #tink's writing

[canwetalkaboutcaptainswan]

Soon, I Hope.

@justcheckingstuffcs @dark-ones-dont-need-sleep @losttalongthewayy @leatherjacketsandrum @mrandmrsswan @naiariddle @raggedyclaraa @mayquita @thegladelf @onceuponiwishmytime @galadriel26 @captainswanslay @allofthismatters @caaptain-swan @jennjenn615 @strawberrycupcakeprincess @thelifeofannabanana @kmomof4 @supergirl42universe​ @blackwidownat2814​ @caaptain-swan​ @that-one--book-nerd​ @t-tamm-​ @blowmiakisscolin​ @willow154​ @onceuponaprincessworld 

***If I missed tagging you (or you want to be tagged from now on) drop me a message!

Okay folks! This is the follow-up Daddy!Killian piece of 280 Days. I need to apologize in advance because it’s not as cotton-candy fluffy as my norm, but there is still a VERY healthy dose of daddy!Killian. This is the first of I don’t know how many chapters. Minimum 3, maximum probable like 6. Also, I just recently got myself an AO3 account. So you can read it on there also. My username is the same. Thank you for all the support! ~ Jenn! 

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Up until this moment in time, Emma has never really regretted any of her mistakes. Sure, some of the ones she’d made were downright stupid and could’ve been avoided, but she couldn’t deny that most of the mistakes she’s made in her life (mainly the big ones) have eventually led to some form of good. For instance: was getting into the yellow bug with Neal a mistake? Probably, but now she has Henry. Was giving Henry up for adoption a mistake? Some days she wishes she hadn’t, but then she realizes that if she hadn’t done it, her family wouldn’t be nearly as big as it is now. Was handcuffing Captain Hook and trapping him at the top of a beanstalk a mistake? Definitely. 100%. But hey, now she’s married to him.

So, as Emma saw it, mistakes weren’t all that bad. On the contrary, they usually turned out beneficial, in the long run. Made her stronger, taught her something, helped her grow.

Until now.

***

Now, despite the fact that she’d been told multiple times that it’s highly advisable that she remain in her chair, she gets up. Not just because she wants to, but because she needs to. Needs to so viscerally that she feels like she might combust into flames if she doesn’t. She crosses the short distance from her chair to where her husband stands, hunched and broken, in between two very complicated looking contraptions. To any other he may appear fine, but not to her. The ache within her grows with each passing step because she can feel hopelessness boiling off him like steam from a screaming kettle. He hasn’t even realized she’s entered the room, but the minute her palms make contact with his shoulder blades, he loses it. He turns and leans into her, and she finds that suddenly she’s bearing a startling amount of his weight, (definitely against any and all recommendations for a woman in her state) but she manages. She manages because she knows that she needs to be the strong one this time, and that is non-negotiable. Yes, she needs to be strong, because this time, he just can’t. He’s hopeless and frail and more downright terrified then she’s ever seen him in all her life. And it’s with Killian's chin sharp against her collarbone and his nails digging into her back and his ragged, breathless sobs flowing into her ear that she realizes what a colossal, terrible mistake she has made. And this mistake? No one will be benefiting from. No one will be learning from it or growing from it and it will not be leading to anything but pain. And honestly? If she could go back in time and erase it, there’s not any doubt in her mind that she would.

**** hours earlier.****

Dr Cameron speaks calmly, but her words still chill Killian to the bone.

“So Baby A still isn’t progressing all that far into the birth canal, and he’s starting to experience mild fetal distress. So, although I know it’s not in your birth plan, I’m going to suggest we do a cesarean. We can wait another half hour to see if he goes further down, but I’d agree to do it now if that’s what you want me to do.”

Fetal distress? DISTRESS? Killian’s heart is racing at a mile a minute and all the beeping going on is doing nothing to help. Cesarean? He’d read about that. That’s where they make an incision and then—

“Yes, I’m fine with that,” Emma nods, her sweaty brow furrowed. “I just want them out.”

Killian also nods, not because he necessarily assents but because he feels like he should. He’s still locked on the words fetal distress, and he stares at the screens surrounding Emma’s hospital bed, desperately wishing he had a better understanding of what they all mean. Emma squeezes his hand, and he turns his attention back to her. She's been ridiculously calm this entire time, and he has not a clue how she’s managing it. He loves her fiercely for it.

“Hey. Come here,” she orders, and he crouches obediently. She reaches her hand up, being careful of her IV, and tugs him in for a quick, reassuring kiss. “It’s going to be okay, Killian. It won’t be long now. The doctor’s going to take them out surgically. Like, she’s gunna cut me open. It sounds scary but it’s a perfectly safe procedure. It’ll be safer for the babies that way. They’ll let you stay with me while it happens, but you’re gunna have to change into special clothes that they give you. They’re called scrubs. It’s okay. They’ll be here soon, okay? Remember what my dad told you. Focus on being excited, not on being worried.”

Killian gulps but nods, forcing a smile and taking her hand. Emma rubs the back of his fingers with her thumb, knowing for a fact that he’s totally freaked out. Medical personnel rush around her, getting things ready, and she sees Killian watching them, his bottom lip pulled tight between his teeth. “Hey,” she says again, tugging on his hand. “Just focus on me, Killian,” she says gently. “Eyes on me. We’re doing this together, okay?”

“Okay, Swan,” he says. “Okay.”

The next hour is a blur, and when he thinks back on it, all he can really remember of the procedure is holding Emma’s hand while he sat by her head. There was a tall sheet separating them from Emma’s abdomen and the doctors, and before he knew it, Dr. Cameron was holding up the tiniest human being he’d ever laid eyes on in his life. “Here’s Baby A!” she said happily, and Emma’s gasp matched his. The baby was immediately handed off to someone, and after a minute his wails filled the room. That’s when Killian’s tears started. He didn’t know where to look, whether at Emma or the baby or at the doctor who was busy retrieving the other baby. A few minutes passed and a second tiny boy was hoisted in the air, purpler than the first. “Here’s your baby B!”

“Killian, we did it!” Emma exclaimed, wiping the tears from her eyes. “Our boys!”

Killian nodded and smiled, tears falling freely down his face. The second baby got passed off to the waiting nurse, and soon he was crying too. Killian leaned down and kissed Emma’s forehead, nuzzling her briefly. His heart was doing all sorts of things, panic and joy tumbling into each other over and over again.

“Surgical count!” someone yelled over the cries of the babies. Suddenly Killian was hyperaware of the various noises in the room. The babies were still crying, Dr. Cameron was yelling out numbers as well as something about sponges, and there were many people crowded around the little platforms where their infants lay, and they were shouting things. Killian’s panic flared, not knowing where to look, not knowing what to do. Emma had her eyes closed and that worried him. His babies were crying. There were so many noises.

Suddenly Doctor Cameron was next to Killian, placing a hand on his shoulder. “The babies will get checked out and taken to the NICU now. Emma, you’ll have to stay in recovery for a few hours. Dad can go with babies or stay with Mom.”

Killian’s eyes blew wide and he felt his breath catch. Stay with his wife who’d just undergone major surgery, or go with the two tiniest little things on the planet? An impossible choice. One he couldn’t possibly—

“Go with them, Killian,” Emma orders, interrupting Killian’s mental distress. Emma’s eyes are open again, and she squeezes his hand with all of her might before letting it go.  “I’ll be fine. You stay with our boys, that way they won’t be alone. I’ll be down there soon. I love you. Go with them.”

Killian nods at her, leaning to kiss her on the lips, and smoothes her sweaty hair down and behind her ear. “I’ll go with them, darling.” he promises her. “You did so good, Emma. I’m so proud of you.” Dr. Cameron pats his shoulder again, giving him a slight push in the direction of the crowd of doctors and nurses who are clearly about to wheel their babies down the hallway.

Emma turns her head to watch him go, the tension in his back and shoulder muscles discernible through his scrubs even from where she lays on the gurney 10 feet away. She wonders idly if she made the right choice, sending him with the twins rather than keeping him next to her. She hopes it wasn’t a mistake. She hopes he’ll be okay.

***************************************************

(It was a mistake. A terrible mistake.)

****************************************************

“Hey. Hey. Look at me, Killian. Sweetheart. My love. Breathe with me, just for a minute. Eyes on me. Good. Deep breath in, slow. That’s it, just try. Again, Killian. For me, okay?”

Killian tries his best to obey his wife, but she’s hazy through the tears in his eyes and the panic in his mind. His breathing is ragged, rough, and the air he gets just doesn’t seem like enough. He can feel Emma's hands on his face, and he tries to focus on that, on the soft slide of her palms against his stubble, her thumbs sweeping gently across his cheeks. But then, all at once he seems to lose her, and suddenly he’s back in that room with the beeping and the yelling and the wires and the tubes, too many places to look and too many noises and not enough space, not enough space and his babies, his babies-

Emma gives up trying to get him to breathe right and pulls him back into her, cradling his head against her chest. Her heart positively aches for him, his tangible fear cutting into her soul like broken shards of glass. She hates herself for the mistake she made. She never should’ve sent him out here by himself, equipped with absolutely zero knowledge about anything going on around him. If she’d been with him? Sure. There’s no doubt even though he would’ve been scared, she could’ve kept him reasonably calm with actions, with explanations, with her mere presence at his side. But no. Instead, she’d made him leave his cut-open wife on a gurney to follow after his two tiny, helpless, wailing infants while doctors and nurses shouted words he didn’t understand and connected scary looking machinery to various parts of his babies’ bodies. And now, hours later, he’s shaking and shaking, falling more truly apart than she’s ever seen him fall. She holds him tight, her face pressed against his hair, trying desperately to shut the world off for him, if only for a minute. At first she doesn’t know what to say, can’t think of any words that will ground him to her or help him find his breath. But then she remembers when Leia was born, and how she had been the one in hysterics. She remembers feeling like she’d die if she let Leia out of her grip for the nurses to clean and weigh, and she remembers what Killian had said that helped calm her down.

“Killian, I won’t let go,” she whispers to him now, her body starting to really ache from holding them up in this position, “We are going to get through this, I promise. And I will not let go, okay? I’m so sorry you were all by yourself out here for so long. But I’m here now. I’m not gunna let go, Killian. And our babies are right here, it’s alright. You did so good, Killian. I love you so much. I’m so sorry you were out here by yourself but you did so good. You did so good, sweetheart. I’m so proud of you. I love you.” She’s whispering to him as calmly as she can, a continuous string of reassurance right into his ear. She strokes his face with her palm still, fingers grazing his stubble, a familiar action she hopes will help. After a few minutes he shifts, albeit still quaking, and leans up to look at her. The weight of the mistake hits Emma again when she takes in the veins pulsing in his forehead, the endless wrinkles of worry creased in his brow, and the seemingly bottomless sorrow set deep in his red-rimmed blue eyes.

“I…I didn’t even...” he starts, his voice raw and quivering, and she tilts her head in encouragement, waiting for him to collect himself. He tries again. “They...I...didn’t even get to hold them,” he croaks, and Emma feels tears well up and a lump form in her throat at how devastated he sounds. “They were crying, both of them, so much for so long and I couldn’t…”

“Oh Killian, I’m so sorry,” she tells him, wrapping her arms around him in a more traditional type of hug. She can’t even comprehend how terrible the past few hours must’ve been for him. When it comes to his children, the best way Emma can think to describe Killian is protector. Since the minute Leia arrived into the world, Killian has focused on naught but keeping her safe and free from harm, both physical and emotional. He can’t stand it when she cries and does not rest until she’s calm and tucked safely in his arms. So to literally have been trapped in a room, while his minutes-old sons squalled in the hands of strangers, completely powerless to do anything to help them? Emma’s gut twists. Not even Hades himself could’ve cooked up a purer form of torture for him.

“I promise you, they are both okay. Yes, they are super tiny and need a lot of support from the machines right now. But the nurse who was with me in recovery was getting me constant updates on both of them, and nothing is majorly wrong with them, Killian. I know it looks scary and it feels scary. I mean, it is scary, how small and fragile they are. But I need you to understand that the stuff happening to them is all more or less typical for premature babies. Especially twins. And I know that’s super hard for you to understand. But trust me, okay? I promise you, they’ll both be okay. You know I wouldn’t say that to you if it wasn’t true.”

Killian listens as intently as he can, trying to let himself be comforted by the calm lilt in his wife’s tone. The slightest fraction of tension eases out of his shoulders, and though it’s only a tiny step of progress, Emma still appreciates it. She scratches his back lightly, trying to think of a question to ask him that won’t increase his level of panic.

“So? Can you tell them apart, Daddy?” she whispers gently, her tone light and airy now.

He manages the tiniest of smiles. “I can, actually. It was difficult at first, but they’re quite different. At least, to me.”

She smiles proudly at him, trying not to let tears form in her eyes. “Will you teach me?” she asks him.

He looks at Emma then, really looks at her, and again, another fraction of tension seems to leave him. “Of course, love,” he tells her, pulling at her waist, “come and see.”

The move in tandem to the contraption on the left, and Emma looks at the baby inside for the first time. Her heart swells and shatters all at once. He’s so tiny, covered in wires, a mask over his face to help him breathe and a shield covering his eyes. A needle stuck in his foot. Her poor baby. Her poor son. Like Killian, she aches desperately to hold him, but she quells her sudden urge to cry; she’s being strong. She has to be strong right now.

“This one is our Odyn,” Killian explains, even though somehow, Emma just knew already that it was. “He’s a bit bigger than his brother. Rounder. He has your chin. They both do, actually,” he says lovingly, lightly caressing her dimple. "His cheeks are puffier than his brother’s. His complexion is darker, too.”

Emma crouches then, letting the tears form. (You’re still strong even with tears in your eyes, she thinks to herself. Something Killian has said to Leia before, she’s sure.) “He’s so beautiful,” she whispers. “Hi there, Mr. Odyn. Are you mama’s strong boy? I love you so much, honey. I’m right here, yes I am. I love you, tiny love. Daddy’s here too. We’re right here, Odyn. You aren’t all by yourself.”

She’s really gunna lose it and just cry if she doesn’t stop looking and she can feel Killian getting worked up right behind her, so she tears herself away from Odyn and turns to his older (but smaller) brother.  Her breath catches again when she sees their little Oliver, a spitting image of Odyn but at the same time, so different. Killian is right, he’s paler. He’s thinner too, with the most delicate and beautiful fingers and toes. Oliver doesn’t have a breathing mask like Odyn does, and seeing almost all of his sweet face takes Emma’s breath away. He’s got a shield over his eyes, just like his brother.  “Oh my goodness, look at those Leia lips, Daddy,” Emma comments, and Killian nods instantly.

“I know. You’ve your sister’s pout, my little lad. Our tiny one. You did a very good job being at the bottom of the heap, my boy. You kept you and your brother growing in there as long as you could, hmm? I’m so proud of you, Oliver. We love you so much.”

“We do,” Emma agrees, wiping at her eyes, “Oh, my sweet buddy,” she coos. Oliver’s IV is tapped to a vein in his head, and he’s got much the same amount of wires as his brother. “Mama’s gunna snuggle you so soon, tiny love. I promise, okay? I’m right here, Oliver. And your brother’s not far, either. I’ll bet it’s strange not having him right beside you, huh? He’s okay. You’re both okay. My sweet boys.”

A nurse comes up behind them then, tapping Emma on the shoulder. Emma turns to look at her, and suddenly Killian’s grip is tightening around her waist. She cards her fingers through his hair, willing him to believe that this woman is friend rather than foe. “Hi, I’m Carly,” the nurse introduces herself, smiling. “I’m the primary nurse caring for your twins. Before I start prattling away, do you have any questions for me?”

