#/ quietly yearn for the sillies. but no. i need to make verse first | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

forever-rogue · 4 years ago

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A Good Man - Part 3

A/N: Hi friends, so I have a confession to make. I am a liar, a dirty, filthy liar because I said this would be 3 parts. Yeah, no, it��s gonna be more than that. I’m aiming for 5. But you never know apparently. So! Enjoy part 3 :) As always, comments and feedback is welcome, and if you’d like to be tagged let me know! xx

Pairing: Professor! Javi x Reader

Word Count: 7.4k (oops?)

Warnings: yearning, oh so much yearning; sm**ches

A GOOD MAN ‘VERSE MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST

JAVIER MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

Opening the brightly colored box of tea, you held it up to your nose and let the warm citrus and spice notes overwhelm your senses. Humming softly in content, you pulled out one of the sachets and delicately placed it into your favorite teacup, figuring that only the best would do. You read the back of the box, finishing just as the kettle started whistling on the stove top.

Grabbing it, you filled up your cup and made sure the bag was fully submerged, debating on adding just a drop of honey, but quickly decided against it and put the little bear shaped container back into the cupboard. Picking the cup up, you were planning on high tailing it back to your room, to avoid any sort of questioning from Sarah. She would surely be home at any time now, and you wanted to avoid any confrontation.

"That's an impressive new collection of teas," her voice startled you so much that you almost sloshed the tea all over yourself. You had been so wrapped up in your preparation that you hadn't heard her come in at all...or she'd been extra quiet to try and catch you up to something, almost as if she could sense something was up.

"Yes," you gave her a dismissive look and made it a point to avoid her eyes as you tried to sweep past her.

You just knew she wouldn't let it go. No - that was not her style at all.

"These are all...uncommon," she commented and you swallowed the lump in your throat, "isn't that one tea shop in Austin the only place that sells this?"

"Huh, yeah, maybe so," you knew exactly where they were from. You'd paid the place a few visits yourself over the years; that's how you know the significance of the gift, "look, I've got a lot of homework to do, and this paper to finish up."

"When did you have time to go and get these?" you stopped dead in your tracks as you quickly tried to think of an excuse, a reason, somehow you could have gotten the teas without her knowing. And she knew damn well that you had been home all weekend, working away on various projects and your paper for Javier's class that you were determined to make perfect.

"It was a delivery," it was a quick lie, the first one that came to mind. You turned around and gave her a nonchalant shrug, "it was here when I got home a little bit ago. My mom sent them over, thought it was a nice treat."

"Your mom stopped over in Austin and sent them to you?" she could tell you were getting close to snapping, but was going to keep pushing and pushing until you broke, or she dragged the truth out of you, "and wrapped them with a ribbon? Where's the shipping box?"

"I threw it out already..."

Her hands were on her hips as she stared you down with a cocked eyebrow, your name rolling off of her tongue in an accusatory tone, "where did you get the teas?"

"Sarah, stop," you tried to be firm; resolute. Instead it sounded more like a plea than anything else, "it's nothing."

"If it's nothing, then tell me where you got these," her ocean gaze was searing as you let out a long breath and bowed your head slightly.

"Javi," you finally admitted, letting his nickname hang in the air for a few long, pregnant pauses, "they're from Javi."

"Holy shit," she said after a few moments, but all you could do was nod as you stared at your feet. It didn't sound so...normal when it was finally out in the air. Maybe you had both overstepped your boundaries. But, even if you did, you couldn't really find it in your heart to care, "he really likes you. Or he's got absolutely way too much free time on his hands."

"Should I not have accepted?" you felt silly, almost like a child getting scolded for doing something naughty. But you were both consenting adults, and neither of you had technically done anything wrong, "h-he had it waiting for me at my desk. I didn't know what else to do."

After the class had ended, and you'd spent the lecture basically staring at Javi and vice versa, you'd been determined to go and speak to him. But instead, your nerves had only increased as the time went on and you weren't even sure what to say, where to begin. Instead, you hastily packed up your bag and left along with everyone else, keeping yourself hidden in the zombie horde of other students. You'd felt guilty about it since, and hoped Javier wouldn't take offense...maybe he'd just think you had somewhere else to be right away.

"No, no, no babes," Sarah could practically hear the gears turning in your head as you thought of every negative outcome, every bad possibility, "that's not what I meant. I just meant that...obviously, there’s something to this all. Think about it - you don't just go out of your way like to keep up something special for someone you don't give a shit about. You know?"

"Yeah," you agreed as you set the cup down on the counter and ran a hand through your hair, "I know. It's just...I feel like that I like him...as more than a professor. Its definitely a crush, and I still barely know the man, but..."

"But you want to," she easily concluded as you groaned and threw your head back, staring at the ceiling as if you were begging it for answers, "there’s nothing wrong with that. You're just two people who happened to meet a certain way. Imagine if he was man that you'd met out one day, like a bookshop or while getting a coffee. You wouldn't be having reservations then, would you?"

"Most likely not."

"Then think of it that way," she insisted, stealing your cup and taking a sip of the sweet tea. She instantly made a face that suggested it was delicious, "just because he's a professor-"

"My professor!"

"Doesn't mean it has to be weird," she insisted, "in a few months he won't be your professor any more, and by the end of the school year you won't be a student anymore. Think of it like that."

"What if, and this is a big if, something were to happen between us, then what? He could lose his job," you couldn't think of doing that to him, no matter how much he didn't care about the position. It would never sit right with you, "I'm not...going to do that."

"Babes, nothing is going to happen," Sarah promised as she pushed the tea back towards you, "you don't even know his true feelings yet, although I believe my suspicions are correct. Talk to him, and see where it goes."

"I wish it was that simple," you took the mug and finally tasted the tea for yourself. It was divine; you wondered how carefully he'd chosen this particular kind, "I feel like I'm over complicating things."

"You are," she gently tapped your head and caused you both to laugh, "a classic over thinker...next time you see him, just go and talk to him. Everything will be fine."

"I could just call him," you murmured under your breath, more to yourself than anything else, but Sarah much have had supersonic hearing because her mouth had just about fallen to the floor.

"Excuse me?!"

"He...he gave me his number," your cheeks were surely a brilliant shade of crimson by now, feeling hotter than ever, "when I went to see him last week. He told me to call him if I needed help with my paper."

"Help with your...oh hell no," she was almost jumping with excitement at the revelation, "he totally didn't give you his number so you could call if you needed help. We all know exactly why he did it."

"Ummm...." you were at a loss for words, staring at the tea and the playing with the string attached to the sachet, "I guess not."

"Call him," she insisted firmly, "call him."

"Yeah?" you asked and she fervently nodded, her curls bouncing wildly. You bit the inside of your cheek as you slid off the stool and grabbed the tea, "maybe I will. But do not, and I mean this, do not listen in."

"Scout's honor," she gave you the three finger salute as you marched off to your bedroom, practically shaking with nerves at the possibility of calling Javier. Before you could close your bedroom door you heard her shout, "good luck!"

You could do this. You totally could. No if, ands, or buts about it. It was just going to be a friendly conversation ti thank him for the more than generous gift he had given. Right? Right.

Then why did you feel so damn nervous?

Your hands were practically shaking as you sat at your desk, pulling the phone towards you. Catching your reflection in the window, you let out a sigh at yourself and how panicked you looked, almost like a little deer caught in headlights. It was dark already, a small rainstorm had started earlier; the perfect environment for a cup of tea.

Picking up the receiver, you dialed Javier's number; you were almost embarrassed that you had it memorized it already, having repeated it to yourself so many times over the weekend. Pathetic, you bemoaned yourself, a pathetic girl with a silly little crush.

Once you dialed the number, you held the phone close to your ear waiting for baited breath to see if he would even answer. Maybe he didn't answer calls from unknown numbers. Maybe it could go to his voicemail. Would you even leave a voicemail? Should you? Should you have called from a blocked number? There were so many things spewing through your mind.

It rang and rang, seemingly endlessly, by just before you were about to hang up and let it go, he answered. His voice was still as warm and rich over the phone as it was in real life and a pleasant shiver ran down your spine as you listened to him say, "hello?"

"J-Javi? It's me," you said in almost a rush as you realized that he might not realize who me was. You sighed quietly as you said your name, wondering if you should cut your losses and hang up already.

"Hey," he seemed to relax slightly when he realized it was you, "how are you? Everything's okay, right?"

You tried not to grin from ear to ear at his question, mentally calming yourself down, "yeah, Javi, everything's fine. I just...wanted to thank you. For the tea. Its wonderful, truly, and I can only imagine the trouble you must have gone through to get it. I appreciate it, I'm drinking one actually, the citrus spice one, and its delicious."

"It was nothing," he promised but for some reason you couldn't help but think it was a lot more then that. It definitely was; if only you could have seen his face when he'd heard you say his name, "I just wanted to thank you."

"Whatever for?"

"Being the one student I've had in three years that gives a damn about the class," he said and you couldn't hold back your laugh. He liked that sound - he liked it a lot, "you don't know what it's like to go through this same bullshit all the time. Its nice to get a break from the routine, the norm."

"Thank you for helping me," it was weak trade off, but you were happy to give it to him. You were happy to listen to that warm, rich timbre any time, to watch those honeyed, syrupy eyes any time, "I appreciate you giving me your time. And I'm sorry for running out the way I did earlier.”

"Why?" he asked softly as he waited for your response with baited breath. He desperately hoped that he hadn’t scared you off for whatever reason, or come on too strongly, "why did you leave?"

"I wish I had a good answer for you," you cradled the receiver between your shoulder and ear, nervously twisting the cord between your fingers, "I got nervous. So I just left...I just...it wasn't you, or anything."

"Do I make you nervous?" Javi sounded almost...nervous himself. Worried? There was a quality to it that you hadn't heard before.

"No, not really," you admitted. It wasn’t Javi himself that made you nervous or anxious, it was all the ideas or possibilities or what could, of what this could turn into. You just hoped that you weren't about to make a fool out of yourself. How were you supposed to face the rest of the semester if you were completely wrong about this? You squeezed your eyes shut as you mulled over your next words carefully, trying to figure out what to say, "its just...I hope I'm not reading this wrong. Or making something out of nothing."

There was a sharp inhale of breath on the other side and you could just picture him, sitting at home, frustrated looked on his face. After a few moments of tense silence, you heard him again, "what do you think this is? What do you what it to be?"

"Javi..." you let his name hang in the air, trying to get your point across without needing to expand. Letting out a shaky breath you thought about just hanging up then and there. But no. You were already in too deep, "I...don't want to be just your student."

There was a tangible shift between the two of you as the air remained silent for some time. All you heard was a few shaky breathes on his end. You wished, desperately so, that you could see what was going on in his mind. Little did you know, Javier was sitting there, his stack of papers now long forgotten as he tried to retain his composure. He ran a hand over his tired face, almost wishing he hadn't asked, almost wishing you hasn't told him what he wanted to hear. This wasn't part of his plan. This wasn't how he was supposed to be a good man.

"Javi?" just when you couldn't handle the still, tension feeling hanging in the air, his name came out almost like a pathetic whimper.

"Are you free this weekend?" he blurted the question, not letting himself linger too much on it before he changed his mind, "maybe we could go and get a tea?"

A blush blossomed in your cheeks at his question, your stomach erupting in butterflies at the sheer concept of spending time with him outside of school. You realized you were nodding silently, before finding the proper words, "I'm free this weekend. I'd like that...a lot. Maybe we can even settle and get a coffee instead."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," you almost whispered into the phone. Your voice was so soft and quiet that almost weren’t sure anything came out. But then you heard a soft sigh, almost like a relieved breath on the other side.

"Great," he couldn't believe that this was happening, couldn't believe that he was getting nervous over all of this, like a schoolboy. He’s been out with countless women in the past, seemingly nothing phased him, but here he was, genuinely terrified, but excited at the prospect of what could be. He bit his bottom lip before deciding to make sure his intentions were crystal clear, "then it's a date..."

"Yeah," you agreed, begging yourself not to sound too eager or excited, “it’s a date. How about Saturday around one? I can meet you at the old cafe near the other side of town? I forget the name, but it’s the only decent one in town and they’ve got pretty good coffee.”

“You’re sure you don’t want the tea?” he joked and you felt some of the tension and nerves subside. This would be fine, everything would be.

“Positive,” you promised, “we’ll get tea next time.”

Your promise of a next time, that you were confident enough to think this could go somewhere was enough to make him realize that maybe this wasn’t a horrible decision after all, “how does that sound?”

“I’ll see you then,” you twist the cord of the phone so tightly, trying not to completely freak out. You had a date with Javier Pena. Granted, it was only an afternoon meet up for coffee, but a date was a date, and he’d confirmed it, “have a good night, Javi.”

“You too,” how was his voice this dreamy? You could listen to it for hours and hours, even if he would have been recited the phone book to you. Hell, you practically did that in his class every week anyways. You couldn’t wait to hear it, with no restraints, no pressures from being in your roles as teacher and student. To get to see him, just him, as he was, “good night.”

Slowly, almost reluctantly, you put the receiver back in its cradle, leaned back and staring at the ceiling. Holy shit. You had actually just agreed to a date...with your professor.

Before you could actually think too much about it, your bedroom door slammed open and Sarah burst in, ambushing you from behind and you squealing into your ear. Your face warmed up as you realized that she already knew.

“Sarah!” you moaned at her, trying to hide your face out of pure embarrassment, “I told you not to listen in on my call!”

“I didn’t listen to your call,” she insisted, “I just sat outside your door and listened to your end of the conversation. That’s not technically listening in on the call, because I didn’t hear his end of the conversation.”

“Of course,” you playfully nudged her, “you would find the one loophole.”

“What can I say?” she seemed very proud of herself indeed, “I’m a pro. But you! Can you believe? A date with a hot professor. What a dream!”

“Please,” you grabbed her arm and looked at her with wide eyes, “don’t so much as breath a word of this to anyone. I just don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea or anything.”

“I would never,” she promised, “your secret is safe with me, babes. But, I will expect a full report after your date.”

“Maybe...”

“I’m your best friend!” she pouted, “it’s girl code, practically the law!”

“We’ll see...”

“You can’t bone the hottest professor on campus and not tell me!”

“SARAH.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

"Javier," Chucho shook his head at his son, watching as sweat dripped off of his face and neck. Javier spared him a quick glance, finishing up the fence post he was working on before wiping the sweat from his brow and catching his breath. He'd been helping his father to fix up his fence all afternoon, virtually wordless, but glad to be at his father's ranch again. Stevie had been ecstatic to come along, running around all afternoon and studying the various animals around the ranch and trying to play with them.

Javi had the day off, a rare occurrence these days, and decided to make the most of it, leaving early in the morning to make the several hour drive to Laredo. It had been some time since he'd seen his father, and he'd been itching to spend some time with him. He was completely breaking through every other one of his normal routines, why not do this as well? Despite being a man long grown, he still often turned to his father for his advice, and general comfort when be really he needed.

"What's up, Pops?" his hands went to his hips as Chucho came over and offered him a cold bottle of water.

"You've been working out here all day, barely said a word," he noted and Javi shrugged at his father's concern laced with all sorts of silent accusations, "are you going to come in and talk to me, mijo? Or are you just going to stay out here for the rest of evening?"

"I don't know what you're talking about papá," he wasn't even sure why he was lying to his father. He could read him like a book, almost better than anyone else. Chucho raised an eyebrow at him but shook his head, turning to go back inside. He beckoned for Javier to follow, which he begrudgingly did, feeling like he was a small boy again, about to be scolded for something or other.

"I made tamales," a little spring suddenly appeared in his step at the thought. He never bothered to cook extravagant meals or anything fancy for himself, so he was always glad to come home and get a warm, delicious meal, "your mama's recipe."

»»————-　♡　————-««

Javi piled his plate high with the delicious foods, gratefully accepting a cold beer from Chucho as he sat across the table from him. Before he could even get the first bite into his mouth before being interrupted.

"So, mijo, what's on your mind?" Javi groaned inwardly as he set his fork back down. He clasped his hands and rested his chin on them as he tried to figure how, and what, to tell him.

"Can't I just want to come and see you, papá,?" he asked with a noncommittal shrug as Chucho's brown eyed gaze remained fixated on him.

"Absolutely, you're always welcome," he answered, "but I am your father. I've known you since birth. I know when you've got something on your mind. Que pasa?"

"Papá,," he shoved a huge bite into his mouth and chewed on it, mulling over his words, "I'm just...I guess...thinking about things a lot lately."

"Colombia?"

"Sí," he swallowed his mouthful and slumped slightly in his seat, "there are times when it still hits me. At night, more than anything. I just can't help but think I could have done it all so much better. Cleaner. Less blood on my hands."

"What you did wasn't easy, mijo, it was never going to be," his tone was softer but Javier refused to acknowledge it. He'd gotten this speech at least ten times before from his father, and countless times from others, but it never made him feel better, "you did your best, you know that everyone knows that."

"I just can't help but think that things could have turned out differently," the image of Horacio Carillo killing the young boy, and countless others, without hesitation, directly in front of him were a frequent theme in his darkest dreams, "all those innocent lives that were wasted...when we were taking out Calí cartel, the wife of Franklin Jurado, you remember him right, she called me a piece of shit. She meant it, I could hear it in her voice. Sometimes I think she was right."

"You are not a piece of shit, Javier," Chucho insisted firmly, almost slamming his fist down on the table. He hated knowing that this was still plaguing his son, "you are a good man. You've done a lot of good for a lot of people. The work you did was good."

Javier scoffed at him at him as he just shook his head. He tried to be a good man, lord knows he was trying. But lately he was wondering how well he was doing that in the department, "it was a load of shit. We brought down Escobar and Calí for what? Just for more scumbags to come out and stake their claim? To show just how fucking corrupt our government and those in Colombia are? To show that that everything is completely fucked up and nothing will ever change? Yeah, I did that. It was good for a little while, soon it'll all go back to normal and nothing we ever did will matter."

"Javier," his head almost whipped up at the sound of his name, coming out so sharply from his father's mouth, "you didn't know better at the time, neither did Steve, or those two young ones you worked with in Calí. You did what you had to at the time. If you had known any different at the time, you would have it differently. You're a good man, Javi, you've always been a good boy mijito."

"I wish I could I see it that way," he took another bite, trying to get his father's words into his mind. He knew he was true, that he did his best with what he knew at the time. He always thought that the end justified the means, that sometimes in order to catch bad men you had to do bad things. But at the end of it all, he wondered if it all had been worth it. It had to be right? He had made a difference, he wanted to believe that his work wasn't for naught, "sometimes I wonder."

"Tell me, if you had know there was a different way to do things, would you have done it?"

"Of course," he nodded, taking a long drag from his beer as he wiped at his brow, "I would do whatever was best."

"Exactly," Chucho wished he could get his son to see him in the same light he saw him in. But he was hard, and he knew he could never truly know the full extent of Javier's inner torment, "there is no use ruminating on things that are in the past. You cannot change them now. You shouldn't dwell on things that are done. Your path is not behind you, it is in front of you."

"Lo sé," he agreed, finishing up the tamales on his plate and downing the rest of his beer. Even if he had a hard time believing what was he saying, it made him feel even minutely better, "it's just hard sometimes, you know?"

"I do," he agreed, "now tell, what else is on your mind? And don't tell me it's nothing, either."

Javi got up and grabbed his plate, bringing to the kitchen, rinsing it as he sat it down in the sink. He leaned against the counter as he contemplated getting himself another beer, but opted against it.

"I think..." gods, he felt like nothing more than an anxious child at this point, drumming his fingers along the aging counter top, "there's, well...I might have met someone."

"Oh?" this time Chucho almost gave himself whiplash as Javier refused to meet his eyes, instead focusing his attention on the floor, "a woman?"

"Sí," he answered.

"That's wonderful, mijo," the older man stood up and brought his own plate to the sink, and stood across from Javi. He put his hand on his shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze, "you deserve someone special. Especially after you'll been through. It would be nice to know that you have someone looking out for you."

"It's a little more complicated than that, papá," he'd already told him so much, he figured that he could probably just go on and tell him the whole truth. Nothing bad would come of...or at least he hoped it wouldn't.

"Please tell me she's not married..."

"No-"

"Is she pregnant?"

"No-"

"Then what's the problem, mijo?" Javier swallowed the nervous lump in his throat as he looked up and met the gaze of those wise, dark eyes.

"She's a student," he admitted, waiting for his father to yell at him, to freak out, or something. But instead, nothing came. Only a few moments of silence as Chucho waited for him to expand, "she's in one of my classes."

"What's the problem with that?"

"She's my student...she's younger..." he shrugged his shoulders, "it just feels off, I don't know."

"She's an adult, right?" he asked as Javier nodded, adding that she was a senior, "then what is the big deal? You're both consenting adults. Then there's nothing wrong with it. If you like her, Javi, and you think she's good for you, then go for it. Just keep a level head and do what's right. You know what to do son, your mama and I raised you right."

"You don't think I'm a horrible person for being interested in a student?"

"You're not the first and you won't be the last," he stated with a laugh, "what if you had met her at the grocery store or something? Would you be experiencing this hesitation then?"

"No...not nearly as much anyway," he admitted. The age different might still have bugged him slightly, but he knew he could get over that, "I just don't want it to seem like I'm taking advantage of her because of my position or anything."

"She sounds like a smart girl-"

"How do you know?"

"She's interested in you, right?"

Javier snorted with laughter as light flush of color rose up in his golden cheeks. Leave it to his dad to be his best friend and biggest supporter. They'd butted heads numerous times over the years, but at the end of the day, Javier loved his father most of all.

"You've got a good head on your shoulders, son," he promised, giving him a gently nudge, "just be smart and make good choices. You always do."

"Papá," Javier let a small sigh as a smile worked it's way on his face, "gracias por todo."

»»————-　♡　————-««

You sat up, bolt right, trying to catch your breath, feeling impossibly hot, despite the chilly morning. Once you realized you were awake and in your own bedroom, you laid back down and staring at the ceiling. You'd just woken up from a dream starring Professor Peña and yourself in a very compromising situation; naturally though, your mind hadn't let you get to the best part, stopping just before you managed to get him stripped of clothing.

Groaning, you rolled over and glanced at your alarm, seeing that it was still much earlier than you would have liked.

Saturday morning had rolled around much sooner than you had expected, and your stomach was in absolute knots. Maybe you could still back out now?

But no - you wanted to do this. You wanted to see Javi.

Instead of talking yourself down, you slid your legs out of the bed and decided to spend the morning relaxing and taking the time to get ready and treating yourself to some much needed relaxation. You spied the outfit you had picked out the night before hanging from the back of your closet. You wondered if it was too much, or not enough...