“Yes actually, we do,” Emma says politely, “When do you think we’ll be able to hold our little guys?”

Carly smiles brightly. “As soon as they’re done their phototherapy sessions, you can hold them right away. See the little timer in the corner of their monitors there? It’s counting down. Odyn’s is 21 minutes and Oliver’s…” she pauses, walking over to Oliver’s monitor, “…is at 13 and a half! So as soon as that’s done we can take their eye shields off and you can snuggle them,” she promises.

Killian’s breath catches in his throat at that, and again Emma feels him minutely relax. She also starts to feel pricks of pain in her abdomen, and she winces. The nurse doesn’t miss it.

“Can I grab your wheelchair for you, Emma? It’s best if you don’t stand for too too long,” she says gently.

Emma nods and Killian lets go of her immediately, surveying her for any visible injuries or signs of distress, and she can tell he’s considering panicking again. “I’m okay. It’s okay,” she assures him, kissing his cheek before settling in the chair.

“Are these boys your first?” the nurse asks.

“No, our third and fourth, actually,” Emma explains, “but this is our first time in the NICU. The nurse in recovery explained some things to me, but would you mind explaining everything that’s going on? Just so we have a better understanding.”

Carly nods immediately. “That’s exactly what I meant about the prattling. I’ll explain everything in the care plans set out for each of your boys. Stop me if you have a question, okay?”

Emma looks up at Killian, who looks as though maybe he’s beginning to consider trusting this woman. “That sounds great,” Emma agrees.

Slowly and methodically, Carly explains each machine, wire, tube, and its respective purpose. She tells them about how Odyn has some fluid in his lungs, which is why he has the breathing machine. Oliver is paler because his blood count is low, and is scheduled to get a transfusion in the morning. Both boys have jaundice, which is what the special light treatments are for. As the conversation progresses, Killian seems to find his voice, and he starts asking periodic questions like Emma does.

And then, just like that, it’s been 13 and a half minutes.

A beeping noise starts and Carly stops mid-sentence to turn the bright light above Oliver’s NICU bed off. She presses various buttons and then unlocks the top of the pod-esque baby bed so she can open it up.

“Okay, time to take his little sunglasses off,” she coos, reaching to remove the mask from Oliver’s eyes. The baby’s tiny arms flail and his eyes flutter open, much to the enchantment of both his parents.

“Oh, little guy’s awake!” Carly exclaims. “Ready to hold him, Mama?”

Emma’s eyes are glued to Oliver’s sweet face, and though she wants nothing more than to hold him right this second, she knows that she absolutely cannot.

“I got to have him close to me for months and months,” she says softly, turning to look up at Killian, “so I think I’ll let Daddy go first.”

Killian beams at her, and he fights to swallow the lump in his throat. The nurse nods and gestures to the nearby chair, where Killian sits immediately. She tells him to take off his shirt so they can be skin to skin, and both Emma and Killian expect her to comment on his lack of left hand. But she doesn’t.

“I’ll teach you both next time how to take them out of their little baby greenhouses so you can do it yourselves,” she promises, reaching in to get Oliver for Killian. She carefully moves all the wires attached to him to one side, before picking his tiny body up into her arms. Immediately, Oliver starts to cry. Killian’s arms twitch toward him automatically, desperate to finally have one of his babies in his arms.

“Oh, I’m sorry I disturbed you bud,” Carly coos to the baby, moving him carefully, “Here, there’s your daddy. He’ll make it all better.”

Emma wheels herself right next to Killian’s chair and watches reverently as Carly puts Oliver’s teeny tiny body on her husband’s warm chest. Muscle memory serves Killian well, and his hand comes up gently to cradle his son, all the while being mindful of the cords attached to him. The baby quiets as soon as he’s comfortable, his little ear nestled right over his father’s heartbeat.

Emma isn’t quite sure if her heart can handle the sight in front of her. Killian’s face is again filled with tears, but finally, thank goodness, they’re the happy kind. He’s got his lips pressed against the baby’s tiny dusting of light hair, his eyes closed tight in what has to be a moment of pure, untainted bliss. Tiny Oliver is perfect in every imaginable way, and Emma simply can’t resist leaning in to press a kiss to the tip of his little nose.

“There we go, huh, sweetheart?” Emma coos to the sweet baby, whose eyes are still wide and staring at her, now. “Daddy has you, duckling. Yeah, Daddy’s got you. He’s been waiting for you, tiny love. And Mummy is right here. But you already knew that, hmm? You know your Mummy’s voice. My sweet Oliver. I love you so much.”

Killian is falling deeply, madly in love all at once, his heart swelling to accommodate the weight of it all. The second the baby had been placed in his arms, everything finally started to feel real. And although he was still scared out of his wits (for various reasons), the soft rise and fall of Oliver’s back under his palm made it all worthwhile.

“Hi there, my precious lad,” Killian says ever so softly, and Emma gets all covered in gooseflesh because oh how she’s missed the sweet sound of Killian talking to his baby. “I’m so happy to have you in my arms, tiny love. So happy.”

Emma swipes at a tear that’s slipped down her cheek before leaning in to nuzzle her face against Killian’s shoulder. She feels him turn and press his lips to her forehead, the kiss gentle and perfect. “Thank you so much, my love,” he whispers to her, “You are amazing. So strong, my Emma.”

Emma smiles, kissing his bare shoulder softly. “I love you. Could not have done it without you.”

A few more minutes go by, and then Odyn’s timer goes off. Carly re-emerges and opens Odyn’s NICU bed, and Emma reaches up to untie her hospital gown. Killian looks very concerned when he spies her cesarean site, but thankfully Carly taking Odyn’s phototherapy shield off distracts him.

“He’s a little chunkier than his brother,” Carly says as she picks him up. Just like Oliver, Odyn starts to cry, and Oliver startles in Killian’s arms at the sound of his brother’s wail. Carly gives Odyn to Emma carefully, ensuring not to knock his breathing machine off his nose. “Shh, it’s okay, duckling. Your Mumma has you now,” Emma hushes the baby, and at the sound of her voice his crying ceases. She leans down to nuzzle the baby’s soft head, inhaling his fresh, calming baby scent. “There you go, little love. You go off to dreamland now, okay Odyn? You gotta sleep lots and get big and strong for me, okay? Yeah, it’s okay. Mummy won’t let you go.” The baby is delightfully warm in Emma’s arms, and she holds him close, loving the feeling of her tiny son pressed safely against her bare skin. Carly moves Emma’s wheelchair so she’s next to Killian and Oliver again, and Killian looks over in wonder at his wife and his…second baby.

Emma catches him staring and finds herself suddenly suppressing a fit of giggles. “Okay. Okay. How freaking crazy is this?”

Killian shakes his head, his smile wide. “Beyond, Swan. I can barely comprehend it. There’s this one…” he gestures to Oliver, now snoozing against his chest, “and then…that other one,” he laughs, nodding toward Odyn.

“Crazy.”

“Bonkers.”

“I love it.”

“Me too.”

Carly offers to take pictures of the four of them then, and they happily accept. “Leia is going to be so excited,” Emma says suddenly, picturing their little girl's sweet, loving smile. Killian’s face lights up at the mere mention of his daughter.

“Aye, love, she is. Your sister will be so smitten with you, my lads,” Killian coos. “Do you think she’s alright?” He asks suddenly, his brow furrowing as guilt seeps into his heart for a minute. He hates being away from Leia in any capacity, and it suddenly feels like it’s been forever since he’s seen her smiling face.

“Oh, I’m sure she’s fine, Killian,” Emma assures him, picturing their daughter cuddled up with her Uncle Neal, most likely watching The Force Awakens. “She’s so grown up.”

Killian gives her a death stare. “Swan. We agreed not to speak of that ever, ever again, remember?”

Emma chuckles at him, glad to see he’s slowly easing back into his normal personality. “Right, right. Sorry, Daddy.”

Another nurse approaches them then, and Emma recognizes it to be Amber, the one who’d been with her in recovery. “Hi Emma,” she greets, “I’m just here to assess your pain level real quick. Could you rate it on a scale of 0-10 for me?”

Up until this point, Emma’s been paying virtually no mind to the ache in her abdomen, having been much too focused on calming Killian down, and of course the babies. But now, when she concentrates on it, she realizes that it hurts. Quite a bit. (Yeah. Standing and supporting nearly all of Killian’s weight? Definitely a terrible idea.) She clenches her teeth for a second, and braces herself for what will surely be a worried reaction from Killian. “I’d say about a 7.5,” she says, praying that Killian is too wrapped up in his sons to listen to her answer.

Amber’s eyes widen. “Oh dear, I’m sorry about that. I’m gunna wheel you down for some pain meds before it gets any worse and check out your incision, okay? I promise it won’t take long.”

Emma turns to look at Killian, who is indeed visibly, extremely upset that she’s experiencing pain. She also feels her heart clench at the thought of putting Odyn back down in his bassinet. She’d just promised him that she wouldn’t let him go. Amber seems to sense the silent conversation going on between Emma and Killian, not failing to notice their matching frowns.

“Hey, I have an idea,” she suggests, and Emma and Killian both turn to her. “Would Daddy like to hold both his boys while we go?”

Emma feels her anxiety leave her body at the nurse’s words, and her frown turns instantly into a smile. “Oh. Daddy would absolutely love that.”

Emma locks eyes with her husband, whose face is a pure mixture of agony because she’s in pain and utter joy at the fact that finally, he’s getting the chance to have both his boys close, where he can feel them breathe and know they’re safe. It’s all he’s wanted for the past 7 months, and Emma is so, so happy for him.

Amber first adjusts Oliver, moving him over to one side of Killian’s chest to make enough room for Odyn too. Emma kisses Odyn’s forehead just before Amber takes him from her, carefully transferring him into Killian’s arms. Amber arranges the boys so they’re facing each other, practically forehead to forehead, snuggled safely side by side with their daddy. Their sweet, perfect father who once again, has tears filling his eyes.

Amber smiles and goes to push Emma down the hallway, but Emma raises a hand. “I just need a few more minutes. Is that okay?” she begs, and immediately the nurse nods, turning to grab Emma’s chart from the portfolio.

“There we go, sweet babies,” Emma croons to them, reaching up to rub their backs with her knuckles, “Look at your daddy. Successfully hogging you both already. Is this how it’s gunna be? Hmm? Do you have any idea yet how much your daddy loves you, boys? So much. He loves you so, so much, my ducklings. He’ll keep you safe while I’m gone, okay? He’ll always keep you safe. Always, always.”

Emma leans to wipe the tears off Killian’s cheeks. “Are you okay if I go? I won’t be long,” she asks him seriously, worried about leaving him by himself again.

“Aye, we’ll be just fine, Emma,” he promises, holding the babies a fraction tighter. “Are you sure you don’t need me to come with you, darling?” he asks her, again feeling the same ache he felt when he left her by herself after the twins were born.

“No no, I want you to stay with them,” she assures him, rubbing his forearm with her thumb, “I’ll be fine alone. I just want to make sure you’re really okay if I’m gone for a bit. Are you sure you’re okay?”

He nods, and it’s enough to convince her. “If anything happens, just call for Carly, Killian. You can trust her. You can trust everybody here, remember? They all have the babies’ best interests in mind. I promise.”

“Aye love,” he says, frowning. “I’m so sorry about before, Swan. I should’ve kept my head, been stronger for-“

“Hey, hey, hey. Stop,” she cuts him off, squeezing his arm, “I don’t want to hear you apologizing for any of it, Killian. These are your babies and you were scared and I was not here to make you feel better or explain anything to you. That is not your fault, not any of it. You had every right to be scared, sweetheart. It was scary, hey?”

He winces, shuddering at the memories. “I was terrified, Emma. I’ve never felt more helpless in all my life,” he whispers.

She nods encouragingly, cupping his face, wanting him to tell her these things, to share these feelings with her now instead of bottling them up to fester at him later. “Better now, though?” she asks, gesturing with her chin to the two infants sleeping soundly against him.

“So much better.”

“Okay, good. I’m gunna go now, okay? I love you. I’ll be back soon.”

“I love you too, Mummy. We’ll be waiting.”

She smiles, leaning in to kiss him quickly. Right on cue, Amber appears again. “Ready now?”

Emma nods. “Ready.”

The nurse takes control of Emma’s chair, pushing her out towards the hallway. Killian tightens his grip on his sons, checking to make sure Odyn’s breathing mask is still snugly over his nose.

He knows they’re sleeping but he doesn’t care. He talks anyway.

“Mummy will be right back, sweet lads,” he promises the boys. “She took such good care of you, didn’t she? Yes, she’s a marvel, your mum. You’d best get used to me going on about her. She is the most amazing woman in the world, after all. Which, I’m sure you’d agree.”

He talks softly like that to his sons, hoping that the sound of his voice will help them sleep better, grow faster. They feel so small in his arms, worlds smaller than Leia ever did, and it worries him, but he tries to do what David advised him. Focus on excitement instead of worry.

He tells the boys all about their brother and sister, his chest again growing tight when he thinks of Leia, at home without her parents. He’s always been loathe to leave her, and even when he does, it’s never for long at all. He spies a clock on the wall and notices that it’s 11:14pm, much past his little love’s bedtime. Bedtime is Killian and Leia’s sacred time of the day, has been since the day she came home from the hospital. He prays to Zeus that his daughter is alright, that Snow and David told her enough stories, that now she’s sleeping soundly in her giant Jolly Roger bed, dreaming happy things.

**********

On her way to get pain meds, Emma checks her phone. Her eyes widen when she notices she has 3 missed calls from her mom.

“Okay if I make a phone call?” she asks Amber, already dialling. Amber nods, and Emma presses the phone to her ear. Her mother answers on the first ring.

“Emma!” she cries, relieved. “Finally!”

“I’m so sorry, Mom. I didn’t have my phone on hand. Things have been a bit crazy around here, what with the birthing twins thing,” Emma says. “Is everything okay?”

“Well is everything okay over there? Grandma needs more frequent updates!”

“Yes, we’re all stable now,” Emma assures her, feeling bad for not contacting her parents sooner. “I’ll send you some pictures in a bit. I’m actually really sorry for the lack of updates. We’re all doing great. I’m just on my way to get more pain meds.”

“That’s okay, honey. Are you in a lot of pain? How’s Killian doing?”

“Umm…not like a lot a lot. But kind of. And Killian’s…okay now. When I left him he had both boys in his arms, so that made him happy. Honestly he kind of…well he got super traumatized by the whole thing. I should’ve kept him with me instead of sending him to intensive care with the boys. It was all a little too 21st century and foreign to him and he freaked out. But he’s doing better now,” she finishes hurriedly.

“Oh,” her mother says, and Emma’s ears bristle at her mother’s strange tone. She almost sounds like she’s coming to some kind of realization. Suddenly, Emma remembers the three missed calls and-wait. Shit. SHIT.

“Mom, why did you call me those times earlier?” she asks suddenly, her heart sinking in her chest. Please god, no. Please, no. “Did something happen with Leia?”

Her mother is quiet for a beat. “…well, before you start to worry—“

“MOM,” Emma orders, feeling the stress well in her chest. She can sense what’s coming.

“She’s fine now,” are the words her mother chooses to start with, “Henry came. We called him when you didn’t pick up. She’s sleeping in her bed.”

Emma squeezes her eyes shut, pressing her palm to her forehead. “She felt it, didn’t she? When Killian was upset,” she states, not even caring what Amber will think if she happens to be eavesdropping.