It was a simple floral shift dress that you planned on pairing with a pair of your favorite chucks. It was still just warm enough it sport, despite being almost fall and you vowed to take advantage of the weather for as long as you could. The dress was innocent enough, bordering on too short and maybe slightly lower cut than it needed to be, but you liked it, and you hoped he would too. Not that it mattered...but still...the idea was nice.

Before changing your mind, or thinking too much about your decisions, you stepped into the bathroom and turned on the shower, letting it get hot before jumping in and scrubbing yourself from head to toe. You just want everything to go well. This was really important to you for some reason or another.

»»————-　♡　————-««

When you arrived at the cafe, you were early, despite your best efforts not to be early. You hadn’t wanted to appear too eager, but your nerves had gotten the better of you, and found yourself out the door earlier than expected. You’d even walked, making the decent trek to the other part of town, hoping it would kill more time, but apparently there had been too much spring in your step, and you’d arrived with some time to kill. Instead of ordering your drink already, you’d walked to the back of the cozy cafe, sitting at a small table and pulling out the book you were currently reading - you always keep one in your bag for situations exactly like this. The weather had slowly shifted, and it now looked like it was about to rain; you cursed yourself for walking, but the euphoria of the moment really won over.

You sighed lightly as you looked around, watching all sorts of different milling about, going about their days. It was calm here, quiet and cozy, just like you preferred. Turning your attention back to your books, you attempting to read the page you had last ended on...but it was proving to be a challenge, and you ended rereading the same sentence about ten times before finally getting the gist of it and moving on.

You weren’t alone long however, but had gotten absorbed enough into the book that you hadn’t noticed Javier appear across the table from you. He reached over and gently tapped the spine of your book, captured your attention and startling you slightly. He had a smile grin on his face as he watched your eyes widen in surprise, quickly closing the book and slipping it back into your bag.

“Hi,” your voice was but a mere, breathy whisper as you tried your best not to let your cheeks flush too much, “I-I hope you weren’t trying to get my attention for too long. I didn’t even think my book was that interesting!”

“I just got here,” he admitted as he studied you, his dark eyes taking everything in, lingering for just a moment longer than necessary on your chest, something you didn’t think was too intentional. He looked good, more casual than when he was teaching but still almost unfairly handsome. He was sporting a pair of jeans that hugged him in the all the right places, accentuated nicely by the black button up with the rolled up sleeves. He wasn’t wearing glasses today, but he still looked....so good, “how long have you been here?”

“A little while,” you said sheepishly, “I got here a little early. I wasn’t waiting too long.”

“Good,” he jerked his head towards the counter, “come on - let’s go and order. You look very pretty.”

“I, ugh,” you were instantly stammering over your words, trying to remain cool and composed. Instead you found yourself spewing out, “you too.”

“You think I look pretty?” he teased, and half of you expected to be embarrassed, but instead you just rolled your eyes at him and gently shoved his shoulder.

“You know what I meant,” you bemoaned him, as he laughed and nudged you towards the counter. The woman behind the counter glanced at the two of you for just a moment, eyes flicking between you and Javier before settling on him, and zoning in on him. You had no doubt her thoughts were immediately all consumed by him. You wanted to roll your eyes at her and her obvious attempted to capture his attention, but stopped yourself. He must get this all time; but if he did, he didn’t let it phase him, keeping his gaze trained on you instead.

“What are you having?” she grabbed a pen to take your order, making the most obvious eyes at Javier, who just ignored and put his hand on the small of your back.

“I’ll just have a black coffee, a little bit of sugar,” he told her before looking at you, attempting to guess your order, “and she’ll have a coffee with cream and sugar.”

You looked up and shook your head lightly, “close, very close. An iced coffee with extra cream and raw sugar.”

“I was almost there,” he insisted as he reached into his back pocket to pull out his wallet. You attempted to grab his hand to stop him, but he moved slightly out of your reach, shaking his head at you, and you decided not to argue with him, “I’ll have it right next time.”

Next time. You really liked the sound of that.

“Whatever you say, Javi,” you said in a sing-song voice as he handed the woman behind a twenty dollar bill and told her to keep the change. He followed you over to the pick up counter.

“Extra cream?” he said as he watched your coffee being made. You stuck out your tongue and shrugged at him, “so you’re drinking some coffee with your milk, huh? And iced? Dios mio, you might as well stick to tea at this rate. This was not how coffee was intended to be consumed.”

You couldn’t help but burst into laughter at his mock tirade, watching his face shift through various expressions before your coffees were placed in front of you. Grabbing yours, you took a long sip and ended with an exaggerated ahh, “delicious. Better than that bitter bean water you’re drinking. Black? Do you hate yourself that much?”

“Not as much as you apparently hate yourself for drinking that poor excuse of a coffee. They would have roasted you in Colombia for that,” the last part slipped out before he could help, and he stiffened slightly, but you instantly relaxed when he noticed that you weren’t hung up on anything. You weren’t going to push him to talk about anything he didn’t want to; you’d already made that up in your mind a while ago

“That was a horrible joke,” you laughed as you slid back into your seat, and he took his place across from you. It was a small and intimate, a fireplace going somewhere near by, casting a light glow around the space and chasing away the chill from the cold, early fall day, “they would have roasted me? You should stick with your day job. And I’ll stick with my tea. I make a coffee exception once in a while, like today.”

“I don’t know how you do tea all the time,” he sighed dramatically, “I’ve been drinking that matcha I got in the mornings, but it’s just not the same.”

“You got matcha?” your eyes widened as you realized he’d taken your suggestion to heart. He took a long sip from his coffee and nodded, “it’s good though, right? Most tea is, just different from coffee. All the ones you got me are delicious...thank you for them, really. It’s such a thoughtful thing.”

“It was nothing,” he insisted, smiling so brightly that his dimple was on full display, “but I am glad you like them.”

“You should...try them sometime,” were you pushing the envelope too much? Did you really care? No, not really, “I-I have plenty, if you’re ever interested.”

“I’d be interested,” he said with a glint in his dark eyes, “I’d be very interested.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

Being with Javi was easy; fun to the point where you almost never felt awkward, fun to the point where you were almost laughing the entire time, not questioning if whatever you had said was dumb or too much. He was kind, much more open and relaxed than he ever appeared in the classroom, asking you all shorts of questions about yourself, and answering whatever you wanted to know about him. Within reason. You hadn’t really broached the subject of his time with the DEA in Colombia, and while you were naturally curious, you figured if he wanted to tell you, he would.

But it didn’t deter from the lovely afternoon you were having. He was animated, using his hands as he talked, his dark eyes expressive and lively. You liked him, how normal and easy this all seemed. You only hoped that he felt the same way about you. Little did you know that he did; he liked you very, very much. He loved how passionate you got when you talked about things you liked, how you had a habit of tapping your chin when you were searching for a word or an answer, how your eyes crinkled in the corners when you laughed, how you leaned in closer to him, listening to him and making him feel you truly cared about what he had to say.

When he realized just how much he liked your smile, he knew he was fucked. So fucked. But then again - so were you.

The day had quickly turned to evening, and it was almost completely pitch back outside. You cursed yourself for deciding to walk, knowing it would be horrible to get home. But as soon as Javier realized that you didn’t have your car, he insisted on driving you back to your apartment. He wasn’t going to take no for an answer; and frankly, you would have been loath to turn down his offer because you wanted to spend as much time with him as possible.

You gave him directions, he deemed you the worst copilot ever as you were horrible with directions, but eventually he found your place and pulled up front, turning off the car while the two of you remained in silence for a few minutes, neither of you wanting your time together to end.

“Well,” you said finally, avoiding his eyes as you moved to open the car door, “I guess I better get going.”

“I can walk you inside,” it wasn’t a question, more like a subtle plea. Shifting in your seat, you found him watching you with a hopeful expression etched on his features. Biting your lip, something that Javier had noticed you had a tendency to do, you almost drove him crazy. If only you could see how beautiful you were. Nodding, you opened the door and stepped out, waiting for him to come to your side before walking in the direction of your apartment.

Deliberately making each step as slow as possible, you could feel how warm he was as he walked alongside you. When you reached your front door, you sighed lightly, “well, this is me. Thank you for today...I had a really good time.”

“I did too,” he said gently, his eyes softer than you had ever seen him. You wished there was a way to convey to him just how much, how terribly much you had enjoyed his company, and how reluctant you were to say good night.

You watched each other for a few moments, feeling your heart race as neither of you made any move to leave. But then - suddenly - before you could fully process what was happening, Javier put his hand on either side of your face and crashed his lips onto yours, kissing you with intensity, a searing passion that you took your breath away. You wrapped your arms around his neck, carding a hand through his dark locks as his hands found purchase on your waist and pulled you close.

His touch, his taste, his smell, everything combined in a way so delightful that you’d never experienced before; surely this was what sheer bliss was like. He felt perfect against you, there was no fumbling awkwardness, instead it felt like the two of you had been doing this forever. He break apart from you only when you were thoroughly breathless, feeling drunk off his kisses.

Javier studied your face, your eyes wide and lightly swollen lips as he wondered if he’d just made a huge mistake. A million thoughts were running through his mind as he tried not to panic, and reminded him that surely, he couldn’t have read the signs all wrong. But when your expression slowly turned into a shy little smile, a warmth heating up your skin as you looked at him with the sweetest eyes, he knew he hadn’t made a mistake. He reached over you and brushed a stray lock of hair out of your face.

“Umm,” you breathed out as you rode out the euphoria of the best kiss you’d ever had, “I...wow. Javi...I had a great time today.”

“Me too,” he agreed, already beginning to miss the feel of your lips against his. He let out a small laugh, almost not believing his luck as he shoved his hands into his pockets, “I hope you have a good night, dulzura.”

“Good night, Javi,” you beamed at him as he slowly turned around to head back to his car, watching until he was just to make sure he was safe...and to admire the view of course. He gave you one last wave before you unlocked the door and stepped inside, leaning against the door and trying to calm yourself down. Despite your best efforts, a small squeal of delight pass through your lips. Bringing a hand to your lips and tapping your fingertips along them, you could tell they were plump and plush from all of his kisses.

Holy shit. This had actually happened. This was all a reality.

»»————-　♡　————-««

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telltalebatman · 5 years ago

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27 for beegni on the kiss writing prompt

27. Kisses exchanged while one person sits on the other’s lap.

this one got out of hand lmao but i also rly enjoyed writing it. it was... good to focus on something pleasant, for a change.

anyway, this one builds up slowly and is about their first kiss.

“Do you remember our first time like this?” Bee asked, resting her back against his chest. “With me in your lap?” “Of course I remember.” Igni replied immediately; even though it did take him a moment to remember. “It was... At the Honeycomb. Right?” “Mmmhmm.” she muttered in response, opening her book. “This feels like it happened... A lifetime ago.” “In a way, it did.” he replied, opening his eyes and abandoning his - somewhat feeble - attempts at communing with Rakdos. “Tell me about it.” “Again?” she asked; not impatiently. Softly. Eagerly. Like a storyteller, being asked by her favorite audience to once more tell their favorite tale of hers. “Again.” In the mirror in front of them, he could see her gentle smile; and without looking up from her book - Bee started to talk.