“….I’m afraid so.”

Fuck. SHIT. Emma’s heart literally severs in half and Killian—fuck. Killian is going to lose it when he finds this out. “Oh god. Was it bad?”

Another beat of silence. Oh god. “…it was…intense,” Snow says slowly, and Emma shakes her head, the goddamn lump back in her throat and this time, not for a happy reason. “The kids were playing outside, and suddenly she ran into the house, and…”

She was in a fit of hysterics. Screaming that her daddy was in trouble. Out of breath and purple in the face and crying and crying for her father, Emma filled in the blanks for her mother. It was unexplainable, the connection Killian and Leia had. Leia had always been super attuned to Killian’s feelings, but they never considered that she’d be able to sense anything from miles and miles away. It was usually just in the middle of the night, when they were a mere hallway apart from each other. Whenever Killian had a nightmare, Leia woke up in tears. And sometimes, without even realizing it, she’d magic herself from her room to her parents’, so she could crawl in Killian’s lap until he calmed down. And now-

“Henry came as soon as we called him. And she did so good, she didn’t even try to use any magic.”

Emma sighs in relief at that. “But she cried herself to sleep in his arms, didn’t she?”

“…yes,” her mother sighs. “I’m sorry.”

“No. I’m sorry. God, I’m really the parent of the year. I should’ve seen this coming,” Emma scolds herself, sighing, and nodding to the nurse who is about to administer pain meds in her IV.

“Emma, it isn’t your fault. And you were a little preoccupied, you know with the birthing twins thing,” she echoes Emma’s words from before.

Emma sighs again, battling the lump. “How long has she been asleep?”

“Just over an hour.”

“Can you wake her up? I want to talk to her right now.”

Snow knows not even to consider arguing with Emma when it comes to Leia. “Sure, sweetheart. Give me a minute.”

It’s quiet for a minute, and Emma takes that opportunity to get out of the chair and lay on the examination table. She smiles apologetically at Amber for the fact that she’s still on the phone, but Amber just shakes her head politely.

“Mommy?” a groggy, sad-sounding voice croaks through the phone. Emma’s breath catches.

“Hi, Leiabear,” Emma says gently. “I love you so much, sweetheart. Are you okay?”

“…Daddy…” Leia whimpers, and Emma can feel her daughter’s panic, her fear.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay, cygnet. Daddy’s better now, I promise, Leia. He’s okay. I’m so sorry, honey.”

“What happened?”

Emma is quiet for a moment while she thinks of the best way to explain.

“Mama? Where are my baby brothers?”

“Daddy’s with them, Leiabear,” Emma answers quickly. “They’re teeny tiny, so they need lots of cuddles. And you know how Daddy loves to cuddle.”

“But why was Daddy so sad?” she asks.

“He was so sad because he couldn’t hold your brothers right away, cygnet,” Emma explains gently.  “Right after they were born, the baby doctors had to make sure they were okay, so they took them into a different room. Daddy went, too. And Olly and Odyn were crying, but Daddy couldn’t pick them up because the doctors needed to give them check-ups, and special stuff that will help them grow and get stronger. They were crying and crying, and Daddy just wanted to make them feel better but he wasn’t allowed to while the doctors did their work. See, when you were first born, and you were crying and crying, Daddy could pick you up right away and made you feel better. And he couldn’t do that with Oliver and Odyn. So that’s why he was sad.”

“And he was crying?”

“Yeah, sweetie. He was. You could feel it, huh? When Daddy was so sad?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Leia says quietly, and she takes a sharp little breath, like she's reliving it for a second. “It was like when he has nightmares, but it was worser. It hurt my belly and it was hard to breathe. He was so so sad, and he was scared, too. He wanted you.”

Emma feels her heart break further. “I’m so sorry it hurt you, honey. You’re so brave, Leia. And yeah, he was scared, sweetheart. He was all by himself.”

“Why didn’t you go with him?” she asks.

“I was still laying down after getting the babies out of my belly. I couldn’t get up yet.”

“Oh."

“I’m so proud of you, Leia. Grandma told me you didn’t do any magic.”

Leia’s quiet for a minute. “I wanted to,” she confesses. “He would’ve felt so much better if I gave him a hug.”

Emma sighs sadly. Leia just loves Killian so much. “I know, sweetheart. You’re so right, he would’ve. But he’s okay now. I gave him lots of hugs. I know yours are better, but mine still did the trick.”

Leia’s breath quickens, like it does whenever she’s trying not to cry. “I want Daddy,” she whispers.

“Oh, honey. He wants you too. We miss you so much.”

“Can I talk to him?”

“Of course, Leia. I’m just getting some medicine and then I’m going back to where Daddy and the babies are. So you snuggle with Henry for a few minutes, okay? Then Daddy will call you.”

“Okay.”

“I love you so much, Leia. You’re being so brave. Give the phone back to Grandma, okay? And give Henry a kiss for me.”

“I love you too, Mommy. Is your belly small now?”

Emma laughs. “It’s definitely not small,” she explains. “But it’s a lot less round now. I’m so happy your brothers are finally here.”

“Me too, Mommy. Bye-bye.”

“Bye, duckling. I love you.”

********** Killian takes the news about Leia as heartbrokenly as Emma imagined he would. Carly gives Oliver to Emma so Killian has his hand free to use the phone, and Emma rubs his thigh soothingly as she listens to his side of the conversation.

“Hi, my sweet little love. Oh, my Leia. My heart aches for you, darling. I’m so sorry. Please, sweetheart. Please don’t cry. Daddy loves you so much.”

Killian hushes her gently, and Emma reaches up to wipe the tears from his cheeks, for he’s holding the phone with his hand and cradling Odyn in his left arm and therefore can’t do it himself.

“Aye, that’s right, darling. And I’m much, much better. Your wee brothers are doing just fine for now.”

“Because it was just like whenever you have to get a shot, little lass. You know how Daddy always gets so upset? It was much the same as that. Aye, they did.”

“Hey, now. You can tell me, sweetheart. Whatever it is, it’s alright. I promise you.”

“Oh, my lass. You mustn’t think yourself cruel, Leia. I understand what you mean. I wish we were together, too. You know how I can’t bear leaving you.”

“Aye, that’s right. You’ll love them so much, Leia. They’re perfect, like you. And they look just like you, but with light hair. Yes, I have Odyn right now. Mummy’s right next to me, with Oliver.”

“I don’t truly know, sweetness. Soon, I hope. Me and Mummy will find out, alright?”

“Yes, she’s just fine, she’s just a bit sore is all. She’s so magnificent, Leia. She makes me so proud.”

“We could talk for hours I’m sure, but you’re tired, sweetness. I can hear it in your voice.”

“Hey, hey. Shh, shh, my lass. You know I’m always with you, right? Even when we’re not in the same place, you still have me in your heart, precious one. And you know how much I love you. My brave, sweet Leia. Everything will be alright.”

“Of course I will, darling. Snuggle up with your brother now. Shall I sing you to sleep, little love?”

Leia must’ve said yes, because Killian starts to sing softly into the phone, absentmindedly rocking his son while he does it. Emma closes her eyes, resting her cheek against Oliver’s soft hair. As Killian sings, Emma imagines Leia curled up next to Henry, nestled under her navy blue covers in her gigantic Jolly Roger bed, and suddenly she can’t wait. She can’t wait until this is all over, until they’re home, until they’re all curled up in the huge bed together, Henry on the edge with the storybook and Leia’s head on Killian’s chest and baby boys everywhere you look.

Soon, I hope. Killian’s words echo in her mind as his singing becomes softer and softer, and the steady beeping of the various monitors reminds Emma where they are, and suddenly the baby in her arms feels impossibly tiny.

I hope so too, she thinks.

#captain swan #cs ff #cs fluff #daddy!Killian #cs future fic #and if you're wondering how to pronounce Odyn #it's like oh-din

[buckyismyaesthetic]

Punk (Chap. 4)

Summary: You’re head over heels for your best friend Bucky and hate the nickname he gave you as it doesn’t exactly scream romance.

Word count: 1878 

Warnings: Cursing, low-self esteem, chubby!reader x bucky, idk….

A/N:  Sorry for the long wait.  I needed some time.  I’ve got the next few chapters just about ready to go…and I’m gonna try and make them hurt ;) yay angst!

After Natasha successfully slammed you to the mat for the sixteenth time in a row you finally cried ‘uncle’ and ended the hour long workout/torture session.  You’d come here to kickbox and beat the holy hell out of a bag but a certain spider had other ideas.

“I deserve this,” you groaned.  Your chest heaved as your lungs strained for breath. The amorphous blob of a sweatshirt you insisted on wearing while exercising was soaked with sweat and made you feel as if you were slowly cooking in one of Hell’s saunas.  “This is why I hate exercising.”  Nat extended a hand to pull you to your feet but you shook your head dramatically on the mat.  “No, just leave me here to die.  I quit.  You go out and fight the good fight.  I’ll save my skills and start a nice, quiet dart league or somethin’.”  Natasha rolled her eyes and kicked your leg. “No, seriously.  I retire my knives to you.  My guns, throwing stars, all of it.  Take care of Ferd for me.  Tell him his mummy loved him,” you wailed with a huge fake sob.

Nat chuckled as she sipped from her water bottle. You did this every time she beat you; abandoned your position on the team, gave away your possessions, forced someone to take care of Ferdinand after you were gone.  Granted, hand-to-hand wasn’t really your strong suit. You were a sniper…of sorts.  A deadshot.  A bulls-eye artist.  Basically, you always hit your target….except when it came to love…

Speaking of love… “Aw, come on. You can’t die on me, Punk.” Bucky’s throaty chuckle caught you off guard and you scrambled to your feet, blowing out your cheeks at the nickname. Punk  Uuuunnnngggghhh.  He was leaning against the door to the training room, shirt soaked with sweat and clinging to his torso.  The ripples and panes of muscle became more defined with each breath.  God, he was so rude!  Who did he think he was?!  Just walking around looking like that?! Ugh.  He was all sweaty and slightly out of breath, but his eyes were bright and he looked like he was fucking glowing.  Who looks like that after they run twenty miles in an hour?!

You, on the other hand, looked like a boiled potato. After an hour of having your ass introduced to the floor on loop, your face was bright red, you had underboob sweat stains, the deodorant you had obsessively applied earlier had failed about forty-five minutes ago, and sweat was running down from your hair in long rivulets.   Why were you so gross?  Nat wasn’t sweating like a pig and she had been working out just as hard as you. You sighed inwardly.  Everything you did just seemed to fall somewhere on the ‘disgusting spectrum’.  Usually leaning towards ‘ugh’ or ‘blegh’ but right now you were done right ‘oh dear lord’.

“Hey, B,” you mumbled quickly, trying to fix your rats nest of a ponytail and wiping the sweat from your brow.

“Hey.  Glad ta see you’re still alive,” he chuckled at you, giving you a flash of those pearly whites.  “Just stopped in ta let ya know that the food’ll be here in thirty.  Best get cleaned up.”  And with that he waved and walked out of the gym.

“Let’s save water and shower together,” you whined at his retreating form.

Nat barked in laughter.  “Oh my god, you should’ve said that!”

“Aaaahhhh-bsolutely not.”

“Oh come on!  That would be the perfect way to flirt with him.”

“No, that would be the perfect way to watch me spontaneously combust.”

“How about we try flirting tonight?” the red head suggested.

“Don’t you have a boyfriend?” you teased.

“Yeah, how do you think I got ‘im?” She quirked an eyebrow up at you.

Touché.

“Get off the fucking counter!”  Tony hollered.  He was trying to unpack the Chinese food bags but a certain fat, black cat was sticking his nose in containers of Chow Mein, knocking packages of duck sauce onto the floor, and yowling obnoxiously at the billionaire. “One of these days, cat, I’m gonna—”

“Tony, if you lay one finger on Ferdinand I will carve you up like a Thanksgiving turkey.”  You strolled into the kitchen wearing your typical post-shower attire: wet hair in a messy bun, flannel pajama bottoms, and a New York Rangers hockey t-shirt.  Ferdinand purred loudly at you and you cradled him like a baby in your arms. “Did that mean old man yell at my precious little baby?” you cooed.  “My poor lil pumpkin.”

“Just keep him away from me,” Tony muttered, glaring at the cat in your arms.  “And off the counters!”

You gave him a dramatic salute.  Bucky came up from behind you and pulled Ferd from your arms. “Hey, buddy.”  The cat began to purr like a speed boat as the super soldier held him.  “You causin’ trouble?”  He walked over to the dining room table and cradled Ferd in his lap as he began to spoon boneless ribs onto a plate.

“B, don’t give him any food!” you scolded, knowing full well what he was about to do.  “He’s too fat.”

“Y/N! You’re gonna give him low self-esteem!” Bucky cried dramatically and you couldn’t hide your smile.  “Poor Ferdinand,” Bucky cooed, slipping the cat a piece of pork.  “Your mama is always fat-shaming you. Doesn’t she know that looks don’t matter?!  Tsk Tsk. Well, I love ya for who ya are, buddy.”  He gave the cat a loud smooch and sat him on the floor to go beg for scraps from the other team members.

“Buck,” you whined, seeing Ferd lick the pork from his lips.

Bucky merely sent you a toothy grin.  “Come on, Punk.  He was hungry!  Come eat.”

With an inward cringe at the nickname you grabbed a bowl for you soup and looked around the table.  Nat and Clint had appropriated some portion of the other’s chair as they ate.  Wanda was pouring drinks and passing them down.  Steve and Tony were calling out orders and handing out steaming cartons of noodles to their owners.  Sam managed to steal the open seat next to Bucky, much to your dismay, and you were forced to sit between Thor and Vision, far away from your favourite super soldier, at the opposite end of the table.

Conversation buzzed around you, but you didn’t really feel up to participating.  This happened sometimes, lately more often than not.  Something just seemed to happen to you when it came to….eating.   Now, you loved food.  It was kind of obvious actually.  Half the time you planned your next meal while eating the current one. But lately, and you weren’t sure exactly when it started, every time you ate something, even something you really liked, like pizza or ice cream or spaghetti, you felt….guilty?….bad?…ashamed?

With every bite you felt like you were somehow doing something wrong, something forbidden.  An obsessive need to count calories occasionally seized your mind. Half the time it felt like you spent more time reading nutrition labels than actual books!  And those feelings were only amplified when you were forced into eating around the others.  You felt like some sort of zoo creature around them.  Oh look, meal time at the hippo pond!

You popped half a dumpling into your mouth. Ferdinand rubbed up against your leg under the table, hoping that food would fall from the sky.  Absently, you began to push your noodles around the plate, losing your appetite as the others munched away happily on crab rangoons and sesame chicken.  Angry, self-loathing thoughts bubbled to the surface in your mind.  Were the others looking at you while you ate?  Judging you for the food you put in your mouth?  Look at Y/N, shovelling it in like garbage truck.  Were they as disgusted be you as you were?  Did they think of you as fat slob with no self-control? Because that’s how you felt.  Because even when you tried to be good and not eat so much, eventually hunger pangs tore through you and you just had to eat.  And you didn’t always want salad or veggies.  Sometimes you wanted cookies or peanut butter or candy.  It was just so hard to—

“Y/N, are you going to eat that?”  Thor interrupted your inner turmoil and pointed to the untouched egg roll on your plate.  You shook your head and he grabbed it with a muffled ‘thanks!’ and shoved the entire roll in mouth.

You looked up and locked eyes with Sam.  He mouthed, ‘you good?’ and you nodded putting a false smile on your face, not wanting to explain your loss of appetite.

“Who’s ready for desert?”  Steve asked a few minutes later and was met with smatterings of approval.  You helped Vision clear the plates, hoping to slip out of the kitchen and ditch desert without being noticed.  Your self-control could not resist apple pie.  It was your kryptonite.

“That’s the last of them,” Vision said turning off the sink and grabbing a set of desert plates and a cake knife.  He gave you a small smile and walked back to the dining room as you dried the last of the bowls.  You were just about ready to make a break for it when you turned around just as Bucky strolled into the kitchen.  His dark hair was still slightly wet from his shower earlier causing his short curls to glisten in the light. God, he’s so fucking perfect.  You licked your lips and quickly turned to put the last dish on the rack.

“Told ya there’d be pie,” he whispered as he grabbed the vanilla ice cream from the freezer, letting the cold air sweep over you. You shivered.  Please let him think it’s just from the cold.  “Come on, Punk.”  Merhhh.  “I know you can’t resist,” he teased with a twinkle in his eye that you couldn’t quite decipher.  Great, he’s gonna lead the pig to the slop trough.

You sighed, torn as to what to do.  If you rejected the pie he’d ask you who you were and what had you done with Y/N.  If you ate the pie he’d see you eat the pie.  He’d see you shovelling in spoonfuls of warm, mushy apple and crispy crust mixed in with sweet vanilla ice cream all the while sporting a blissed-out look on your face.

But either way, he knows you’re fat.  The evidence was right in front of him, staring him in the face.  Might as well eat the pie, hate yourself, and avoid any awkward questions.  Bucky didn’t need to hear you whine about how grotesque you were.  He didn’t want to hear about that.  Nobody wanted to hear about it.  It was your own stupid, gluttonous fault that you were this way.  Nobody felt sorry for you.  With a sniffled sob, you trudged back towards the others.

When you at back down at the table, Bucky gave you an enormous grin and handed you a plate with the biggest slice of pie and three scoops of ice cream, more than any of the others, and it took all you’re strength not to burst into tears.    The biggest slob had gotten the biggest slice.

TAG LIST:  strike-through means the tag doesn’t seem to work.  If your tag doesn’t work for some reason, send me a message and I’ll take a look.

@hymnofthevalkyries @andimadeitawkward @annadier@notsoprettykitty @4theluvofall  @thewinterher0 @avengerofyourheart @fab-notfat @danimuhle @sleepretreat@sociallyimpairedme@iamwarrenspeace @markandjackaremysuperheros@unevenpages@itsjuliefloyd @grabdatgem@fantasticimpaladoctor@criminalist @reedsreadsreviews@duetly@crapythings@anxiouslittleghst@38leticia  @Iroa46  @satanicedition @ro-52 @mora-firestone@plumsforbuck2016@colouredwater@happelu970@spoopyjamesbarnes@magickm00nlady@amyyleblanc1999@guiltyissues@lunarwolf13oo@rougedemigods  @snow107@allheart36@bxtchybrie @lady-sloan@hek-diddly-darn @wintersdoll@sarcasticvodka@garibaypau @xllxni @nalatheblacklion@eileenlikesyou-maybe@mayfeather27@allofthesearetakendafuq@leoberosis@widowsfics@smilingkat @pretentiousaf @the–baroness@musichowler @lillian-paige@that-one-third-wheel3@oceanilserain @iyanahhhh@namastay-in-bed-2002 @immaturityisthekeytoimmortality @kaiyaisbae @cojootromuelle @chin-up-love@abigrumple@harrysbbby @k-nighttt @stephvera @accidentally-in-hell @givemethatgold  @just-call-me-your-darling@winterboobaer @kissingwintergoodbye @chasing-after-rock-and-roll@sarcasmdressedinjeans   @bootsthemonkeykat @my-little-texas-tornado @zohoffman @the-witching-hours12-3  @helloitspattes @tomlinsonlovers @superscrat  @borntodieabitch @bitchy-tacos@summerbummer2001 @silent-yet-significant @jacks-on-krack @cry-me-a-fkin-river @mizzpzpink @basicallybucky @kaiyaisbae @stucked82@loveyourselfcreateyourself @brokenanxiety @smile-sugar @pederol@gallifreyanass @yesiamdeliciouslycaffeinated@sirtheoraeken @kelso7116 @cami23593@wydari @ancchor@theariel85 @lissabelle116@snugglebuck  @ifoundlove-x0vanessa0x @bemself123@promarvelfangirl @do-you-mind-if-i-slytherin1 @anitavalija @theassetseyeliner  @mcuofstucky@feelmyroarrrr @sarahsassafras13@amrita31199 @abovethesmokestacks@tearsandbloodofmyenemies@thebabewiththepwr @mrshopkirk @callmebucky-doll @ursalaismymiddlename @nopevilleluas@thatawkwardtinyperson @theloveablesociopath@whintersoldiers @eireannhwb @wandering-at-midnight @lenia1d @marvel-lucy @confuzzled-panda @5-seconds-of-sebastian-stan @claryfray1698 @echelonwonderland @ melconnor2007 @seb-smut  @john-benderr @gerardwayisapotato @wonder-carolina @imsecretlyromanburki @stephvera

#punk #bucky x reader #bucky imagine #bucky x chubby!reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky angst #mcu #mcu fanfiction #mcu fanfic #avengers fic #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier fanfic

[nightglider124]

(Sings) I HAVE AN IDEA! (Normal voice) Don't worry I can wait until your hand feels better but in the meantime here's my request: we can have Galfore sacrifice himself to save Starfire, her baby girl and her Titan friends in a space mission gone horribly wrong and later in safety, Star tries to hide her emotional breakdown from her friends rather unsuccessfully. Words to put in: "Fly you Fools!" (Yeah we are talking about Lord if the Rings here lol)

Okay, this is absolute shite but just humour me. Like, I wanted to make this great but it just wasn’t happening.

Sacrifice

Her heart was hammering in her chest. Her throat was so dry it felt like swallowing sandpaper that scraped as it went down. Her pants were coming fast and were becoming more ragged each and every time.

The enemy was right on their tails and were riding up fast. Strands of her ruby red hair stuck to her face in her haste. She sped up as they turned yet another corner.

A small babble noise sounded right by her ear and she allowed herself the tiniest smile, despite the situation. Her daughter was strapped to her back in a baby carrier.

Starfire was comforted that her child was unaware of what exactly was happening. She felt someone grab her hand and she spared a quick glance to her side.

Masked eyes stared back at her, determination written across his face.

“We have to get outta here, right now. We have to get back to the T-Ship!” Nightwing ordered, raising his voice to alert the others as well. He gave Mar’i the quickest of hair ruffles for the sake of reminding himself she was safe, for the moment.

Starfire cast a glance behind her, noting Raven and Beast Boy running with Raven throwing items back at the Gordanians where she could but she was running low on options.

Behind them, Cyborg and Galfore were trying hard to hold back the tide of aliens trying to slaughter them.

Starfire was worried for her k’norfka and her brother. They elected themselves to stay towards the back of the group on account of being the biggest. But, she couldn’t help but feel the dread in the pit of her stomach.

She was so disorientated.

They had been lured into a well executed trap by Blackfire which ultimately led them to the race that despised them most, on account of feeling cheated so many years ago by being unable to deliver Starfire to the Citadel like they were supposed to.

And of course, Blackfire could always be counted on to betray her little sister with a flick of the wrist. Starfire knew, deep down, her sister would always continue to try and throw her under the bus, as the Earth saying went.

Yet, Starfire couldn’t hate her. She was still her sister, regardless of the things she had done.

She was jolted out of her daze like state when she stumbled into the back of her husband.

“Nightwing, what-” She was cut off,

“We need a faster exit. There are too many and they have an explosive on a timer.”

Starfire’s eyes widened, “How do you-”

“I saw it when we were being held up with Trogaar.” Nightwing replied, frowning at his wife.

Starfire looked down at the ground before looking at her family. Raven and Beast Boy had joined her k’norfka and Cyborg in holding back the wave of Gordanian soldiers in hot pursuit of them.

Glancing back at her husband, she noted that he was rerouting their exit via a small portable device.

“I’ve got a new route! Let’s go!” Nightwing shouted,

The group started to move again but Starfire had a nagging feeling that someone was falling behind. She suddenly turned around and found Galfore holding them back with one of the electrical staves that they carried around as weapons.

“Galfore! Please! We must go!” She yelled, imploring him to give up and just run with them.

“No!” He replied, gritting his teeth and pushing against the horde.

Starfire felt her blood run cold, “Wh-what?”

“You must keep going… my little bumgorf… you must keep your little one safe!”

“But, they will kill you!”

“If I stay, you will be able to flee!”

Galfore growled and used the butt of the staff to smack a couple of soldiers across the face, making them stumble back. He used his fist to knock back another whilst he had an opening.

“Koriand’r! Go!”

Nightwing stopped, breathing heavily and wondering what the hold up was.

“I am not leaving without you!” Starfire told him, a slight tremble in her voice.

“You must. You are a mother now, my Princess! You must protect your daughter above all else!”

Starfire shook her head, feeling tears prick her eyes, “B-But… you are my k’norfka… I cannot just leave-”

“And as your k’norfka, it is my duty to protect you! You are the only thing that matters!”

“Galfore-” She whispered,

Knocking several back and over the railing of the balcony behind the horde from where they had just run from, Galfore kept pushing and striving to push the Gordanians back.

Using the staff, he roared and slammed it against them, sending several soldiers over the edge of the balcony to the depths of the ship below.

“Nightwing! Get Koriand’r out of here and go!” Galfore bellowed, his eyes focusing on the dark haired man as he tussled with a soldier.

Nightwing felt his rapid heartbeat before the sinking feeling in his stomach over what he was about to do.

“I’m sorry, Star.” He murmured,

With that he sprinted back over to Starfire and grabbed her around her waist, hoisting her up in a careful position so that Mar’i remained safe too.

Starfire instantly fought her husband. She pushed away and thrashed and smacked his chest and shoulders.

“Dick! Let go of me! No! Galfore!” Starfire huffed, trying desperately to get away from her lover.

Her eyes scanned the room in the sudden frenzy and found her guardian.

Time seemed to stop in that single second.

She watched him struggling with two Gordanians who looked intent on ending his life, no matter what.

She watched as they stumbled closer to the edge. Her eyes widened and her heart dropped into her stomach.

A misstep was all it took.

Her face drained of colour as he tumbled over the railing of the balcony. His eyes locked with hers for the second before he and the two soldiers went plummeting to the abyss of the ship.

Starfire was aware she was screaming but she couldn’t hear it. She couldn’t hear anything in fact.

The next few minutes were a blur. She wasn’t aware of their escaping of the Gordanians. She wasn’t aware of their escape of the ship. She wasn’t aware of Dick sitting her down in his section of the T-Ship.

Starfire only started to come back to herself as they floated nearby the ship they had recently got away from.

She watched as the ship exploded, fire and heat burning up the metal and the structure. She watched as the impact caused the combustion of the soldiers and aliens inside.

That was when she became aware of her surroundings again because that was her moment of realisation that she no longer had a k’norfka.

How could he do that? How could he sacrifice himself like that? Like his own life meant nothing in comparison to hers?

Starfire looked down at Mar’i, happily cooing and waving her hands around as she rested on Starfire’s lap.

A part of her wanted to understand, to not be heartbroken and completely comprehend why he had done that. She wanted to because she knew she would do the same for Mar’i. She would do anything for her daughter.

But she couldn’t convince herself of it. Not yet.

“Star...” Dick whispered,

She turned her head to look at him, his blue eyes conveying devastation.

“I-I wish I knew what to say... I’m so sorry...”

Starfire blinked, “... I am fine.”

He raised an eyebrow, “Are you sure? It’s... it’s okay if you’re not. You know that, right?”

She nodded, “I... I am...”

“Star...” He hushed,

Her lip trembled and she felt the mountain in her throat grow larger. Her eyes stung with the sudden prick of tears. She inhaled deeply, trying hard not to break but she knew she was doomed.

The tears flowed freely then, they slid down her cheeks and her shoulders shook with emotion. Mar’i furrowed her eyebrows and made a sound of confusion, reaching up a chubby little hand to her mother’s cheek. She rubbed at her tears to get rid of them and mewled in an effort to comfort her mama.

Dick wrapped his arms around Starfire and pulled her to him, with Starfire burying her face against his shoulder. She gripped the front of his uniform and cried harder, the tears continuing to roll down her cheeks; the floodgates well and truly open now.

Mar’i sat between her parents, her lip quivering. Her little mind couldn’t understand but she felt sad. She felt like something terrible had happened. Her mother, the sunlight that always greeted her first thing in the morning, was devastated. And, no matter how many tears Mar’i wiped away, there were many more that followed.

“I’m s-so sorry, Star.” Dick whimpered, knowing exactly how it felt to lose a guardian; someone who cared for you either due to being blood related or not.

Starfire wailed loudly, choking on her sobs and clutching at her husband and at Mar’i, trying to console herself with the only family she had left now.

Dick had tears in his eyes as well as he looked down at their baby girl who was blinking in confusion at what she was seeing.

“S-Starshine... mama... sh-she need cuddles.” Dick choked, losing himself in his own emotions. Galfore and him had a great relationship that had blossomed during Starfire’s pregnancy. He had grown to love and respect his adoptive father in law. He couldn’t believe he had been taken in the blink of an eye.

Mar’i felt her heart hurt a little and she didn’t completely understand why the two people she loved most in the whole world were so upset but she understood her father’s words.

Without hesitation, Mar’i threw her arms around her mother’s middle, squeezing her tightly and nuzzling her face against her ribs. She could do cuddles like daddy had said. She could do that for her mommy.

#asks #requests #this is just so bad #oops #nightwing #starfire #nightstar #robstar #mar'i grayson #galfore #angst #oneshot #fanfiction #nightglider124 #dc

[santanasnaps]

Sunday funday || Pucktana

Who: Santana and Puck (and some Mateo and Francine)  Where: Francine’s house, Santana’s house Summary: Puck and Santana awkwardly meet up for Sunday Dinner, leading to them discussing the tension between them. Then oops, they sleep together. All night. Smut ahead! 

Santana knew today was going to be awkward. After the intense conversation she'd had the night before with Puck, and a grumpy little boy, she had a feeling something was going to happen. Not only had Puck been accusing her of sleeping with every man she mentioned, but he'd apparently been fighting with Finn and becoming best friends with Rachel. It was annoying that he couldn't seem to trust her. Sure, she'd initially lied about Mateo, but the truth had come out minutes later and she didn't really count that as a lie. She also didn't know why he thought he needed to act so jealous when it came to Finn, when it was obvious to everyone else that Finn was just her best friend.

Sighing, she scooped a pouting Mateo out of the car, rubbing his back. “I know you're mad, mi amor. I'm sorry but mommy has to catch up on work. Daddy will be so much fun,” she told him, walking to the front door. It seemed as soon as they crossed the threshold, the sobbing started. He didn't often get mad or upset, but when he did, Mateo loved tantrums. Rolling her eyes, Santana tried to set him down in the living room, Francine’s head shaking at her already, probably at the fact that she was ditching Sunday dinner. “Mateo let go,” she warned, separating herself from him, making him throw himself on the floor.