***

Igni muttered out a quiet apology to the man he just bumped into, already looking around the main room of the Honeycomb, his eyes searching for the peppy singer whose face was on all the posters advertising the club. She was young, and inexperienced; but her voice was strong and sweet at the same time, and something about her just made it impossible to look away when she was on stage. “G’evening, mister Hobblepot.” the bartender - a menacing-looking minotaur named Zul - greeted Igni as he sat down on the only vacant bar stool; and Igni had to stop himself from wincing at the sound of this ridiculous surname he was forced to use for the sake of the con he was trying to pull off. “Evening, Zul.” Igni replied, doing his best to stop himself from looking around. “Is she here tonight?” “S’funny.” Zul said calmly, wiping the counter. “You’re the tenth person tonight to ask this question.” “And what did you say to the other nine?” Zul opened his mouth to answer - and in that moment, Igni heard an excited squeal coming from behind him. “You’re here!” Bee exclaimed excitedly, tapping against the counter with her violet fingernails; and Igni bit his cheeks, doing his best to conceal a lovestruck smile as she stared at him, her cheeks flushed and her eyes hopeful. “I’m so glad to see you again, mister Hobblepot!” “Likewise, miss Honeybee.” he replied, his heart pounding. “Did you write anything new recently?” “Only a very inappropriate song about Rakdos trying to get Isperia to crack a smile.” she giggled in response. “But imagine this - the club owner says I am not, under any circumstances, allowed to perform it on stage. He says, and I quote, this place only opened six months ago, I’m not looking forward to having the Boros thugs burn it down because you insulted that sphinx harlot.” “Isperia doesn’t control the Legion.” Igni stuttered out in response, doing his best to not stare at her soft, perfectly kissable lips. “And that’s exactly what I said! But I guess having this place burned down as a sign of appreciation by the cultists wouldn’t be great either.” she added with a sigh; and at the back of his mind, Igni could hear Rakdos chuckle. “But... He can’t stop me from a private show.” she added with a playful spark in her eyes; and he practically stopped breathing for a moment. “Would you be interested, mister Hobblepot?” “Hm.” he muttered, pretending to be considering her offer. “Hm. Yes, miss Honeybee.” he said finally; and Bee jumped up in joy, her heart-tipped tail swaying left and right. “Just name time and place.” “Come to my dressing room after tonight’s show. I’ll be waiting.” she said before disappearing in the crow, leaving him at the bar - longing. Yearning. Distraught over only walking into the Honeycomb - and into her life - to take over it in the name of the Cult, in the name of setting it all aflame.

***

After the main show, he found his way into her dressing room; it was surprisingly small, considering she was the lead singer at the club - or maybe it simply appeared so, because she scattered her things everywhere. “Did you enjoy the show?” she asked with a playful grin, looking at his reflection in the well-lit mirror in front of her; Igni gulped quietly, biting his tongue to not tell her the way she lowered her voice a bit and tilted her head when singing her signature song, The Ballad of A Caged Bird, set his blood on fire and made his skin ache. “Yes.” he said instead, sitting down in the nearby chair and putting his top-hat down at the table. “I just so happen to thoroughly enjoy all of your shows, miss Honeybee.” “Aww.” she giggled; but he could see her cheeks turn purple. “You’re very sweet, mister Hobblepot.” “Please, call me Oswin.” he forced himself to say; by the gods, he hated that name. It wasn’t his. It wasn’t even chosen by him. “Only if you start calling me Bee.” she replied, turning around in her chair. “Of course, miss Bee.” She laughed, getting up from the chair; and finally he noticed she was no longer wearing her frilly dress and her golden dancing shoes - instead she was wearing a silk robe and a pair of flat, fluffy slippers. It took a lot of self control for him to not stare at her thighs; but she seemingly didn’t notice. “Alright, so. The song about Rakdos and Isperia.” she said, climbing atop of the nearby chest of drawers and sitting down on it, modestly crossing her ankles and folding her hands in her lap; her robe slid off her shoulders slightly, but she seemed to not’ve noticed it (but he did, by the gods, he did, and he wanted to kiss her shoulders and her neck and her collarbones and every other part of her he could see.) and instead looked at him, her lips curled up in a sweet smile. “I don’t have a title for it yet. But I suppose not all masterpieces need a title.” He nodded silently; she giggled again - and began to sing her tale of Rakdos, lord of the riots, trying to get Isperia, the supreme judge, to crack a little smile in increasingly more ridiculous, often salacious ways. Being a member of the Cult of Rakdos, and once of his warlocks, Igni had heard a lot of songs about his patron - but none of them were quite as sweet as that one. Being a tiefling, Bee was born with the ability to speak Abyssal, the demonic language often considered to be created by Rakdos himself; it sounded like crackling fire - but rolling off Bee’s tongue, it almost sounded sweet. Igni listened intently, his hands folded on his knee, his expression stern and static, as if his face was a stone sculpture; but it wasn’t easy, as the song was oftentimes vulgar and the way she sang of Rakdos pondering if Isperia’s nipples are ticklish made him absentmindedly ponder what color would Bee’s nipples be - would they be blue, like all of her skin? Would they turn purple when erect and aroused? And what about her groin? What color would her flower be? (Ignatius, my boy, Rakdos purred in his head. Oh, how she makes you burn! How she makes you ache! Such a delight to watch. A quiet torture. A silent spark, ready to engulf all of Ravnica in flames.) “So, what did you think?” she asked after finishing the last verse; she crossed her legs, causing her robe to slide up and expose her leg, and watched him with her eyes half-closed. “It was... Spicy.” he said cautiously, silently cursing himself for allowing himself to think about her so much. “But I think Rakdos would like it.” (You’re damn right, my boy. I do like it. Wish it had a verse about setting a Senate courthouse on fire though.) “But did you like it, mis... Oswin?” she asked; and he almost groaned out of want to hear her say his actual name, to hear her moan it- “I did.” he said, against his better judgement, despite knowing damn well that the man he was pretending to be would not like it. (But he wouldn’t fall for her either; so to hell with being reasonable.) She smiled proudly. “I’m very happy to hear it.” she said softly, swinging her leg slightly. “To be honest, I... Assumed you’re too serious and stern to enjoy something as silly as this song.” Igni coughed, doing his best to conceal a bitter chuckle, doing his best to not let the terrible truth of their situation get to him. She doesn’t know me. I’m a cultist, and she’s good and kind and sweet, and I’m a liar, and she would never love someone like me. Even as a tiefling.

***

“Can I ask you something?” “Go for it.” “Why do you always tell this story from my point of view? Doesn’t it bore you? Never getting to tell how you felt back then?” “It’s very simple, my love. I find the fact you pretended to be a serious merchant very amusing... And very poetic. And I am a poet. And there you were - a con artist, trying to turn a legitimate business into a spot for the Cult to launder their funds... But then you fell for the sweet, honest, peppy singer.” “But you had a secret too.” “I did. But me living a double life is not nearly as compelling as you pretending to not be a warlock of Rakdos.”

***

“Can I offer you something to drink?” she asked, getting off the commode. “I have... Well, I don’t have anything, but Zul has a bit of everything stashed away. And he’s contractually obliged to make sure I get all the drinks and snacks my heart desires.” “Perhaps I could assist with that as well. I... Have a wide variety of exotic snacks among my goods.” he added quickly as she tilted her head in a silent question. “Both sweet and savory. So if you ever crave something Zul doesn’t have... Just let me know.” “You know exactly what a girl wants to hear.” she said softly, looking at him; and her golden eyes almost made him crack, almost made him melt. “But, in the meantime... Can I offer you something sweet?” “Of course.” “Close your eyes then.” she said hesitantly; and he raised his eyebrows in a silent question. “I promise I’m not going to stab you.” she added, turning around; and after a moment - he closed his eyes obediently, focusing on listening instead. “Don’t open them yet.” she said, walking up to him; and moments later - much to his surprise - she climbed atop of him and sat in his lap. She was a little bit heavier than he thought she would be; just a bit. He opened his eyes - and saw her face, inches away from his, and he looked at her in silence, admiring her long lashes, and purple markings, and freckles and soft lips - lips that currently had a piece of chocolate sticking out from between them. “I-” he said hesitantly, his heart pounding, his voice raspy. “Miss Bee, I-” She tilted her head slightly, and the corners of her lips curled up in a smile; and he groaned quietly and leaned in, promising himself he’ll back out as soon as she- the moment he cautiously locked his teeth around the chocolate piece - she practically swallowed it and pressed her lips against his tightly, wrapping her arms around his neck; and he didn’t back out, instead kissing her back and pulling her closer, his hands trembling against her body. His blasted monocle fell off his face; but it didn’t matter, all that mattered were her lips and her breath. She was the sweetest thing he had ever tasted; and he instantly knew - it was not going to be enough.

***

“Gods, back then I was so horny for you.” he sighed; and Bee laughed, her laughter light like wind chimes. “Well, so was I for you.” she said, reaching up with her hand to stroke his chin; she turned her head to look up at him and he smiled sheepishly, wrapping his arms around her. “Oh, you were driving me crazy. Tall, handsome, muscular, perfectly polite, distant... Mmmm. Delicious.” “And now I’m a touchy-feely mean bastard who can’t get his hands off you. Are you... Still happy?” “Well, you’re still my Igni. And you can still act like a gentleman. So... I can’t imagine a scenario where I’m happier.” she said, putting her book down and clumsily turning around in his lap to face him. ��Now... All that talking made me want to be kissed.” she added, batting her lashes at him. He grinned, and pulled her closer; and he kissed her, he kissed her all over, again and again and again.

that was long and fun and im glad i had the opportunity to write it. also, here’s a younger bee from back when she was the lead singer at the honeycomb (made in a now-defunct mega fantasy avatar creater by rinmarugames)

#phantomqueen #4.txt #beegni

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writcraft · 5 years ago

Text

Fic: Only In Whispers (Molly/Arthur)

As we approach Bivisibility Day on 23 September 2019, I am going to post a few small ficlets that address bisexuality. The first is very different to my usual, a Molly/Arthur snapshot that takes place a few months after Fred’s death, and picks up on my Molly/Poppy femslash fic Until My Bones Are Tired set on the night before Molly and Arthur get married. The conversation is probably more fluffy than realistic, but it’s one that was cathartic to write.

The main warnings for the ‘verse is the infidelity between Molly and Poppy on the night before Arthur and Molly’s wedding, not something that is dealt with explicitly in this one shot, and grief over Fred’s death. There is no explicit content in this ficlet.

Summary: Molly comes out after many years of marriage to Arthur. It’s not perfect, but it’s okay.

Molly’s secret is heavier when her body aches with the dullness of grief.

The house is full of lilies and their cloying perfume is a constant reminder of buried things. When she’s busy living Molly can tell herself she’s hidden for so long because some truths simply don’t need to be shared. Her interest in witches is just another story nobody needs to know, like the time she drank too much Ogden’s with Rosemerta and they found a dusty Four Tops vinyl and danced themselves silly. In a home that reminds her of the things she’s lost, Molly realises how much harder it is to breathe when you put parts of yourself in coffins.

It’s so easy at times to forget the things that almost were, the love that never came to pass. Memories happen upon her unexpectedly, just as they do now when she’s washing the dishes. Her lips burn with the unexpected reminder of Poppy’s kisses and as she raises a hand to touch her mouth she’s back there again. Remembering catches her off-guard, in quiet moments, sad moments, dark moments, the times when her house is too quiet and her heart is too unsteady.

You’re not to make any daft decisions over a girl who dreams differently to you.

Molly hasn’t faltered, hasn’t wavered. She’s spent a lifetime loving Arthur and she would spend countless more by his side. Over the years everything that happened with Poppy has become a different kind of yearning. A desperate ache to be known. Truly known.

“You look like you need a cuddle.” Arthur’s gruff voice disturbs Molly’s thoughts, his warm arms circling her waist. She leans back against him, closing her eyes. Arthur’s hugs always feel like coming home, his touch achingly familiar.

“Arthur?” Molly chokes back the pain of her grief and wets her lips with her tongue, her mouth dry.

“Hmm?” Arthur presses a kiss to her cheek, and it’s almost tender enough to make Molly fall apart.

“There was a time when I thought I might like other witches too,” Molly whispers.

Always, always whispers.

“A time?” Arthur tightens his arms around her, his stubbly chin rough against her cheek. “Did you ever—?”

“Yes.” Molly turns in Arthur’s arms and watches as his face contorts in confusion. “When I was young.”

“Do you still?” Arthur watches her closely, his chest rising and falling.

“In another universe,” Molly replies. “In a world without you in it, perhaps.”

“Ah.” Arthur keeps his hold on her, tight and firm. He clears his throat. “I don’t think I would like to be loved for the wrong reasons.”

“You’re not. You never have been.” The knot in Molly’s chest tightens, an overwhelming breathlessness making her falter. “I thought you should know.”

“Why now?” Arthur’s uncertainty is clear, his brow furrowed. He’s such a kind man, such a good man. Being honest has never felt like a cruelty, until now. “After all this time.”

“Because it hurts,” Molly replies. It’s as close as she can get to the truth. It hurts wondering if you could still love me if you knew. “I expect you’re wondering if you’ve ever known me at all.”

“Have I?” Arthur asks, his voice rough with emotion.

“Yes,” Molly says. “Every part of me. Every part but this.”

“I see.” Arthur’s jaw works and he studies Molly. He brushes her tangled hair from her face and smiles, as soft and constant as ever. “I wish you’d told me.”

“Would it have made a difference?” Molly sucks in a breath, her heart pounding like drums.

“Not in the slightest.” Arthur holds Molly against his chest as her tears start to fall. His voice is hardly there at all when he asks, “Am I enough for you?”

Whispers. Always, always whispers.

“More than enough.” Molly tightens her hold on Arthur as if it might make him stay. “There was once, during our time together. Before we were married.”

Sometimes there are truths that don’t need to be told. But they do. They do, they do.

“That was a long time ago,” Arthur replies. “I don’t need to know about it. I’m not sure my heart could take it.”

“I didn’t choose.” Molly pulls back to face Arthur and swipes her hand over her face, scrubbing away the tears. “I didn’t choose witches or wizards. I just chose you.”

“Because I could give you children?” Arthur asks, quietly.

“No.” Molly shakes her head, taking Arthur’s hand in her sweaty palm. “Because it was you. It’s always been you.”

Arthur takes a breath and moves back from Molly, the loss of his warm body instantly difficult. He rubs his hand over his chin and looks at her, his cheek clenching and his eyes full of fire, fight and the inexplicable fondness Molly can always sense when she catches Arthur’s eye over a busy dinner table or notices him watching her when she’s pulling on a tattered old shirt she’s worn a hundred times before.

“Do you think our Fred’s out there in one of those other universes of yours?” Arthur gives Molly a small smile, his voice wobbling. “I’d like it if he was.”

“Perhaps.” Molly smiles back at Arthur, everything lighter, brighter and full of a tentative hope that flourishes outwards, shoots striving to meet the errant sun. “But you’re in those worlds too. In each and every one.”

“I might have questions,” Arthur says. “In time. I’m not sure I want to know, now. But perhaps you can tell me about this witch of yours, one day.”

“Perhaps.” Molly twists her hands together and looks down. “I don’t know where to even start.”

“Start at the beginning,” Arthur replies. He moves towards Molly again and kisses her softly, giving her the lopsided smile that makes her heart kick, trip and skip. “It’s as good a place as any.”

And that’s what Molly does. On a cold winter’s night when the house no longer smells like lilies and the pork roasting in the oven heralds the arrival of their family the following day.

She tells Arthur when the house is quiet, the rooms are warmed by the crackling fires and the comfortable home they’ve built together no longer feels like something lost. She digs herself out of the ground, whispers the word she doesn’t fully understand and tells him every last bit of it. Of Poppy, of summer days and suntan lotion, of being scared, confused and of burying parts of herself like bodies in the ground.

It’s not perfect, but nothing ever is. There’s a sunrise on the horizon and it’s enough to melt the first frost of winter, the tentative rays making their way across the garden and caressing The Burrow. Arthur carves the pork, George laughs for the first time since Fred was taken from them, Fleur has an announcement for them all and the crisp winter holds nothing but promise.

Molly drinks too much sherry and doesn’t feel at all embarrassed when she finds herself dancing with Arthur to an old Four Tops vinyl Charlie unearthed from goodness knows where. They whirl around the small space, tumbling and falling into a happy, eager tangle of limbs that makes Ron call them so bloody embarrassing as they kiss and hold one another, as if there’s never going to be another Sunday like it.

“Tell the kids one day,” Arthur says, when they’re in bed and the sounds of Charlie, Ginny and Harry arguing over the best way to tame a dragon filter upstairs.

“Don’t be so ridiculous.” Molly’s cheeks heat and she pushes Arthur lightly in the chest. “Nobody needs to know the details of my private life.”

Arthur smiles, kisses Molly on the nose and turns off the light with a flick of his wand.

“We don’t know that. Maybe it’s exactly what some of them need to hear.”

Molly falls asleep to the sound of Arthur snoring, laughter and music from a long time past spinning on the old record player Arthur brought back from the Ministry in the early days of their marriage.

Perhaps she doesn’t have to speak in whispers anymore?

Tomorrow is infinite.

#bisexuality #writ's bivisibility ficlets #molly x arthur #fanfic #harry potter fanfic

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sapphicalexaandra · 7 years ago

Text

Between One Heartbeat and the Next

Pairing: Jace/Alec

Rating: T

Summary: Alternative Post-S2 Finale. Jace's death has brought some unexpected consequences that Jace and Alec now have to deal with...

Notes: Companion piece to my other fic 'Apart'. This is the same Post-Finale scenario, but as set in my Seelie Court Kiss AU, and some passages are therefore repeated, while some canon events are changed. To get the context, you should probably read the other parts of this 'verse, especially 'Where Thou Diest..', where some things are like in 2x20 (for example, Jace's death), but the circumstances are different.

“Can we talk?” Alec asked Magnus abruptly.

He didn’t wait for a response, but went directly out and into the back alley of the Hunter’s Moon. Magnus had followed him, and they stood face to face, regarding each other in what could only be called awkwardness.

Alec sighed. “Listen, I know you probably don’t want to hear it again, but I’m really, really sorry for lying about the Soul Sword. I never meant to hurt you or any Downworlder…and I realize that I could’ve acted differently to show that.”

Magnus remained silent for what felt like an eternity. Then he cleared his throat and spoke in a somewhat subdued voice, compared to the way it usually exuded confidence, “I know. I know you didn’t mean it like that.”

That wasn’t all that they had to say to each other, was it? Alec wanted to think so, but the protraction of more silence didn’t really work in favor of that. “I just hope that you’ll still be willing to work with me in the future, for the protection of both our people. But I – I’ll understand if you can’t.”

Magnus had made it clear, when they’d had to use the Allegiance Rune to fend off the demons swarming Alicante, that he was only doing it for the good of his people, and not for him – which was perfectly fine by Alec. But if they wanted for the Downworld Cabinet to continue, they couldn’t stay in the kind of terms they’d been in since Magnus had sided with the Seelie Queen, a fact that had led to Valentine reaching Idris at the detriment of the entire Downworld. Alec had driven him to that, he was painfully aware of it, so he didn’t expect them to ever be friends, not anymore…but if his plans as Head of the Institute hoped to succeed, Alec didn’t know what else he needed to do to make up for what he had, or rather, hadn’t done.

“It’s fine,” Magnus said dryly.

“It’s clearly not fine…”

“I assure you, it is.” And before Alec could protest any further, he added, “I’ve stopped being in the right the moment I struck that deal with the Seelie Queen.”

Alec was taken aback by the self-loathing he could hear in that statement. “You were only trying to do what was best for your people – that was all my fault!”

“Oh…I said that to myself, too. Repeatedly. And for a time, I even believed it." Magnus chuckled mirthlessly, his gaze fixed on the ground.

“What – what do you mean?” Alec asked, more and more confused by the second. “I thought that you–”

“Don’t you see?” Magnus raised his eyes, and a glint of yellow passed through them, “I wasn’t acting for the sake of my people, I wasn’t disappointed by your lie for their sake – but for mine! Cause the truth is, I still love you, and I resent you…for not feeling the same way about me than I do about you! I told you I was fine about our break up, but I wasn’t, and still am not. When I think back to how you kissed Jace instead of me at the Seelie Court, I - that’s why I jumped at the first chance that I got, at the first reason I could find to justify it to myself, to finally act out all this anger that I have inside and hurt you just as much as you hurt me!”

Magnus was breathing hard, as if he had just been running a marathon, and Alec didn’t know what to say, what to think, he opened his mouth to try and do something…but it was still Magnus who went on, “No, I wasn’t acting out of the goodness of my heart. I was simply being stubborn and petty as a mule, going on with my quest to avenge my broken heart, calling it righteous – and I almost ravaged everything in my path.”

“I’m – I’m sure that’s not true! You’re a good person, Magnus.”

“Maybe…but it doesn’t change the facts.”

Alec felt his eyes burning. All the hours of happiness he had spent with someone else…he couldn’t help but feel bad at whose expense that had been. “I – I’m sorry. I know I always say that, but I truly am. I never meant to string you along or – I just wish that I could–”

“That’s not on you, Alexander. You don’t owe me anything, nobody owes anybody feelings they don’t have. And I am sorry, too, for everything I did when I couldn’t accept that.”

Alec powered through the constriction in his throat, “There must be something that I can do to ease your pain or...”

Magnus’s smile didn’t light up his eyes. “Just be happy. Live your life to the fullest. That’s all anyone can do.”

“What about you?” Alec had to ask. “You deserve to be happy, too. I’m sure there’s someone out there, who will love you just the way you deserve to be loved...”

“Maybe. But for now, it’ll have to be me. Goodbye, Alexander.”

“...Goodbye, Magnus.”

And Alec reentered the Hunter’s Moon, as Magnus went the other way.

It wasn’t fair – how it had turned out, what he had done to him, Alec mused over the loud music that invaded his earbuds as soon as he opened the back door. Even if he hadn’t meant it, his path was riddled with people he had inadvertently hurt, or worse – Jocelyn Fairchild, Max, Magnus… To get where he was now, he had left too many bodies behind. Even if one of them was also Valentine, it didn’t change the fact that no peace, no party - for how earned and enjoyable - could truly fix everything that was broken along the way, and he would never let himself forget that.

Still, despite that awareness, despite the guilt he felt over having romantically failed someone so severely, as he scanned the crowd, putting on his widest smile when he passed people he knew – no reason to bring the harsh reality into that merriment, at least for that one night – he couldn’t help but be looking for one person, and one person only…and not regret it in the slightest. He was on the contrary yearning for it, or the night wouldn’t be a true celebration.

Recognizing a redhead, he approached Clary, only to notice that she was dancing with both Izzy and Maia. They all seemed to be having a great time, and his smile was genuine when he addressed them, “Hey.”

“Yo, big bro!” Izzy, clearly far-gone drunk, was holding her stomach, half-doubled over as she laughed over something he hadn’t heard. “Join the fun!”