It wasn’t every day that Puck swallowed his pride and owned up to his faults.  In fact, he was adept at inflating his own ego.  However the texting between him and Santana had found him apologizing profusely and confessing his fears.  That left Puck feeling vulnerable in a way he hadn’t yet experienced.  Still, he knew he had to set his relationship with Santana aside to focus on their son.  Mateo was their number one priority and that meant any ill feelings or nagging regrets from the past had to take a back seat.  

On his travels, Puck had learned to cook actual food.  Long gone were the days of hot pockets and instant ramen, unless he was feeling nostalgic or particularly lazy.  Which was why he’d spent the bulk of the morning and afternoon grocery shopping with Francine, only to send her to the living room to relax and enjoy some TV while he prepared Sunday dinner.  The chicken was just finishing broiling as Puck plated out the cubed rosemary potatoes; he wanted to show Santana that he could provide for their son, both physically and emotionally.  The front door opened and closed as Puck pulled the sizzling tray of golden brown chicken from the oven.  Slinging the dishtowel over his shoulder and using it to wipe his hands, Puck hurried from the kitchen to greet Santana and Mateo.  Unfortunately, the happy excitement that he had been met with the last few times in visiting his son was nowhere in sight as the toddler clung to his mother.  The moment Santana disentangled Mateo from around her he was on the floor, kicking his legs and slamming his fists as he cried.  Puck’s eyes widened, his tongue smoothing over his lips quickly as he tried to think of a way to console his furious son.

“Hey kiddo, it’s okay.  How about we watch some Ninja Turtles before we eat dinner, huh?”  He bent down to the floor and tried to smooth his hand over Mateo’s tousled hair but the boy only seemed to scream louder and produce thicker tears.  “Or not…”  Puck stood and looked at Santana.  “Maybe Mommy can stay for a little while?” he offered, hoping Santana would throw him a bone.

In the grand scheme of things, Mateo’s fit couldn't come at a better time. With tension at an all time high between his parents, this was a welcome distraction. Most of the time, Santana didn't tolerate this kind of behavior. In fact, she often got Mateo to quiet down quickly due to what Francine called her ‘Witches eye’. She'd inherited the look from her mother and grandmother, and it was her one defense against a child that had both of his parent’s tempers. Smirking at Puck, she crossed her arms. “Mama is fine for a few minutes. Daddy needs to handle this.” Hearing Francine chuckle behind her meant she'd done the right thing. Puck needed to see all sides of his son.

Santana moved to put Mateo’s backpack down, leaving the room to put the fruit she'd brought in the fridge. For some reason Francine got on her about things being kosher even if Mateo wasn't jewish, so bringing fruit seemed to be her easy snack. She could still hear her son wailing away, and when he finally called ‘mama!’ She walked back into the living room, raising her eyebrow at Mateo and Puck.

For a fleeting moment Puck thought that Santana would actually come to his rescue.  What did he know about a toddler in mid tantrum?  Bupkis.  But an almost wicked smirk seemed to twist Santana’s lips, making Puck feel like the floor was falling out from underneath his feet.  

“Oookay,” Puck drawled, trying to ignore the hushed chuckle from his mother.  Apparently this was another sink or swim moment and Puck had to pony up the courage to dive off the deep end.  “Mateo, buddy, the floor isn’t really that comfortable, is it?  How about we go sit on the couch and put on Power Rangers?”  He was desperately trying to coax his son away from spontaneous combustion.  But Mateo was the product of two very stubborn people and he refused to even entertain the idea of listening to Puck.  “No?  How about more Star Wars then?” Puck tried, Mateo rolling onto his back and calling out for Santana.  “Come on, kid, cut me some slack,” Puck huffed, sitting down next to his son and trying once again to smooth out his hair.

When Santana came back from the kitchen, Puck cleared his throat.  “Think you can maybe give me a few pointers on how to handle this?”  If Santana wasn’t going to stay, especially with Mateo completely out of sorts, then the least she could do was give him a few tips.  He’d only been at this whole dad thing for a week after all.

Santana knew the crying had gone on long enough, and if she didn't handle the situation, Mateo would make himself sick. As much as she wanted to laugh at how terrified Puck looked, she knew he'd probably never seen a child throw a tantrum like this, and he had no idea what to say. She looked over at Francine who looked just as amused as she felt, waiting for the woman to give her nod of approval.

Quickly, she clapped her hands once. “Basta! No mames! Callete!” Santana rambled off in Spanish, raising her voice at the child and telling him to quit his crying. “Te daria una buena zerra!” With that, Mateo stopped crying, his wails turned to pouting. “Tell him you’ll spank him. He’ll stop right away. It's more menacing if you use the eye,” she smiled, looking down at her son with one eyebrow raised. “He knows better than to act like this.”

The moment Santana busted out the Spanish, Puck knew his son would respond; she damn near put the fear of God in him.  Mateo’s tantrum fizzled out as his screaming morphed from blubbering into stoic hiccups.  He wiped at his face, his eyes puffy from crying and slimy snot dripping from his nose.  In that moment Puck could feel for his son, his own mother had utilized those same threats when he was a child.  Of course Francine rarely spanked him, her words were usually enough to get Puck to stop whatever meltdown he was having.  “Spanking...got it,” Puck muttered, looking over at Mateo pouting on the floor.  Maybe it was because this was his first week as a full fledged dad, but Puck wasn’t exactly excited about threatening his son with physical punishment; he’d have to figure out his own method with time.  “Mateo,” he started, gaining his son’s attention, “if you don’t want to stay here, you don’t have to.  I just thought it would be kinda fun to have dinner and play with Legos, like last Sunday.  Remember?”  Mateo wiped at his nose, his eyes flicking between Santana and Puck before nodding his head.  “I don’t wanna take you away from Mommy if you don’t want to okay?  But if you wanna hang out with me for a little while, Mommy will be back.  I promise.”  Again, Mateo looked at both his parents.  “Promise?”  This time it was Puck’s turn to nod.  “Promise,” Puck repeated, crossing his finger over his chest.  “If you wanna stay, go give Mommy a hug and tell her you love her.  Then we’ll go get the big box of Legos out, okay?”  He was trying to be as gentle as possible with his son because he was still clueless when it came to being an authority figure.  Mateo pushed off the floor and trudged over to Santana for a hug, leaving Puck breathing a deep sigh.  “Legos and Star Wars it is.”

She knew she could stop the fit, but that didn't mean she was sure she should leave. Sure, Mateo’s grandmother could easily handle another one, but if the reason the boy was upset was because Santana was leaving, then part of her wanted to stay. Even though she kept Mateo disciplined, she still had a soft side that wanted to hold him and rock him until he smiled again. Santana held him against her, hands smoothing his hair out. “I'll hang with you for a little bit, bebito. But your dad is so excited to see you. Grandma too. You don't need boring mom around when there's so much fun to have here.”

Her eyes met Puck’s, the reason she wanted to not be here in the first place making her sigh. She'd wanted to stay far enough away that she wasn't wanting to hold him against her either. His nervous but excited way of parenting made her smile, and the more she saw him as their son’s father, the harder it was to keep the feelings she had at bay. “I'll stay and work. I won't eat or anything, just chill here and edit some stuff until he's cool again.” It would be an easy fix, and she could stay parked in one spot until Mateo decided he could ignore her and do his own thing. Their son still clung to her, making her chuckle. “That was only a preview, daddy.”

There was something about watching Mateo cling to Santana that reminded Puck how much of an outsider he really was.  Truthfully, he was still a stranger to their son, so he couldn’t blame Mateo for not wanting to be away from his mother.  On the flipside, he didn’t want Santana to think he couldn’t handle being a parent.  Still, relief flooded his system when Santana said she would stay.  Even though his own mother was around to help with any emergency situation, it would make for an easier transition if Santana didn’t just drop him off.  “Awesome.  See bubba?  Not so scary hanging out here, huh?”  Puck got up off the floor, a blush creeping up his neck at Santana’s words.  “Go big or go home, right?”  He picked up the dish towel that had fallen from his shoulder and wrung it between his hands.  “Well dinner is basically done anyway.  You don’t have to hole yourself away here.  We can eat and then you can work while us boys build an epic battleship out of Legos,” Puck explained, looking at Santana more than Mateo as his son’s back was still to him.  “I made plenty of food, so it’s not a big deal.”

Santana knew that Mateo was seconds away from another meltdown if she didn't tread carefully, so she nodded, lifting her son away from her body to stand him up. “Go with dad and wash up while I get my laptop.” Once her son actually moved on his own and went to hug his grandmother before looking at Puck, she walked back out the front door and grabbed her bag from her car. As she looked back up at the house, she sighed, wishing she could escape from having to spend the evening acting like a happy little family. Steeling herself, she went back in and set up on the couch, glad to see that Mateo was starting to perk up. Once Francine let her know that dinner was ready, she went into the kitchen to help set the table. “Mateo! Sit. I'll get your plate.” Santana walked into the kitchen, grabbing the child’s plate from the counter, already filled with food. “Thanks for cooking,” she told him, slipping past him again.

After Puck and Mateo finished washing their hands, they made their way back out to the living room, a little more pep in the toddler’s step.  “Do you like potatoes?”  Puck asked, realizing he didn’t even know some of his kid’s favorite foods.  When Mateo responded with an emphatic “Yeah!”  Puck felt his muscles start to relax again.  “Good.  Because I made you some awesome potatoes,” Puck smiled, Santana’s call from the kitchen beckoning them towards the table.  He helped Mateo into his booster seat while Santana set a plate of food in front of him.  “No problem,” Puck responded, his heart thudding against his ribcage when her body brushed against his.  Get ahold of yourself, dude he thought, shaking his head slightly before filling his own plate with chicken, potatoes, and salad.  “Nothing fancy,” he added, laying his plate on the table before turning around to grab himself a cup.  “Want anything to drink?”  he asked, looking at Santana since Francine already had her glass of ice water and Mateo his sippy cup of milk.

It was surprising that Puck could cook, and for a moment Santana wondered if Francine had cooked to make him look good, but she knew the woman wouldn't do that. Not after all this time. Francine had told her enough times that she was upset with Puck’s actions so she wasn't too worried that the woman was defending him. “Water,” she answered, going to make sure their son didn't start flinging food around the room. Noticing that as she sat, Francine had taken one head of the table, with Mateo at the other, meaning that Puck was directly across from her. That meant a full meal of awkward glances between them while she tried to not focus on the fact that his face had changed a little, or how he looked more relaxed than he ever had before. She tried to ignore the way she wished she could reach for his hand like she used to, instead she helped Mateo eat and then stared down at her food until she was finished. “That was awesome. Thanks.”

There was a palpable awkwardness that hung around the table, a tension that no one dared to comment on.  Once upon a time Santana had been the one person that Puck felt the most comfortable around.  Now, he glanced up a few times as they ate to find Santana’s eyes boring into her plate.  Puck shifted throughout their meal, eating faster than normal so that they wouldn’t have to sit there much longer.  “Yeah, it wasn’t half bad.  I’m glad you all liked it,” Puck answered, picking up the dirty plates and utensils.  A part of him was relieved that dinner was over and they didn’t have to pretend that they weren’t uncomfortable in front of their son anymore.  In an attempt to give Santana the space she’d requested, Puck set the dishes in the sink and turned towards Mateo with a happy grin on his face.  “How about we go get some ice cream, Bubba?” Puck asked, walking over to help his son out of his booster seat.  The boy was in a much better mood after having eaten and the surprise of dessert seemed to light him up.  “Yeah!”  Mateo cheered, no sign of another tantrum in sight.  “Yeah!  Let’s go get your coat on.”  Puck watched Mateo run towards the living room, but he hung back briefly to talk to Santana and Francine.  “I figured I could get him out of the house and you guys can do whatever you do on Sundays,” he started, rubbing his hands together.  He was still new to their routine and he didn’t want to screw up any more than he had.  “I’ll have him back in a couple hours, if that’s cool.”

She could tell everyone was eating quicker than usual to avoid having to speak to one another. She felt like it was entirely her fault because she'd brought up needing space from him, and now they were here, answering Mateo like they did family dinners often. It was weird how domestic and normal it was, and Santana didn't know if she liked how similar this seemed to dinners with Finn and Kate, Puck teasing their small child to make her laugh. At Puck’s offer of ice cream, Santana frowned slightly. Her son loved ice cream like every other kid, but Santana limited his intake because he bounced off the walls on sugar. “No crazy candy toppings,” she warned. “I want him to actually sleep. And if he's gonna run off with you, I might as well go home to my office. We usually just lounge around but I have about a million Christmas images that need editing.” She looked at Francine, who nodded and agreed she had things to do as well. “Okay, cool. Think you can bring him to my house when you're done? No later than eight.”

Spending the evening out with Mateo would definitely be a step up from walking on eggshells around Santana.  She’d made it clear that she didn’t want to do the whole co-parenting thing together and Puck had to respect her wishes, but now he felt like he had to be on his A game all the time.  “No crazy toppings and home by eight, got it,” Puck listed off, more than ready to get a breath of fresh air.  “If you change your mind and have too much work and need me to keep him for the night, just text me.  I’d be down for a Puckerman men sleepover.”  He tossed her a playful smile, thankful that she didn’t pump the breaks on him fueling their kid with sugar.  

After getting Mateo and himself into their coats and hats, Puck fiddled with the carseat for a good five minutes, determined to figure it out himself.  Once Mateo was safely buckled in, Puck slid into the driver’s seat and took off toward the ice cream parlor downtown.  Fizzywhips had been a staple in Puck and Santana’s date nights when they were home; an evening out just wasn’t complete unless they stopped in for homemade ice cream or a monster sized shake.  Just being back in the small shop had Puck’s heart warming; and now he was there with their son.  

Even in the middle of winter there was a line to the door, the icy air outside a a failed threat to the frozen treats.  It took at least twenty minutes to even get to the the counter and by then Mateo was still waffling over what flavor to get.  As big of a sucker as Puck was for his son, he’d promised Santana no toppings and only one scoop of ice cream to keep Mateo from turning into a wild child .  To Puck’s delight, Mateo finally settled on cookies ‘n cream, Puck’s favorite flavor as well.  And after they both watched the snow fall while slowly working their way through their cones, Puck realized that almost forty-five minutes had passed.  Eight o’clock was swiftly approaching and Puck wanted to take his time getting to Santana’s because of the snow.  He wet a napkin and did his best at wiping Mateo’s face and hands clean before ordering a strawberry shake to go and ushering Mateo out the door and back into the car.  

It was just past eight when Puck knocked on Santana’s door, steeling himself for the backlash for not having Mateo home on time.  He’d driven extra slow through downtown and had taken a few detours on the way back to show Mateo all of the best Christmas lights.  Even though he was Jewish, Puck had always loved the way Christmas lights seemed so magical.  If she wanted to be mad at him for that, Puck would let it roll off his shoulders because Mateo was practically beaming the entire ride home.  With Mateo in his arms and his hand clutched around the strawberry shake, Puck knocked awkwardly on the front door.  When it swung open, Puck was already apologizing.  “I know, I know.  You said no later than eight and it’s past eight.  I’m sorry.  The snow got a little heavy,” Puck explained as Mateo held onto him tighter.  “Daddy showed me the lights!”  Mateo chimed, looking over at Santana with big eyes.  A blush crept up Puck’s neck and cheeks, his son ratting him out without knowing.  “I took him down Brewster Street.  They have the best lights.”  He stood there for a moment before he realized that her shake was quickly becoming strawberry milk.  “Oh...I got this for you.  Thought you might want a little sugar yourself.”