“I think I’ll pass, no offence,” he shot back, glancing at Maia bemusedly, at which she shook her head. He then asked Clary, “Have you seen Jace?”

She was laughing too, but sobered up enough to answer him, “Oh, he was at the bar a minute ago…” They both looked that way, but there was no sign of him there. “He must’ve gone out.”

“Yeah, I’ll find him, thanks anyway,” he told her, adding more quietly, “Hey, can you...keep an eye on Izzy?” They sneaked a glance at the girl in question, who was leaning heavily on Maia, still laughing uncontrollably. “I think this is her way of…you know, drowning the pain…” Alec swallowed down thoughts of Max, “and I just want to make sure she gets home safely.”

Clary smiled understandingly. “Of course. I’ll get her to have some fun, then I’ll bring her home. You know I’d protect her with my life.”

Alec nodded, thanking her, but he had to do a mental double-take as he noticed that Clary, in light of her words, was staring at Izzy with what could be only described as a soft look. “Ehm, where’s - Simon?” Alec asked her, arching an eyebrow.

Clary nonchalantly looked back at him. “Oh, he went back home…he was feeling tired, and I don’t blame him.”

“Yeah. I guess I’ll go, then.” He bid them all goodnight, not before placing a kiss on his sister’s head, which she took as being even more hilarious than what she was previously laughing at. “Careful how you walk, with those heels.”

“I take offence to that!” But Izzy still stumbled, pummeling right into Clary’s arms.

“C’mon, silly, let’s get you out of here,” Clary told her fondly, catching her, a crinkle in her nose.

Shaking his head, Alec left the merry scene with a lighter feeling.

A feeling that was crushed into a million pieces once he saw the scene happening outside of the bar.

“Jace!”

Jace was crouched on the ground, his whole body and face contorted in pain, as he coughed and spluttered and struggled to breath. Feeling as if he had just received a punch in the gut, Alec rushed to him, kneeling in front of him as he debated whether to touch him, or if that would only worsen his condition… “Hey, hey, Jace, it’s me, I’m here.”

Jace raised his head slightly, but his blood-shot eyes didn’t seem to really take him in. Still, Jace’s arms shot up to grip Alec’s shirt, as he let his head fall heavily onto Alec’s chest. His question answered, Alec wasted no more time in circling his parabatai's shoulder, holding him in his arms as Jace’s body shook and Jace’s hands tightened their grip to the point of tearing the fabric of the shirt. The only words Jace managed to say were, “I don’t know, I don’t know what is happening, I don’t know…”

“It’s okay, it’s gonna be okay. Breathe, just breathe, I’ve got you…”

Alec couldn’t tell how much time passed, but eventually Jace’s breathing did slow down, his grip loosened, his body relaxed, and he collapsed against Alec, completely spent. Alec kept holding him, reluctant to let him go even after Jace recovered well enough to break apart and look him in the eyes.

They stared at each other, purposefully syncing their breaths together, as Alec took Jace’s face in between his hands, caressing it, studying it – the dampness on his cheeks, the circle under his eyes, the phantom pain and utter shock in them – all the while trying to ebb away the panic in his, both their bones.

“When did this…start?” Alec finally asked.

“Neve– it’s never happened before,” Jace croaked out. “I was feeling weird, and I went out to get some fresh air, but then I started feeling this, I don’t know, rush of something, and suddenly it took ahold me. I don’t– Alec, I don’t know.”

A dull ringing pressing into his ears, Alec tried to convey, looking into Jace’s eyes, a confidence he didn’t have, but that they both needed in that moment.

“We’ll figure this out,” he stated, firmly. He caught a tear at the corner of Jace’s half-brown eye. Then he added more quietly, “We’ll figure this out.”

They made the journey back to the Institute in silence, both too stunned to say anything. Jace couldn’t talk past the knot in his throat; Alec probably didn’t want to upset him any further.

When they reached Jace’s room, mindful of the rotation of the camera in the corner, the only thing Jace had the energy to do was fall heavily on his bed. Elbows on his knees, he put his face in his hands.

Alec was crouching in front of him a moment later, a hand tentatively caressing his wrist. “Talk to me, Jace.”

He couldn’t handle Alec’s gentle voice, or the soft way he was looking at him…so Jace got up abruptly, going to pace around the room as he shouted, “What is there to say?! I knew it, I should’ve known, that you don’t bring people back from the dead without consequences! You just don’t!” Hands in his hair, he rounded on Alec, who had gotten up as well, “It’s just…we should’ve expected something like this.”

“Not necessarily!” Alec retorted. “This was a wish granted by the Angel himself…there was no reason to think… We don’t know what this is, or if it has anything to do with – okay, it’s a fair guess, but we can’t fall into a panic and expect the worst from the start, without researching first!”

Jace snorted. “And what? What other thing could it possibly be? Let’s face it, Alec, not even the Angel must have the power to bring someone back from the dead indefinitely, or without some sort of catch to the kind of life–”

“We don’t know that, Jace, we don’t know that,” Alec almost pleaded, covering the room in only a few strides to get in front of him. He took his hands, and Jace almost didn’t let him, but at the first touch he didn’t want him to ever let go. Alec took a deep breath. “Okay, there’s no point in me now telling you that you don’t need to worry, or that I’m sure you’ll be okay and won’t – die again or something…” Alec’s voice broke, but he pressed on, “What I will tell you is that you – we – can’t be consumed by this. What have we been saying? We’ll live our lives to the fullest, we can’t know when things go bad either way, we just need to make the most out of what we have.”

“And what do I have? Convulsions, a tendency for pain, a probably doomed existence?” That wasn’t fair to Alec, who was only trying to cheer him up, and Jace disliked himself beyond words when he became a pathetic tangle of self-pity, but he still couldn’t get rid of feeling that way.

“You have me, for what it’s worth,” Alec said in a small voice.

Jace gripped Alec’s hands back, almost getting angry at Alec’s hesitation. “Of course, you’re worth everything to me! That’s why I don’t want you to suffer even more because of me…you don’t deserve that.”

“And how does that have anything to do with me? Wait, let me guess, you want to distance yourself from me, so if something really happened to you, you think I’d suffer less? You should know better by now.”

Jace clenched his jaw, a protest mounting in him...but he had to sigh in defeat, lowering his gaze. No, that wasn’t feasible. Alec was all he had, and all he wanted – needed by his side, forever. He could never distance himself from him. Yet…

How long do I have?

That question seemed to have been printed on the back of his mind.

Shadowhunters were raised to expect death at any moment, and to embrace it. He more than anyone had been willing to lay down his life for the right cause. But like this? A betrayal, a defeat, a divine intervention by someone else’s request...would be what caused his downfall? There wasn’t anything honorable about that, it wouldn’t have a purpose or benefit anyone. It just sucked. That’s why that question couldn’t help but bring only agony with it; there was no acceptance or resignation in the way his limbs trembled under that weight. And Alec – he would bring Alec down with him, there was no escaping it.

“Hey, look at me.” Jace didn’t want to, but he could never say no to Alec, especially when he asked of him something in that way – not demanding, only loving. Thus, he raised his head to stare into hazel eyes. “Let’s focus on what matters. You’re alive, right now.”

Jace exhaled slowly. “Yeah. For now.”

“No. Not ‘for now’. Right now.”

“I know, I know…”

“And right now.”

A pause. A heartbeat.

“And now again. You’re still alive.”

Another pause. Alec placed their joined hands on Jace’s heart, which skipped a bit, then resumed his steady beating.

“Right now, again. And guess what? You’re still alive. Can you feel it?”

Jace held his breath, transfixed, then nodded.

Alec leaned forward until their foreheads were touching. “Are you still alive?”

And Jace couldn’t contain a smile any longer, as well as the bubble of poor light rising in his chest. “Maybe.”

Alec chuckled. The way he kissed him then was feather-like, his lips barely brushing against Jace's, but Jace felt it all the way to his toes.

“What about now?” Alec was whispering now.

“Mmmh…I might need another reminder, just to be sure,” Jace whispered back. He had never been more serious in his life.

Alec kissed him again, and this time Jace felt it far beyond his toes. His own self seemed to have expanded; to the ground, to the air around them, to Alec himself. They were in a bubble, and nothing from the outside world could pierce it. Jace forgot about anything else.

He didn’t know how Alec always managed to know exactly what he needed, and what he needed to do, to take him out of his shell. Reminding him that his every heartbeat meant that, in that moment, he was alive, and he would be until the next moment, and the next, and that that needed to be cherished…wasn’t something that he would’ve thought of on his own, or that it would’ve worked if he were on his own. Jace was forever thankful for Alec.

Jace’s hands sprung free from Alec's hold on their own accord, and they started tracing everything they found in their path. They needed to touch, to feel. Be it the patch of skin under Alec’s torn shirt, or the toned muscles of his arms as Jace shrugged Alec’s jacket off of him, or the curves of his sides as he rose the shirt over Alec’s head, removing it. Alec’s skin lit up under his palms, and Jace just had to replace them with his mouth. He pressed his parted lips on the juncture at the base of Alec’s neck, on his collarbone, his chest, so that he could breathe the scent of him in.

Alec had his arms around him, his mouth tracing the side of Jace's head in a timeless caress, until he drew back and pulled Jace's chin up, to capture Jace’s mouth with his once again, exploring the depth of it with his tongue. Jace was vaguely aware that his own shirt was removed as well shortly after, and he was now circling Alec’s neck to have him be that much closer to him, so that their skins were next to each other, heartbeat against heartbeat.

Alec��s arms were holding him tighter now, and Alec was so determined about it that Jace found himself be raised from the ground all of a sudden. Taken aback, he quickly recovered by wrapping his legs around Alec, laughing against his lips.

“You calling me short?”

Jace could feel the curve of Alec’s mouth. “Yeah.”

Being held like that, however, was anything but amusing. Jace didn’t know if it was the closeness, or the fact that he was completely, literally, in Alec’s hands now…but he was overwhelmed by it, at how he felt safer than he’d ever been. Upon realizing that, Jace could only bury his face against Alec’s neck, while they stayed in that position, hugging each other, for a blissful, unmeasurable moment.

The kiss that came after had a new purpose, new awareness to it, and they fell onto the bed still not having parted from it.

When they had to part to catch their breath, Alec didn’t stop there, but started kissing every inch of Jace’s face with a kind of franticness to it that made Jace’s heart clench and beat more rapidly at the same time. When he realized Alec was now kissing away tears that were falling from his eyes, Jace shouldn’t have been surprised, but he still was.

“Who cries while making love now?” Alec teased him good-naturedly, but his voice was hoarse.

Jace snorted, blinking away more treacherous tears. “Still you.”

“That was one time…”

“Three times.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

But there was no bite or playfulness to how their lips collided once more...only desperation.

After, when they were cuddled up on the bed, tears were still hard to keep at bay. Alec held him from behind, but Jace had to turn around, the face in front of him the only thing that could give him some form of solace. He brought a hand up, to draw the line of Alec’s jaw with his finger - the solidness and immutability of his parabatai the only thing he could ever count on. Alec in turn circled his shoulders, and snuggled closer to him. Surrounded by his warmth and scent, Jace managed to fall asleep.

Alec refused to sleep. He didn’t dare close his eyes. If he did that, the face in front of him, tense even in sleep, would disappear, and he couldn’t let that happen. He didn’t want to think about why he felt the need to drink it in (until he could), but the reason was there, swimming behind his eyelids. If he delved into it, he wouldn’t be able to stay calm enough to not wake Jace up.

You don’t bring people back from the dead without consequences! You just don’t!

For how much he had wanted to ease Jace’s worry, keep his mind away from thoughts of those exact consequences, Alec’s platitudes couldn’t work on himself too. He dreaded every second that went by that brought him closer and closer to a world without Jace.

That’s just how life is, so listen to your own advice and appreciate every heartbeat.

But no matter how much he told himself that, there was no denying that Jace’s death had literally broken something in him, and a prospect of things only getting worse…wasn’t pleasant. So maybe, if he didn’t lose Jace from his sight, or if he kept him as close to himself as he could, he wouldn't be taken away from him...

Alec knew that he was being irrational, and that his stubbornness wouldn’t really do anything to change any event that wanted to happen - still, he’d rather die than not do it.

That was why, when Jace’s body became as taut as a bow string, Alec felt it straight away. He drew back his arms just in time, right before Jace gasped and bolted upright, his face morphed in a not-so-silent scream as he clawed at the sheets.

And Alec could only bring him to lay against his chest, not minding it in the slightest when Jace started clawing at the skin of his arms, drawing blood, since the real bleeding was going on inside of him (that was not a one-time thing, this is real, this is bad, I don’t know what to do, I can’t lose him again…). Jace would be stricken once he came to his senses again, but there was no way in hell Alec would let him deal with this alone. Being his anchor was only the least he could do, that pain being nothing compared to what Jace was going through; if he could’ve transferred all of Jace’s pain to himself, as a matter of fact, he would’ve.

Jace did come to his senses eventually, breathing unsteadily as he took in his bloodied hands and the mess on Alec’s arms. Alec didn’t let him utter even one word, he simply led them both to the bathroom, picking up his stele first. Jace insisted to heal him, and Alec didn’t protest too much about it. He could’ve sworn he never felt those scratches.

What he did feel was Jace’s unsteadiness, and the way Jace was rattled out of his mind even though he tried to mask it. Alec wasn’t faring much better; he felt entirely useless in front of that impossible situation. Nothing he could say to Jace would matter in the face of an unknowable agony that had plunged on him – them – to lead them into chaos, as if it was punishing them for…no, that couldn’t be, right? The fact that they were breaking one of the most sacred laws couldn’t have anything to do with…it had only affected Jace...

No, everything that affects him affects me.

Alec’s head was positively going to explode. Only the fastness with which he switched it off was able to prevent that, letting him take care of Jace, clean him up, draw him back to the bed, and finally fall on it with not a single thought in his mind.

The way he clung to Jace, hugging him from behind, burying his face against the back of his neck...he couldn’t say was only for Jace’s benefit. Jace brought a hand back to pass it through his hair, and Alec sighed at the sensation.

“Promise me,” Jace said then, “promise me you’ll live on, if something happens to me.”

Alec froze…then he deleted from his mind everything that he had just heard, pressing his face even further against Jace’s skin, kissing every spot he could reach. “Shut up, shut up, go to sleep. You’re not dying. You’re not.”

For he didn’t know what miracle, Jace didn’t say anything else. He simply interlocked their hands together.

#my post #shadowhunters #jalec #jalec fic #my fic #between one heartbeat and the next #seelie court kiss au #my writing

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mazurah · 7 years ago

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Lost in Time Ch. 14: Repartee - An Elder Scrolls Fanfic

Chapter Summary: Ma’zurah and Fayrl meet some very interesting people in a tavern.

Cross posted from Ao3. Chapter Rating: T for torture mention.

First Chapter - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Lost in Time Chapter 14: Repartee

“Ah! My Dunmer friend, so good to see you again,” the Imperial greeted Fayrl. “I see you have fine tastes in clothing. I am surprised you managed with that small sum I offered you.”

Fayrl bowed deeply. “My thanks, sera Pavos, for your generosity. Your coin has gone far when I offered my voice in the bargain.”

“Of that I've no doubt,” said Pavos.

“Speaking of voice,” Fayrl began, his tone playful, “I owe you music for your generosity.” He pulled out the lute. “Are you free now?”

Pavos laughed. “I would be happy to hear your music. Come, I've a room over here where we might find ourselves more privacy.”

Fayrl nodded, then looked to Ma’zurah. She had just finished lecturing him about not splitting up. Yet if Pavos were interested in more than merely listening to music, he would not shy away from offering a prayer to Mephala. Who knows, perhaps he could even give the man up to the blade’s appetite. There was something familiar about Pavos and he could only assume it was that he reminded Fayrl of the Imperial agents he used to seduce for information. The man likely had enough sin that he did not need to feel guilty for sacrificing him.

Ma’zurah’s ears twitched in Fayrl’s direction and she shot him a look. She stood and walked toward Fayrl, offering the Imperial a smile. “This one greets you. This one is Ma’zurah, Fayrl’s spouse. May Ma’zurah offer you a seat at this one’s table?”

Fayrl was afraid this might be the sort of outcome he could expect. He should have insisted harder on them going their separate ways. How else was he to make coin and fulfill his mission? He doubted very much Ma’zurah was the type to want to be around for such things.

“Fayrl, you did not tell me you had such a beautiful wife,” said the Imperial. Turning from Fayrl and giving her a smile and nod in return he took the offered seat. “My name is Pavos Signas. I met your husband this morning at the baths. I am very sorry to hear about your fortunes. I offered him some coin in exchange for his music. Tell me, did I make a poor investment, or is there more to him than a pretty face?”

Ma’zurah blinked at the man, trying to figure out what Fayrl could have told him. “Oh, Ma’zurah thinks he is quite talented with music.” Just then the Bosmer bartender came over. “Welcome! Can I get you anything? We have a fresh batch of Honningbrew mead, just arrived this morning. It’s a house specialty.”

Pavos gave the Bosmer a warm smile. “Elrindir, my good friend! Please, do bring us a bottle. And a plate of that cheese you served at breakfast. And perhaps my friend here will play us some music. How about it, Fayrl? Care to share with everyone here?”

Fayrl grinned. “It would be my honor to play for you and the fine people of this establishment.” He pulled the lute across his chest and checked it’s tuning. “Any requests?”

The Bosmer grinned at the prospect of music, and traipsed down to the cellar to retrieve their mead and cheese.

Ma’zurah tried to think of any songs that could possibly be well known after almost a millennia, but discovered she didn't even know how old most of the songs she knew were. “Play something Ma'zurah has not heard before? Something new?”

Out of the corner of her eye, Ma'zurah noticed the Dunmer assassin in the alcove staring at Fayrl intently, her dagger and whetstone still in her hands. Ma'zurah shifted uneasily.

Fayrl thought for a moment. “Yes, I think I can come up with something like that.”

Pavos reclined in his seat, getting quite comfortable.

Fayrl fingered the strings a few notes until he recalled the melody. “Ah! There we are.” He began to play his song. "Alma ohn jikhi'ad lo ot muhr. ohn shogahe'ag ju'okor aradir os, captu'ath hadik sudas lo. Alma ohn jihi'ad lo ot muhr. Dash ohn falme'ag lo bivi en home'ag ohn muhrid lacor ohn.” Mother you gave me a life. You knew how quickly I, consumed all around me. Mother you gave me a life. Then you held me back and told me not to be just like you. "Os e ot molag'm muhrjul, en os mola hadik as albur. Ohn abahrr molaf en dual en os ure'ag as albur malidi. Os e ot molag'm muhrjul, en os mola hadik as albur. Os e molaf en dual en os, ura muhrad yi malidi." I'm a child of the flame, and I burn just the same. You were heat and passion and I yearned the same way. I'm a child of the flame, and I burn just the same. I am heat and passion and I yearn to live my own way. "Ata ohn muhrse'ag lo juli. Ohn talje'ag yi shviyaa en, ohn oro'ag de balmara asuhl. Ata ohn muhrse'ag lo juli. Ohn balmari'ag ohn panthiihn ghar lo, shogahakam asuhm shoksuna ebahr kiohr." Father you raised me well. You saw I had gifts and you tried to concentrate them. Father you raised me well. Then you forced your gods on me, knowing their redemption was false. "Os e ot molag'm muhrjul, en os mola hadik as albur. Ohn abahrr molaf en dual en os ure'ag as albur malidi. Os e ot molag'm muhrjul, en os mola hadik as albur. Os e molaf en dual en os, ura muhrad yi malidi." I'm a child of the flame, and I burn just the same. You were heat and passion and I yearned the same way. I'm a child of the flame, and I burn just the same. I am heat and passion and I yearn to live my own way. Ma'zurah smiled softly as she realized that Fayrl’s song was about himself. The Bosmer bartender returned with mead and a plate of diced cheese and quietly left it at their table to return to his place behind the bar. Ma'zurah reached for a piece of cheese, realizing suddenly that she hadn't had any actual cheese since leaving Cyrodiil. Kwama cuttle, however much it had been processed to resemble cheese, still made poor Elsweyr fondue. She wondered where she might obtain some moon sugar. Fayrl’s song transitioned to a verse about his wife. "Daelikal ohn shogahaka lo bahr. Ohn menfi yi bulor en, ju'okor yi havganich ohn. Daelikal ohn shogahaka lo bahr. Ohn taje bahr as need lo bahrsint, ura de vivad eshtik ilu hlaghin ohn." My wife you know me not. You observe my place and how I can elevate you. My wife you know me not. You don't see the real me nor, care to learn more than yourself. "Os e ot molag'm muhrjul, en os mola hadik as albur. Ohn abahrr molaf en dual en os ure'ag as albur malidi. Os e ot molag'm muhrjul, en os mola hadik as albur. Os e molaf en dual en os, ura muhrad yi malidi." I'm a child of the flame, and I burn just the same. You were heat and passion and I yearned the same way. I'm a child of the flame, and I burn just the same. I am heat and passion and I yearn to live my own way. Ma'zurah remembered their conversation about his husband, but she realized she had neglected to ask him further about his wife when he mentioned her in passing. "Os e ot molag'm muhrjul, en os harim yi sin. Os abahr molaf en dual en os, molan hadik gher yi malidi. Os e ot molag'm muhrjul, en os ean halbere'ag kiohr bahr. Os e abahr molaf en dual en os, bahmarin yi malidi." I'm a child of the flame, and I will get my day. I am heat and passion, and I'll burn all in my way. I'm a child of the flame, and I won't be led astray. I am heat and passion, and I will make my own way.

The song ended, and Fayrl gave a small seated bow. Ma'zurah joined the scattered applause from around the room. The Dunmer assassin in the alcove was giving Fayrl a strange look.

Pavos applauded even after the rest of the patrons had stopped. “You offered me no jest in your claim to be a bard. What a lovely voice. Do you mind telling me what the song was about? I must confess, I’ve no skill with the languages of elves.”

“Oh, it is a song about the desire to overcome those who attempt to restrain you in life,” Fayrl said nonchalantly. “A silly song I wrote when I was rather young and rebellious. It seems like another lifetime since I last played it.” He noticed the expression on the mercenary’s face. Perhaps he should have played a different sort of tune. A drinking song might have been a better choice.

“Would you mind playing another tune?” asked Pavos, nursing his glass of wine.

Fayrl took a sip from his own glass. “I would be happy to play more for you, my friend.”

“Do a love song next,” the Imperial requested, “I could use the sound of a good romantic tune.”