Santana desperately wanted to go with them and experience Puck taking his son to get ice cream. It would be adorable. She desperately wished that they were okay enough to do this together, but instead she had to put up a barrier because she wanted things too much and she knew they'd only fight. So instead she spent the night editing Christmas photos, sending them out as she finished. Thankfully, Puck gave her enough time that she only had half a shoot to finish by the time they knocked. She noticed it was after eight, but the way Mateo’s face split into a smile when she opened the door made her stop the rant threatening to spill out. Mateo ran past her to take his coat off, and she closed the door behind Puck before taking the cup. “You got me Fizzywhips? I haven't had it in ages,” she grinned, taking a long sip. Her eyes closed, a satisfied moan spilling from her. “I rarely do sugar. This is so good. Thank you.” She looked at him, biting her lip as her eyes scanned his face. His cheeks and nose red from the cold, eyes lit up from making their son happy. “I-” she started, being cut off by Mateo tearing into the room in his pajamas. “Daddy! Can we watch Force Waking?” He asked, making her laugh. “The Force Awakens. He just got the DVD yesterday. I uh… you're more than welcome to watch it.”

A soft laugh billowed from the back of Puck’s throat as Santana moaned around her straw; she used to make that same sound every time she got a shake from Fizzywhips.  “No problem,” he hummed, watching her indulge happily.  Puck’s eyes were practically glued to her as Mateo rushed back into the entryway already changed into his pajamas.  Puck’s brows furrowed for a moment, a smile on his face as he tried to decipher what exactly his son was asking.  Santana translated the toddler speak, making Puck huff another soft laugh.  “Wow.  Did mommy get you that DVD?” he asked, entertaining Mateo’s excitement.  The boy nodded and jumped around, the sugar working its way through his system.  Puck knew that the sugar high wouldn’t last much longer and Mateo would be crashing into a deep sleep in less than an hour, so he looked back at Santana.  Her invitation made his lips bow into a soft smile.  “You sure?  I don’t wanna overstep.”  Puck was really trying his best not to encroach on her space and they’d already had a tense dinner together.  “If you have some more work to do I can hang out with him for a bit until you’re done and then I can head out,” he offered.

“No, it'll be fine. I'm almost done editing. You guys can watch it in here and I'll just chill on my end and finish.” Mateo was already rushing to put the DVD in the player, making her smile. “You can hang up your coat there,” she pointed to the hooks by the door, turning back in to the living room. “Mateo, go get your blanket. Puck, if you want anything to drink, there's different stuff in the fridge. And snacks in the cabinet. Make yourself at home.” Santana didn't want things to be awkward, especially because Mateo needed to settle down. “Y'all behave. I'm here if ya need something.”

Puck was pleasantly surprised by Santana’s warm welcome.  After the dinner they’d had, he was sure she would be eager to have him out of her hair until at least Tuesday.  Looking to where Santana pointed, Puck shrugged off his coat and pulled off his hat before hanging them on the hook next to the door.  He smoothed out his shirt and patted down his hair before stepping further into Santana’s home.  “Thank,” he mumbled, watching her walk back to what he assumed was her office.  Puck blew a long breath of air out through his nose before joining Mateo on the couch.  “Bring on the storm troopers!”  Puck announced, Mateo bouncing into his lap.  He was taken aback at first, but his arms easily molded around his son as the movie began to play.

Seventy-five minutes later, Mateo’s eyelids drooped close and his body went completely limp in Puck’s arms.  The sugar had run its course and, try as he might, Mateo just couldn’t stay awake any longer.  Not that Puck could blame the kid, he’d been on a bit of an emotional rollercoaster today and Puck wasn’t a stranger to that kind of exhaustion.  As quietly and carefully as he could, Puck stood up and carried Mateo back towards where Santana had disappeared to.  He could have left the boy on the couch, but he figured he’d help Santana out and carry their son to bed so she wouldn’t have to later.  Peeking into the only room with the light on, Puck lightly tapped on the door.  “Hey...he’s out.  I dunno if you want him in your room or his room...,” Puck explained, keeping his voice soft and low.  “Or I can put him back on the sofa If you want.”  His hand rubbed up and down Mateo’s back gently as he rocked slowly from side to side on the balls of his feet to keep their son in dreamland.  

Thankfully, she had finished editing, sending off the last of her digital albums to her clients. Now all she had left was a wedding, but she could do that over the next day or two since it wasn't on a deadline. As much as she loved taking pictures, she hated how much time editing took sometimes. When Puck appeared in her door which a sleeping Mateo, she smiled, pushing her glasses up on her head as she sat her laptop down next to her. “His room. I've officially kicked him out of my bed. No more tiny cold feet on my back at night.” She pushed the covers down to get out of bed, leading him to Mateo’s room, pulling his covers back. “He's a heavy sleeper thankfully.”

Once Mateo was in bed, Santana flipped the night light on and left the room, slightly closing the door behind her. Now that it was just the two of them in her hallway, she felt like she was much too close to him, and it was much too dark for them to act like rational adults. “Thank you. The milkshake was amazing. Mateo had an awesome time. I bet he absolutely loved the lights.” She smiled at him, crossing her arms. “I, uh, I wanted to talk to you about last night.”

After tucking Mateo into bed, Puck stepped back and let Santana finish up her nightly ritual with their son.  He watched through the doorway as Santana pressed a kiss to his forehead and turned on the nightlight next to his bed.  Observing the way things came so easily to her in regards to being a mother made him happy and sad at the same time; he’d have had the same confidence in being a parent if he had only stayed three years ago.  Puck chewed on his bottom lip, taking another step back when Santana came out of the boy’s bedroom and closed the door behind her.  The air around them seemed to disappear and Puck swore he could feel every fiber pulse in his heart.  “You don’t have to thank me.  Really.  I love spending time with him.  I wanna get to know him...every part of him...including the part that likes to throw tantrums.  Pretty sure he got a double dose of our bad tempers, so I can’t really blame him.”  He tried to keep his eyes from roaming over her, but he couldn’t help but soak in the way her body had softened just the slightest bit since she’d given birth; her breasts were a little bigger and her hips had more of a curve than an angle to them.  When she crossed her arms over her chest, he was sure he’d been caught admiring and a blush crept up his neck.  “Last night...what about it?”

Maybe she didn't need to bring up the night before, but after the way she'd made dinner awkward, she felt like she definitely needed to say something. Though, she knew if she started talking so close to her bedroom, she'd probably end up dragging him in. The few glasses of wine she'd drank had her cheeks flushed and her tongue loose. Never a good combination when the man that still held your heart was around. She led him back down the hallway towards the living room since she figured that was a safe space, no overly inviting bed or romantic lighting to tempt her. “I just wanna apologize. For Finn’s behavior, for me going off about some random ex. For all of it. I don't like this tension between us. I wanna be around you without being worried about what might be said.” She pushed her hair off her shoulders before rubbing over them, fighting the nerves. “Look, we have our son and I don't want to impose some strict rule about you seeing him. I want you to come over, for him to go there. Whenever you get your own place or whatever, he’ll go there. No ‘every other weekend’ shit. We aren't divorced and angry. We’re just… harboring feelings that we eventually need to discuss. When you're ready or when I'm ready or whatever. I want us to work.”

His confusion ebbed away as Santana spoke, her nervous mannerisms betraying her calm and collected tone.  She was anxious, Puck could practically taste how jittery she was, but still she pushed on with her explanation.  If Santana Lopez was one thing, she was a fighter; she’d been a fighter her entire life and her tenacity only seemed to grow stronger with motherhood; it was one of the many things that Puck loved about her.  The knot that had been growing in his chest started to fray and sever with each word Santana offered.  Things between them definitely weren’t perfect, but knowing that she genuinely wanted him in Mateo’s life had his lungs relaxing.  “You don’t have to apologize, Santana.  I…” he started, his thoughts jumbled after the harsh tension between them was released.  “It’s not my place to comment on your relationships with Finn or with any other guy you have in your life.  You’ve raised our son to be this amazing little dude and I know that every decision you make is with him at the front of your mind.  And I didn’t come home to screw up your life or his life.  Hell, I didn’t even know you were back.  And I obviously didn’t know about Mateo.”  Puck felt like he was getting off track, rambling because he finally felt like he could talk to her without there being some huge blowout.  “I didn’t like the idea of visitation, but I’d do it if that’s what you really wanted.  I’m not trying to change your mind about that by inviting you to dinner or taking our son out for ice cream.  I just...I don’t want to do anything to make you hate me even more than you already do.  So if you’re changing the whole scheduled visits thing because you feel guilty, then don’t.  But if you’re changing it because you really don’t like it, then I’d love to have that kind of relationship with him...and with you.  You’re his mom, Santana.  You’re his ride or die.  You call the shots,” he echoed her words from the first night he was home because they would always hold true.  “For the record...if it counts for anything...I want us to work too.”

Santana sighed, shaking her head. “I know you didn't come home to screw anything up. I know you didn't know. I know that you aren't trying to be a dick… minus the few times you have been,” she laughed. “Look, I don't know if it's jealousy or what, but I get it. You're a new dad, you're protective of your child, you're unsure of who I bring around. Trust me when I say it's only been Finn and my ex. Both trustworthy guys. And the visitation thing was a hasty decision I made because I was upset and didn't know how to just be around you.” She took a deep breath, motioning between them. “Since we were teens, there's been this thing between us that makes it hard for us to be calm and cool around each other. I want us to just… exist. To be able to sit next to one another at class recitals and football games. We can do this. We can parent together. We can.. be a sort of family. Different, but still a family.” Pausing, she looked at him, not hesitating to wrap her arms around him, pressing her face to his chest. “We’re gonna be good parents. Together.”

Puck felt like he couldn’t breathe properly again, but this time it was because Santana was saying everything he needed to hear.  Unlike himself, Santana had learned to reign in her anger and think more logically than emotionally; devoting her life to her son had really taught her some harsh lessons.  Puck nodded as she spoke, silently encouraging her to continue sharing her thoughts on their situation.  When she mentioned the way they seemed to ignite one another’s fire, Puck merely chuckled.  It was true; ever since high school they could get under each other’s skin and push just the right buttons.  But now their dynamic had shifted and they needed to be a united front for their son.  “Still a family,” Puck echoed, his heart pounding painfully in his chest as Santana wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his shirt.  He wanted to apologize for every tear he’d made her cry, for every second that her heart was in pain.  If there was a way to undo that hurt, Puck would find it.  His arms anchored her in place, one hand cupping the back of her head as the other smoothed up and down her back just as he’d been doing to Mateo not even ten minutes ago.  “Better together.”  Puck was sure his heart was ready to beat its way right of his chest.  It had been three years since he’d held her like this, three years since he could smell the mix of her perfume and sweat.  Without thinking it through, Puck pulled back enough to tilt Santana’s chin up, his lips meeting hers with firm pressure.

She knew that hugging him was dangerous territory. This wasn't some random person, this was her person, back from god knows where, ready to be there for her and their son. Call it mother’s intuition, but Santana knew that Puck wasn't just going to take off again. She'd seen him after Beth, after Shelby dangled the girl in front of him. She knew he was capable of being a father, capable of taking care of their child when she wasn't around. Since all that had been settled, now she just needed to deal with her feelings for him that didn't involve Mateo. She loved him. She'd been in love with him the entire time he was gone, which was one of the reasons she beat herself up about it so much. Hearing him agree they'd be better together made her think of just how great they could be, the feeling of his arms making her sigh softly against his shirt. Feeling his fingers in her hair, she let him maneuver her head, his lips sending her into shock. After a moment she kissed back, hands fisting in his shirt as she leaned closer, her lips chasing his.

There was a brief moment where Puck thought he may get slapped, but then Santana started kissing him back, her fingers twisting into his shirt,  and Puck couldn’t think of anything but her.  He’d tried and failed to push her out of his mind for the last three years; no matter who he shared his bed with, they didn’t come close to Santana.  Puck figured it was his punishment for just up and leaving, but now he knew that their lives were so intertwined that he’d never be able to cut her out without risk of losing himself.  The floodgates had opened the moment their lips met, bringing with it the rush of shackled feelings that Puck had tried to lock away three years ago.  His tongue swept past her lips, the sugary sweetness of her mouth making him groan as his hand slipped down her back to grab her ass.  It felt like he couldn’t get enough of her, like he’d been denying himself the one thing that would make him feel complete.

Since he'd come home, Santana had a small feeling that he still had feelings for her, but she wasn't sure. Puck had always been critical of who she slept with, so even though she'd thought it was jealousy, she couldn't be sure. Now she was. There was more than just old feelings between them. She didn't know if she should keep kissing him, or stop to ask him what the hell they were doing, but his hand gripping her ass answered that for her. It was embarrassing how much she needed this, how good it felt to be wanted again. She hadn't been with anyone in ages, and no matter how many times she wanted to, she couldn't find time to date or hook up. Her hands moved from his shirt to his hair, a small moan of delight escaping her. When she pulled away to actually breathe, she chuckled, biting her lower lip. “That was surprising,” she offered, her eyes falling from his eyes to his lips before she leaned into kiss him again, suddenly feeling like if she stopped, she'd wake up from some sort of dream.

Swallowing the moan that bubbled from Santana’s throat made Puck smile into their kiss.  He was genuinely happy, his heart blooming in his chest.  As she pulled away Puck slowly opened his eyes, preparing himself for some sort of reprimand.  But Santana’s words were light and breathy, her mouth seeking out his own before he could even answer her.  The need for her started to ebb out towards every cell in his body, the taste of her tongue spurring him on.  Puck lifted her into his arms, her legs wrapped around his waist, as he carried her towards the couch.  He couldn’t remember how many times this kind of kiss had lead them into a night full of tangled and sweaty limbs.  “You feel so fucking good,” Puck groaned, his mouth parting from hers to nip and suck down her neck once he was pressed between her legs on the sofa.

She didn't know how she went from trying to make things okay between them to making out with him, but she wasn't ready to stop it. She wanted him, loved him, missed him. There was no way she was going to tell him they couldn't do this. Being lifted made her gasp against his lips, but she went with it, wrapping her legs around him to let him carry her wherever he pleased. Her hands stayed in his hair, giving the longer strands a light tug as she laid back against the cushions. “Mm, don't stop kissing me. I've missed it too much,” she told him honestly, one hand moving to slide under the back of his t-shirt, fingers running over smooth skin. Her lips traced his jaw before nipping lightly under his ear, something she used to do constantly, before kissing him slowly again.

He was starting to mark her neck, make her his again, when her desperate demand brought his lips back to hers.  She’d missed him, his kiss at least, and that was enough for Puck to rock forward against her.  The warmth of her fingers along his back made a shiver zip down his spine, his cock growing stiff beneath the confines of his jeans.  “I’ve missed you too,” he admitted, his words pressed against her lips.  Enjoying the way Santana seemed to fold around him, Puck continued to rut against the basin of her pelvis, the friction helping to ease the ache at his base.  His hands worked their way beneath her shirt, fingertips grazing up her ribcage before he palmed her heavy breast.  

She could feel him through the thin material of her leggings, her own body rocking up against his as his lips left marks on her neck. She knew she needed to keep him from marking her, but her sixteen year old self reminded her she could do wonders with a cold spoon and some foundation. Santana used her legs to keep him against her, moaning as he finally found a stiff bud to roll between his fingers. Her sensitivity was off the charts, making her squirm under him. “Let me up,” she told him, waiting for him to sit up. Once he complied, she straddled him, grinding down against him as she pulled her sweater over her head, reaching to yank his shirt off as well.

At first Santana’s words sounded like a warning, despite the fact that her heart was beating just as hard as his was, but when Puck sat up she didn’t push him towards the door.  Instead she straddled his lap, her center pressing down over his covered member as she peeled off her sweater and tossed it aside.  Her breasts were on full display, magnets for Puck’s mouth as his hands guided the motion of her pelvis along his cock.  She tugged at his shirt, practically ripping it off of him before throwing it to the floor to join her sweater.  His mouth was on her then, carving a path down the valley between her breasts before sealing his lips over her pert left nipple.  He pulled it through his teeth, one hand abandoning her hip to slip beneath the stretchy material of her leggings.  There was no denying that she would be wet, he could practically feel the heat of her through his denim, but Puck couldn’t help the moan that roared from his chest when his fingertips dipped between her sopping folds.  “Fuck, you’re soaked,” he growled, his cock twitching at the thought of sinking deep inside of her.

She cried out, her back arching as her eyes snapped closed, his mouth making her rock her hips harder. She wanted less clothing between them, but she didn't push it, wanting them to go at the pace that felt natural for them. Instead of trying to think about what any of this meant, or why they were doing it, she focused on how good it felt to just be touched by him. His teeth had her whimpering, his rough treatment making her shiver. Then his hand slid beneath her leggings and into her, making her drop her head against his shoulder, nails digging into his arms. “Oh fuck,” she whined, voice shaky. “No shit. You're dry humping me like we’re sixteen and I haven't had an orgasm from another person in what feels like ages. Keep going,” she rasped, lips attacking his skin to suck tiny spots down the column of his throat.

“You’re anything but dry,” Puck countered with a smirk, a grunt forcing from his throat as Santana dug her nails into his skin.  The pain only added to the pleasure, making Puck curl his fingers to tap into the spot that made Santana’s legs quake.  Even after three years and a baby, he still knew her body; being inside of her was like coming home.  Her lips along his neck made him pulse, the blood rushing to his groin making it hard for him to concentrate.  While he’d had his fair share of sex over the past three years, it had actually been months since he’d gotten anything more than a blow job.  Not to mention that this was Santana, the woman to whom he compared all of the other notches on his bedpost.  Puck tried his best to focus on her, to build her up until she was primed.  He alternated between pressing inside of her and rubbing over her clit until she was so wet that he could barely keep contact with the slippery nub.  Puck pulled his hand free and pushed against her hips so she’d stand up.  “Get these fucking things off,” he ordered, snapping the waistband of her leggings before sucking his fingers clean while opening the fly of his jeans.  He let out a hard breath, his hand wrapping around his dick to ease the ache flaring up his shaft.  

She'd never been more thankful that her son was a hard sleeper. Usually it worried her that he could sleep through a tornado, but now she considered it a blessing. The last thing she needed was Mateo walking in on them. “Shut up,” she groaned, rocking her hips against his hand, breathy moans filling the silence. She was so close to coming that her thighs were starting to jump every time he brushed her clit, driving her insane. Being told once was enough, his demand making her stand and push the leggings off. She struggled slightly, the stretchy material getting hung on her ankle before she got them off. Once she was done struggling, she looked him over, a satisfied smirk on her face. He looked exactly the same, every inch of his body the same way she'd left it. His cock stood proudly, her center clenching at the thought of having him inside her again. She crawled over him, not even thinking to ask about tests or condoms, her body slowly taking him inch by inch as she stretched around him. “Holy shit,”

she whined, her forehead wrinkling. “Fuck, Noah,” she panted, eyes snapping to meet his.

One moment they were tucking their son into bed and the next Santana was panting Puck’s name as she lowered herself onto his bare cock.  All rational thought went out the window the moment Puck sunk into her.  This was the woman he loved for so many years, the mother of his child, the woman who still let him back into her life after pulling some David Copperfield shit.  It felt like his heart couldn’t contain it all, his ribs cracking beneath the pressure, but he let his physical pleasure supercede his emotional upheaval and eagerly watched her sink down on him.  His eyes flicked between the joining of their bodies and the look on Santana’s face as he bottomed out; he’d have her furrowed brow and gently parted lips burned into his mind forever.  The way she said his name made his stomach churn, their eyes finally catching as she adjusted to the intrusion.  “I got you, Tana,” Puck answered, his voice an octave below normal.  He didn’t break eye contact at all, his hands gripping onto her hips to help lift and lower her along his shaft at a steady pace.  “I got you, baby.”

With one hand gripping the couch behind his head and the other curled around the back of his neck, Santana slowly started to move, letting him guide her movements. She felt crazed from the pleasure and emotion running through her, making her snap her hips against his. The realization that the last time she'd done this with him had been the time she’d conceived Mateo had her feeling suddenly nervous. She'd had a child, gained a few pounds here and there, and apparently got stitched up so good down there that she felt like a virgin all over again. That thought almost made her laugh, but then he was looking at her and calling her baby, calling her Tana, and all she could focus on was how amazing this felt. Like coming home. She loved him, no matter how flawed he was, no matter the mistakes he'd made, and getting to be intimate with him once again had her heart bursting. She wished she could tell him, explain to him that he had her heart if he wanted it, and even if he didn't. But she didn't. Instead she let out another cry, her hips rolling against his as she clenched around him, thighs starting to shake. “I'm so close. So fucking close already,” she breathed.

If it was physically possible, Puck would stay inside of Santana forever.  Every twitch of her muscles and whimper from her throat made him pulse heavily between his legs.  He had been so focused on her orgasm that his own climb to climax was nearing fruition.  Puck felt like a teenager again, frustrated and embarrassed that he wasn’t able to last more than a couple of minutes before he’d nut.  He’d prided himself on mastering the long game in high school, but there was no way he could hold back much longer.  Despite the fact that he wanted to drag this out and prolong the heavenly feeling of Santana snug around his cock, he could already feel the pressure deep in his sack.  The day had been a whirlwind of emotions and all the tension that had been building between them over the last few hours culminated in a sexual release that they both desperately needed.  Santana’s thighs were trembling, her hips taking up a chaotic rhythm in her approach to her peak.  Puck dropped his hands away from her hips, one hand sliding between them to add pressure to her clit while the other fisted into her hair, tugging forcefully.  And when Santana clenched hard in reaction to the double assault, that was all Puck needed.  “Fuck!” he barked, his hips lifting off the couch in successive jerks, driving himself deeper into her as heat rose up his shaft and spurted from his tip in a heavy load.

It was like he shoved her right over the edge of a cliff, her stomach tightening as her legs shook, clenching around him as she came. Her eyes rolled, movements getting jerky as she fell apart, her nails digging into his shoulders. “Fucking hell,” she whined, leaning in to suck at a spot on his neck, rocking her hips against him as he came. “Jesus, it’s like we just had a quickie in your truck after a football game,” she laughed, smoothing her hands up and down his arms, head resting against his shoulder. “How long do I need to give you before you can get in the shower with me and bang me there too?” She was trying to keep things light between them, not wanting to overcomplicate whatever this was. On top of that, she still couldn’t get enough of him, and just the thought of having him again had her clenching around him.

There was no stopping the laugh that rumbled through his chest at Santana’s words.  She was right, when they were together in high school they’d find themselves crammed together like this in the cab of his truck after a big win; Santana had deemed it Puck’s reward for kicking ass.  And when they reconnected in college they couldn’t get enough of each other, his truck moonlighting as their second bedroom at times so they could fit in a quickie between work and classes.  Puck was going soft inside her, Santana’s walls still squeezing around him sporadically.  He’d never had a long recovery time, which for them was a blessing, and it would only take another five to ten minutes before he was stiff again.  “Depends.  How far away is your shower?”  Puck teased, his hands reaching down to lift her as he slipped out.  The fact that she wanted him again bolstered Puck’s confidence.  They had always been hot headed and impulsive together, but Puck didn’t want Santana to regret this.  He couldn’t sink into his emotions at the moment, he just needed to act on what every cell in his body was telling him: to rip every moan and whimper from Santana’s chest.  

Puck eased Santana off his lap, missing the weight of her once she was standing.  His hands smoothed down her body, his thumbs pressing over the jut of her hip bones.  “You’re still so fucking beautiful, you know that?”  He leaned in and nipped below her navel,  his eyes slowly looking up to find hers.  “I wanna make you come like that at least another couple times,” he admitted, pulling back before pushing himself off the couch.  Puck shoved his pants the rest of the way off, his boxers and jeans a puddle at his feet.  “Lead the way, mama.”

Santana ran a hand over his hair to cup his cheek as he kissed her skin. “Thanks. It's not the same tight cheerleader body from before, but childbirth and your mother’s cooking keep me from getting back to that,” she explained. It was weird that she felt the need to explain, but the last time he’d seen her naked, she looked perfect. Now she had tiny lines from being pregnant, and thicker thighs from too much cream sauce. “That sounds like a plan. Come on.” She scooped up all of their clothes, afraid to leave them out just in case. Leading them to her bedroom, she dumped them unceremoniously on the floor before walking in to her master bath to start the shower. “I love my shower. The shower head was so expensive but it's my favorite thing. Wait til you feel it.”

On their way back towards Santana’s bedroom, Puck kept his hand on the small of her back.  It was something he'd done since forever, a possessive protective gesture that came naturally when it involved Santana.  “Cream sauce and Mateo aside, I think you look incredible.  I'd say even better than before but you might take that the wrong way,” Puck teased, following Santana into the master bath.  Once she had ditched their clothes and turned on the faucet, Puck pulled her back against him, her ass fitting against his pelvis as both of his hands meandered up to massage her breasts.  They hadn't even stepped into the shower yet, but he couldn't wait to touch her again. Puck rolled both of Santana’s nipples between his fingers, his lips trailing down the side of her neck to her pulse point.  It was then that he started to suck against the rapid beat, his teeth digging into her just enough to bruise.

  “I think I look better than before too. Motherhood made my tits bigger, my ass bigger, and my body way more sensitive than before,” she laughed. It was true, she felt like she was shaping up to be an hourglass figure when before she was a stick. Perks of being a Latina mother. She wiggled her ass against him, hand going to grip the counter top as she moaned. Santana dropped her head forward, her eyes watching him in the mirror as he moved against her. “In the shower, Mi Vida.” She pulled away from him to guide him, stepping under the water. “Fuck yes. Perfectly hot. Scalding the way I like it.”

That damn nickname was Puck’s undoing; it was what Santana had started to call him six months into their college relationship.  He hadn’t thought to ask what it meant until she was lying breathless against his chest after a few rounds of sex celebrating the end of winter finals.  It was then that Puck realized that this wasn’t like high school; they weren’t just hooking up for the physical perks, there were actual feelings involved.  Four years later he’d felt the pressure of her marriage fever and decided that his best option was to run.  An idiotic, selfish decision, but his decision nonetheless.  Three years after that, here he was, standing in Santana’s bathroom as she uttered those same two words.  His heart felt heavy, his feet glued to the tiled floor as he watched her step into the spray of the shower.  What were they doing?  What was he doing?  He thought about leaving, letting her shower away the regret she would inevitably feel over this spontaneous reconnection.  But he couldn’t.  Not again.  He wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice.  Puck waited a beat before stepping into the shower behind her, steam already billowing around them.  Pulling Santana against him, Puck dropped his head to the curve of her neck.  “I’m sorry, Tana.  I’m really fucking sorry.”

She hadn't realized she'd said it until she was in the shower, frozen under the spray like a deer in the headlights. It had been so easy to revert back to the playful Santana and Puck that it seemed like the past didn't exist and they were right back in her college apartment. It was scary how easy it had been to just call him the same nickname she'd been calling him for ages, not even realizing that part of the reason he'd left had been because he truly had become her life. Her heart jumped in to her throat, waiting for him to bolt, to take off and pretend this night didn't exist because she'd shown too much emotion in two freaking words. To her surprise, he still got in the shower, wrapping her in his arms. “Sorry for what, Puck?” She asked, trying to not go back to pet names.

It was a simple question with a complicated answer.  What wasn’t Puck sorry for?  He was sorry he broke her heart, sorry he’d made her a single mother, sorry that Finn was more of a father figure to Mateo than Puck had been, sorry that she’d had to give up her hopes and dreams for the wellbeing of their son.  The list went on and on, Puck’s brain trying to mush all of his regrets into a single response.  He felt her stiffen, the air around them a little thicker and heavier than before.  There was a long pause while Puck tried to find the right answer, his hands sliding down her front slowly.  “I’m sorry for not believing that we had a chance to be something great.  You knew.  You’ve always known.  I’m sorry that I’m just realizing it now.”  He settled his chin on her shoulder before turning his face to kiss her neck softly.  It was true; Puck was so skeptical of any sort of long term relationship that he’d failed to see what was right in front of him three years ago: a genuinely happy life with Santana filled with love and untapped potential.

It was like all the air had been sucked out of the shower, and she was struggling to breathe through the hot water and the hot skin pressed to her back. She was scared of how he might answer that question, scared of what would be said in the shower and how it would be once they stepped outside of it. His answer made her let out a shaky breath, her legs feeling like jelly. She felt the tears on her cheeks, grateful that he couldn't see her so she could blame it on the spray. Hearing that he was realizing everything they could've been felt like a knife to the heart. She'd spent so much time imagining what their life would've been like, it tore her apart to realize that they'd wasted three years. So much could've been done. “Yeah. I knew.” Santana didn't know what else to say. Her hands held his against her skin, taking a deep breath. “I guess it wasn't meant to be before.”

They stood quietly, their bodies pressed together as the hot water made their skin redden and swell.  There was a tone of regret in Santana’s voice, her words wilting.  Puck instinctively hugged her closer, his arms tightening around her as if she might actually disappear into the steam itself.  “Really?  I think it was more because I was just too much of an idiot to realize what you already knew.”  He was trying to bring a little levity between them, both of their emotions running high.  “You always were smarter than me.”  Puck smiled against her then, his lips dragging along her skin.  “I'm just thankful that our son has you to teach him all that stuff.  Like not to be scared of loving someone.”

She wasn't sure what to say anymore. Why was he bringing this up? What was she supposed to say to that? She knew they could be amazing, she knew he would've been a great father, a great husband. “You learned the hard way. Everyone makes mistakes.” Her eyes closed to try and rein in the emotions swirling through her, making it harder for her to breathe. “That's why he loves you so hard. He knows to give it freely.” She didn't know how to put what she wanted to say, so instead, she turned in his arms to bury her face against his neck. It was too hard to meet his eyes still, unsure of what was happening between them. “You still have a chance to teach him to love freely. You can still show him what it takes to be a good man, to do what's right.”

What started out as a spontaneous kiss and urgent physical connection had morphed into something much deeper.  Puck was willing to admit his failures and take whatever anger and resentment Santana harbored.  He nodded as she spoke, his body reacting to having her pressed against him.  “That's exactly why I'm staying,” he agreed, his hand rubbing up and down her back firmly.  There was a moment of silence when Puck wanted to ask her if she wanted him to leave, but he swallowed the question out of fear she might actually say yes.  Instead, he tilted her head up again, briefly looking into her eyes before capturing her lips in a slow deep kiss.

Santana felt a little lost, feeling like her past and future were colliding, with her in the middle. He had been her everything, her world. He had meant so much, had hurt her so much. And their son? Their son was her future, her whole life, the person she lived for now. Could she carve out a space for him? Or would tearing out the old scar tissue hurt too much? Kissing him felt amazing, her hands sliding in his wet hair. When her lungs started to burn, she pulled back, breathing heavily as she finally looked up at him. “Noah, if you're only interested in sex, or you have some feeling of obligation to me, then we can't do this. I don't want you to think you have to have feelings for me, or you have to sleep with me because I'm the mother of your son. I want this to be organic, something you truly want. If it's not, then let's get out right now.”

As Santana pulled back, a muffled groan of protest was staunched in Puck’s throat.  Her words made his stomach queasy, his brows furrowing above his hazel eyes.  “If this wasn't something I wanted, I wouldn't be here right now.  I wouldn't be willing to see my son on a visitation schedule or sit through the most awkward family dinner to have ever taken place.”  He knew her walls were building back up and he couldn't help his own defensiveness from rearing.  “I'm not fucking you because you're Mateo’s mom.  I'm fucking you because you're Santana.  The woman who drew a dick on my face when I passed out at Finn and Kate's first New Year's Eve party.  The woman who unfortunately knows all my friggin tickle spots.  The woman whose heartbeat is like the most beautiful damn song I've ever heard.  I'm here, right now, because I can't be anywhere else.  I can't.  Because even thousands of miles away and years spent apart, no one has made me feel half of what I feel for you.  If that's not organic, I dunno what is.”  His chest rose and fell rapidly, his defense having been spoken with little room for breathing.  “I don't need you doubting me at every turn though.  I know you're entitled to because I fucked up, but it fucking sucks.”

It felt like her heart was beating out of her chest, the thundering noise in her ears nearly drowning out what he was saying. Hearing his walk down memory lane and his fierce defense of his feelings made Santana crumble. She wanted this to be real, she wanted to hear that even though he slept his way across the country, all he could think about was her. She wanted him to tell her how much he loved her and tell her she needed to love him in return. It was such a cheesy romance novel want, but she couldn't help it. She ran her hands over her face, noticing the temperature of the water starting to drop. It was true, she didn't fully trust him. She didn't know how to trust him after he left, but she was sure she could learn. He'd have to be patient, but she would try. “Look, I know you regret leaving, and I know it will always be a sensitive subject between us. I’ll be honest, I want to trust you more than anything, but I'm scared. I don't think you'll leave but there's this little voice in the back of my head saying to wait, that it'll happen. Noah, I don't want to think that. I know that I can trust you again, but it's gonna take time. But I won't treat you like I'm the judge, jury, and executioner. I just need you to understand when I have my moments.” She reached behind her to shut off the freezing water, shaking slightly. “I've spent three years missing you. I just wanted to make sure this was as real for you as it is for me. Me and you again.”

The water that had started to run frigid, along with Santana’s words, sobered him up.  Puck wiped his hand over his face.  All he wanted to do was pull Santana closer and put this conversation off for another day, but instead he stepped back and created more space between them.  “I'm not trying to rush or force anything here, Santana.  It just happened.  And it feels fucking amazing...at least it did for me.”  Questions started to creep into the back of his mind that he tried to swat away.  “I get that you need time and shit.  Trust me when I say I didn't anticipate tonight happening,” he defended, his body shivering from the evaporating water on his skin.  “If that little voice is telling you not to trust me, then you're right...we can't do this.  And I don't blame that little voice, honestly.  It's not like I have a great track record when it comes to sticking around.”  Puck was realizing how twisted all of this was and he started to distance himself more from her.  “We should really focus on Mateo.  We can work through our shit a little at a time.”

Santana could feel the divide between the two of them getting wider as she got colder. She stepped out of the shower, grabbing a towel to wrap around herself to fight off the goosebumps starting to cover her skin. She could feel all the excitement of earlier start to fade, making her stomach clench as her anxiety ramped up. To calm her nerves and give her a moment to decide what to say next, she grabbed another towel, wrapping it around Puck’s waist, her fingers holding on to the waist as she took a deep breath. “I feel amazing. This is exactly what I want, what I've wanted for years. I don't want to just focus on Mateo. I want to focus on us too, work on us, because really, there's no one else but you.” Santana pressed her forehead to his chest, sighing. “Don’t pull away from me. Stay. Stay the night with me.”

As Puck watched Santana exit the shower, his own nerves started wreaking havoc on his stomach; he felt nauseous, like he'd just swallowed pop rocks and chugged a liter of Pepsi.  The excitement and adrenaline from earlier had worn off and now they were left with the reality of their situation.  Puck kept his eyes on her, unable to look away as she wrapped herself in a towel.  And when he was sure she'd head towards the bedroom and leave him dripping on the tilel, Santana turned to secure a towel around his waist.  The fizz in his stomach relaxed then, his breathing evening out as she pressed her forehead against his chest.  Puck’s fingers found their way into Santana’s wet hair, his other arm looping around her and pulling her close again.  “I told you...I'm not going anywhere,” he hushed, Santana’s words settling into his bones.  “I wanna work on us too.  Not just for Mateo...but for us.”

She pressed a kiss against his chest, hands sliding over his cool skin to slide over his back. “Good. Let's do it. Let's work on us. For Mateo and for us.” Tilting her head up, she kissed him, arms tightening around him. “Come on. I'm fucking freezing and I want your body heat.” Just like that, the panic started to ease, making her feel infinitely better. He wanted this again, he wanted to try. That was good enough. They could figure it all out. Santana pulled away from him, running the towel over her body quickly before hanging it up. Once she wrapped her hair up, she walked in to her bedroom, pulling an old larger t-shirt out of the drawer to put on. “Fuck, winter is so fucking cold. Even with the heater on.”

With just a simple kiss Puck’s anger and frustration dissolved.  The way that Santana clutched onto him made his arms tighten around her and pull her flush against his body, only letting go when she shifted away from him.  “Just using me for my meat and my heat?  I see how it is,” Puck teased, his eyes falling to Santana’s ass while he followed her back into the bedroom.  As she opened up one of her drawers to pull on a shirt, Puck dried himself off and tossed the wet towel onto the floor.  He was about to pick up his boxers again when Santana’s shirt caught his eye.  “That’s my Bengals jersey,” he pointed out, the orange and black shirt hanging down to Santana’s knees.  He had looked for that jersey everywhere when he left town and had figured he’d either lost it along the way or had left it at home.  The fact that Santana still wore it, let alone kept it, made Puck blush.  “Thanks for taking good care of it,” he added, stepping closer to her until his hands could smooth down over the material.  “I don’t think you’ll be needing it though.”  Puck gripped the hem of the jersey and tugged it up and off of her easily, dropping it on the floor at the foot of the bed.  A new wave of affection started to swell within him, the urge to feel her skin against his own making Puck more aggressive.  “I’ll keep you warm.”

“That's the only thing you're good for,” she joked, smiling. It made her smile how easy it was to be serious with him, but how they could flip a switch and be fun again. She looked down at the shirt she'd put on, chewing on her lip a little. Yeah, she'd kept the shirt, mostly because she loved how big and roomy it was, and partially because she'd missed him so much. “Washed and loved by me for years. It's been through some shit.” She pouted a little, watching the shirt fall to the floor, taking some of her warmth away. “You better,” she warned, sliding her arms around his neck again. “Please?”

“Well...since you asked so nicely,” Puck hummed, backing Santana up to the bed before pushing her down onto the mattress.  He soon followed, trapping her beneath his body to give her the heat she’d demanded from him earlier.  They shuffled around for a moment, Puck huffing and puffing as he tugged at the covers until they were within a cocoon of sheets and blankets.  “There.  Tell me that that jersey is better than this and I’ll call you liar.”  Puck smiled down at her in the dark, her legs cradling his hips.  He was starting to stiffen, the familiar soft scent of her soap and skin making blood rush to his groin.  “You sure you’re okay with me staying?”

She laughed as he worked to cocoon them in blankets, his body heat already spreading over her skin, warming her up. Her thighs tightened around his hips, fingers sliding up his sides to caress his back slowly. “The jersey is shit compared to this. Yeah, I'm okay with you staying. In fact, it would've been weird if you didn't stay. I'm not about the pump and dump anymore.” Lifting her head, she pressed her lips to his shoulder before traveling over his chest and up his neck. “Plus I can feel you're pretty damn excited to stay too.”

Despite the fact that their past was rife with quickies and casual sex, Puck didn’t see this as some general hook up.  He’d missed Santana for years and her willingness to let him back into her life made him grab at any chance to reignite what they once had.  “Can you blame me?” he asked, heat crawling up the back of his neck as Santana’s lips meandered across his chest.  Puck closed his eyes and let the soft ministrations along his back and neck build him up, his heart beating fast and hard as his body reacted to the woman beneath him.  “I meant what I said before...I wanna make you come at least a couple more times.”  He looked down at her, hips rocking forward toward her wet heat, as his eyes locked with her dark brown ones.  “Unless you’re too worn out,” he teased, knowing full well that any jab to her endurance would rile her up.

Santana couldn't get enough of his body, her hands moving over his skin as she traced every little scar and freckle she'd seen a million times. She'd missed the way he felt, missed how soft his skin was even when he was all hard muscle. “I sure can't,” she smiled, letting her head drop back to the pillow as she settled her hands on his hips again. “If you think that a few years of me not getting fucked every night slowed me down, think again. I can still keep up with you Puckerman. Show me what you've got.” Her hand moved to cup the back of his neck, her lips crashing against his to kiss him hard and deep as she rocked against him teasingly. Her free hand reached to stroke him slowly, guiding him between her folds to let him feel how wet she'd become. “See? I'm ready.”

She had challenged him, something that would typically cause Puck to bark back with bravado.  But before Puck could even think of something to say to boost his own ego, Santana’s lips were crashing against his own and his tongue swept eagerly into her mouth.  The taste of her tongue drove him wild as her hips lifted fervently toward his pelvis.  A groan rumbled its way through his chest as her fingers curled and squeezed around his member.  “Fuck,” he breathed, his jaw clenching as Santana guided his head along her sopping folds.  It always made Puck preen when Santana’s body reacted so easily to him.  “Yeah you are,” Puck agreed, his teeth digging into his bottom lip as he pushed forward.  A shiver ran down his spine the moment his head sunk into her, a familiar jolt that made him stall briefly before snapping his hips forward and bottoming out inside her in one strong stroke.  Despite the way Santana clenched around him, Puck pulled back until he almost slipped out before filling her again.  He took slow, hard strokes to keep them both built up without tipping over the edge too soon.  “Think you can handle a whole night?” Puck huffed, his mouth dropping next to her ear as he sheathed himself within her, as deep as he could reach.  

She knew she was playing with fire by teasing him like this. It used to drive him crazy when she'd let him slip against her, but not let him enter her. It felt too good to not pull the same stunt this time. As much as she wanted to tease, she wanted to be fucked just as badly. Before, on the couch, they'd been frantic, desperate to touch one another after so long. Now, he was torturing her, building her up slowly with thrusts she felt through her entire body. Each snap of his hips had her whining, her hands clutching at his back as he hit deep and hard. “Fuck, yes, give me a whole night. Don't stop.” She let her eyes close for a moment before opening them to look between them, a moan escaping as she watched him move.

The desperation in Santana’s voice matched the ache in the pit of Puck’s own stomach.  They both wanted this.  They both needed this.  He watched her eyes close and reopen, her focus shifted to the joining of their bodies.  A wolfish grin tugged onto Puck’s lips as he pulled back and slipped out of her.  As badly as he wanted to just fuck Santana into exhaustion, there was another part of him that needed more than that.  His mouth carved a path down her body, stopping to suck and bite near her navel and hip bone.  It was only when his mouth was poised above her sex that Puck looked up from between her legs.  “Don’t come,” he warned, the scent of her arousal making him leak.  Puck knew he didn’t have much longer before he’d reach his own limits, but challenging each other in bed had always been something they were damn good at.  He slipped his fingers through her, spreading her before his tongue teased around the swollen bud of her clit.  

Of course he'd stopped when she'd demanded that he didn't. She wanted to force his hips, make him continue to fuck her like he’d been, but it wouldn't matter, he'd continue to tease her. Watching him move down her body had her catching her bottom lip between her teeth, her hands sliding up his arms to pull lightly on his hair before he pulled out of reach. His words had her pushing up on her elbows to protest, but the minute his tongue touched her clit, she couldn't seem to form words. Don't come? He had to be insane. She lifted her hips, body moving against his mouth to find friction even though he told her she couldn't find release. “You're evil. Let me come, I wanna come so badly.”

While Puck had intended to drag out this round, Santana’s eager hips and urgent tone had him sliding back up her body before she could come on his tongue.  His pulse was racing, his heart drumming against his ribs as he pushed inside of her hard and fast.  They were past the point of build up; teasing strokes and light touches were replaced by rough, erratic thrusts.  He was fucking Santana into the mattress, his hand bracing the headboard to keep from making too much noise and waking up Mateo.  In the past they had been known for their less than subtle sexcapades, but Puck wasn’t about to scar his kid for life.  Plus keeping their kid asleep meant more time just to indulge in each other.  Sweat broke out along Puck’s back and thighs as he let himself have her, his lungs begging for air as he focused all of his energy on sending them both into the tailspin of orgasm.  “Fucking.  Come,” he demanded through gritted teeth, his voice nearing a growl as Santana’s walls fluttered around him.  He could practically taste the moment she let go, her back arching, sending him deep as she squeezed around him so hard it was borderline painful.  But Puck didn’t focus on the pain; his mind was wiped into nothingness as he poured into her.  He felt stupid, completely brainless, as practically all of the blood in his body seemed to be coursing between his legs.  “Okay...yeah.”  They were the only two words he could think of, his ability to form a coherent sentence thwarted by the way Santana still rippled around his softening cock.

Puck’s recovery period had always been relatively quick and even though he wasn’t a teenager anymore, he’d retained that biological gift.  So after a quick cool down, which included two glasses of water and half a granola bar, they were tangled together again in sex-scented sheets.  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a night completely devoted to sex.  In the back of his mind he knew things could get messy real quick, but when it came to Santana he was weak.  Which was how he found himself rolling off of her, drenched and exhausted, at 6:30 in the morning; they’d taken marathon sex to a whole new level.  Puck’s eyes squinted at the clock on Santana’s nightstand, a breath humming from his chest.  “Fuck, babe.  The sun’s gonna be up in less than an hour.”  He stretched out in her bed, shifting to wrap his arm over her middle as he yawned.  “I can go before Mateo wakes up.  If that’s what you want.”  As badly as Puck wanted to stay, he knew that it was Santana’s call.

Santana hadn't been this exhausted since she was in labor. Those thirteen hours were intense and grueling, and she had wanted to sleep for days after. This exhaustion was so much better. Even though her bones felt like jelly and her skin felt raw from friction and kisses, she was a puddle of smiles. Curling up against his chest, she sighed, not willing to let him go. He was warm, she was tired, and she was sure someone would end up scolding her that she let him drive home on such little sleep. Her hands smoothed over his chest, fingers moving until she could wrap her arms around his neck to keep him as close as possible. “As much as I don't want to let you out of this bed, I know I should make you go. If Mateo comes in and sees this, he might expect it, and I don't want him to read too much in to anything yet.” She held on for a few minutes longer before sitting up to stretch.

Her hands pushed her hair in to a messy bun on top of her head, trying to tame how gross it probably looked from being rubbed against the sheets all night. “Plus, I need a nap. I have to deal with a small child on no sleep. Why did you keep me up all night?” Laughing, she crawled out of bed to get dressed again. “Come on. I'll make you a cup of coffee to go. She knew spending the night with him changed quite a few things, especially after the talk they had, and now that it wasn't just them wrapped up in each other, things would be hard. But instead of dwelling on what might happen, she pulled his old shirt on and kissed him quickly before heading out to the kitchen to make him coffee.

#p: sunday funday #para #pucktana #yall this is long af