Fayrl thought for a moment, absently playing a couple of cords. “Oh, I have just the tune.” He played a song, this time in Cyrodiilic. It spoke of a forest dwelling maiden with striking golden eyes and a tongue as sharp as her arrowheads. There were a couple of innuendos about stroking a vine or of tasting the juice from a ripe fruit, but otherwise it was a song of new love. It had all the excitement and danger that obviously came from pursuing a sadistic Bosmeri maiden. Yet the song ended with a happy ending, the singer and the maiden finding their love blossoming among the green.

When Fayrl’s second song had ended, and the applause faded, the Dunmer assassin approached their table. Ma'zurah gave her a wary look.

“Blade and shadow, sera,” the assassin began in dusky Dunmeris to Fayrl. “I find myself too intrigued not to interrupt. You wear an ancient token of the Webspinner, a practice that has not seen use since before the downfall of the False Tribunal and our people’s return to the Reclamations, so I find myself most curious as to why you have adopted the practice. You also speak our language as a native, yet your accent is so archaic that I cannot place where you might be from, and I simply must know.” Seeing Fayrl’s expression, she turned to the Imperial. “Forgive me, but I need a moment to speak with my countrymer.”

Pavos gestured for Jenassa to proceed and busied himself with drinking his wine. “Do not let me interrupt.”

Fayrl could not deny the mer was a worshiper of Mephala, or possibly Morag Tong. She had proven it now. “You are very observant, sera,” he began, pulling out a chair for her. “I am a lover of the ancient ways and spent much time studying the meticulous use of language, as well as the customs and traditions that have been lost to this modern age. I was born in Vivec, though I did much of my studies in Mournhold. How about you, sera, what is your story? Or at the least, your name?”

“My name is Jenassa. Death is my art, and like all artists, I seek a patron, though that is hardly relevant to the matter at hand. And your name as well, sera? You must be well learned and traveled to have developed such an unusual accent. It has been a long time since you had the privilege of visiting your birthplace then, has it not?”

Ma’zurah looked alarmed, but hesitated and missed her chance to speak.

Fayrl smiled. “An important art indeed, my friend. My name is Fayrl. My art is music and the knowledge of early and mid second era history. Perhaps of little use to others. I would not say I am so well travelled and learned, I have not yet seen even half of Tamriel, nor learned much of the people and customs of those living further west. Though I suppose the experience of a life with some degree of movement would naturally alter a mer’s way of speaking.”

He noticed Ma’zurah’s alarm and suddenly recalled the catastrophe that had occurred. “I was but a child when last I was at Vivec. My parents were scholars and had been searching for ancient knowledge that may have been lost. My mother was very strong-willed, not even pregnancy would prevent her doing her work.”

Jenassa glanced between Ma’zurah and Fayrl, but her face did not betray her thoughts. “She sounds like a formidable mer. What work was it that she was so intent upon doing?”

“She and father had a buyer in Mournhold, a collector of rare and ancient artifacts. My parents wished to learn what may have been lost to the ages and were funded in their pursuit by the promise of artifacts of worth recovered. But tell me, what interests you so in such matters? You come to speak to us for business do you not? Or perhaps there is something else?”

“Come now, it is rare enough to find a native countrymer in these cold lands, but to find such an interesting one? And one with such artistic talent? How could I be anything but intrigued?” She offered Fayrl a tiny smile, her first deviation from her serious mein, and her eyes flicked down, then up again across Fayrl’s form. Ma’zurah rolled her eyes. The mer’s flirting was painfully obvious.

“But if you do not mind my asking, sera,” Jenassa continued, “what lands have you traveled? It is always fascinating to hear of faraway quarters as well as news from the homeland.”

“You flatter me, sera, and offer me far too much credit,” Fayrl responded. “I am sure you are tantalizing to observe at your own art, though I must ask you to refrain from demonstrating on any present company, unless you have a contract. I wonder at your knowledge of the obscure, for you are the only one I’ve seen who has recognized the ancient symbol of one of the True Tribunal.”

“Indeed, it is not common knowledge, the ancient customs of the dissident priests to identify each other,” Jenassa murmured.

Fayrl took his glass from the table, leaning in close to her as he did, allowing his side to graze hers, giving him a chance to gauge her reaction to physical contact. He took a sip. “I am sure a person in your trade is far better traveled than I. I am only just now returning to Skyrim after having been back in Stonefalls. I have otherwise been to Cyrodiil and a few times to Black Marsh. Save those places and Skyrim, I have not traveled outside of the homeland.”

“How did you meet your husband?” Pavos suddenly asked Ma’zurah.

Jenassa made no reaction to Fayrl’s sudden touch, but did glance sharply at the Imperial at the mention of the word “husband”.

Ma’zurah blinked, and took a moment to reset her mind from Dunmeris to Cyrodiilic. She realized with chagrin that she would likely be expected to entertain Pavos while Fayrl was engaged in verbal sparring with Jenassa. “Uh… We met in a tavern. He was lost, and needed a guide, and this one offered,” she replied tersely, trying with some difficulty to listen to the ongoing conversation in Dunmeris at the same time.

“Black Marsh! I’m amazed! And multiple times? Not many Dunmer visit, what is it like? What did you do there?” Jenassa leaned toward Fayrl in apparent interest.

Fayrl recognized the signs of Jenassa’s body language. He saw such behavior only in spies and assassins, maybe a master thief. She was after something by speaking to him. What it was, he did not know, though he hoped it was not his life she was after.

“Black Marsh is far less unpleasant than rumors give it to be. The cities are beautiful and cultured, the architecture magnificent, the food divine. I would avoid traveling between cities without a guide, the climate gives way to a vast variety of organisms, which makes the cuisine bountiful, but the pests and territorial beasts of the swamp are also numerous. Still, it is very much worth a visit.”

Fayrl reached into his pouch and retrieved a prayer slip, one out of a book of them he had for when he visited the holy places of the Tribunal. He took her hand and slipped it inside, still holding onto it as he spoke. “Since you have such a keen interest in history, here is an ancient prayer marker, like the ancients used to use on their pilgrimages to the Daedric ruins and temples of the True Tribunal during the reign of the false one. Mother tells me this one is dated sometime in the mid second era, though it is hard to tell. It was sealed magically within a chest and thus had no signs of age.”

He wanted to see if it was artifacts she might be after. If such was the case, then it would be easy enough to get rid of her.

Jenassa reacted instantly when Fayrl took her gloved hand, wrenching it away. Quicker than anyone at the table could react, she had a knife in her hand, with its point hovering just above Fayrl’s neck. She retreated after a tense second, but did not re-sheathe the blade. “Apologies, sera. I am unused to sudden contact with liars.” She smirked at Fayrl and Ma’zurah’s sudden expressions.

“Yes, liars. You are not from Vivec,” she continued in low, calm Dunmeris. “You hardly look a hundred and fifty, much less the two hundred or so years you would need to be to be able to make that claim. You obviously have something to hide. Don’t think I missed that little exchange between you and the Khajiit. You use odd wording, and you don’t know the generally accepted names for things, like the Reclamations. And of course we still use prayer slips. What Morrowind native doesn’t know that? Additionally, what kind of a historian gives away an artifact, if it is even an artifact, that that is a millennia old?” Jenassa shook her head.

“Furthermore, your accent is not from Vivec, or from travel. I could not place it at first until you mentioned the second era, and then I realized it was just like one of the plays I saw in Mournhold depicting the Three Banners War. Nobody talks like that anymore. And finally, nobody just travels to Black Marsh--not since the invasion and the sack of Mournhold. So this time don’t lie. Who are you really, and where did you come from?”

Fayrl laughed, not making any apparent move to protect himself or react in any way to her threats. “My, my, my. Such a quick temper. I see no need to threaten anyone here,” he said, voice as calm and straightforward as someone discussing the weather. “After all, I just got this tunic and I would be very sad to see it stained in your blood. And I assure you, it will be difficult for you to find the antidote if you dispatch me.” He let the tip of the hairpin in his hand tap the space between the plates of her armor, just at the right angle to puncture a kidney.

Ma’zurah glanced rapidly between the two assassins, and rubbed her forehead, muttering a soft curse in Ta’agra. She stole a look at the wide eyed Imperial across the table out of the corner of her eye.

Jenassa only laughed at the revelation of Fayrl’s subtle defense and sheathed her blade. “I salute you as a worthy opponent, sera. I knew there was more to you than a historian bard. I assure you though, my service in the Morag Tong has built my immunity to poison quite high, and I doubt you could find a poison beyond my abilities to cure, unless you really are from the second era like that accent you’ve put on. Now, the truth, if you please.”

Fayrl leaned away from Jenassa and put the pin back into his hair and took a seat in Pavos’ lap to distract him from the scene unfolding. He needed to keep the man interested in him for later purposes anyhow.

“Morag Tong. That explains a few things. I am glad to hear they are still thriving. Still, I don’t know that I owe you any truths any more than you owe them to us.” He settled back against Pavos’ chest as the man struggled to adjust to the weight of a mer in his lap.

He patted Pavos’ cheek. “You’re such a dear.” Pavos stuttered, and Fayrl belatedly realized the error of touching the Imperial. He had managed to avoid doing so at the bathhouse. But now, he felt the flood of the man’s deeds come to his mind. He stifled them as best as he could, fighting back the pain and emotions that came with the memories. His senses were filled with the overwhelming odor of blood, the sound of screams in his ears, the taste of iron and bitter poison. He felt nauseous. There was so much blood.

Jenassa blinked at Fayrl, suddenly reading incongruous emotional states, where previously there had been control. She pretended not to notice. “All in Morrowind know that the Morag Tong are but a shadow of their former self. It is why I left. One can hardly practice art where there is no demand. But your wording betrays you again, sera. From where do you hail? How came you to be here? Did your companion accompany you from thence?” Jenassa nodded in Ma’zurah’s direction. “Certainly you owe me no truths, but as I am at loose ends for anything of more interest to occupy myself, and find myself quite bored, I propose a trade. Truths for truths, if you will.”

Ma’zurah noticed Fayrl’s apparent distress and quickly addressed Jenassa in accented Dunmeris to divert her attention. “What kind of truths do you offer?”

Jenassa turned to Ma’zurah, blinking at the sudden conversational interruption. “Any kind of truth you wish, sera, so long as I know the answer, and it does not violate any confidences placed in me.”

Ma’zurah glanced at Fayrl. “That seems adequate, so long as Ma’zurah and Fayrl may have the same terms, and Jenassa agrees to hold information received in the strictest of confidences unless otherwise specified. Each question traded for one question, both answered to the asker’s satisfaction so much as can be given in good faith. Is that acceptable?”

Jenassa nodded slowly.

Fayrl placed a hand on Pavos’ thigh and wrapped an arm around his neck to steady himself. He could see what this man had done for the sake of the Empire. An excuse to do unspeakable deeds and then claim it was in the Empire’s name. He felt the girl’s pain as Pavos interrogated--more like tortured for the pleasure of his sadism--a girl of no more than 14 years of age. How he butchered her slowly cut by cut while she lived, demanding she give information on a woman he suspected of working against the Empire. Treason, he claimed was the girl’s crime as well, the justification for her suffering, because she lived next door. He refused to take her cries that she did not even know the woman’s name, they were only neighbors a few months and the woman never spoke to her. But Pavos ignored her words, convinced that she must know something, anything, to help him. That if she did not, it was only because she was a traitor herself, although he was enjoying every moment of harming her.

And she was not the only one Pavos had tortured like this, nor the only one he had killed. Pavos also enjoyed the simple, quick kill. How many innocent lives had Pavos cut down because it was just easier than having to plan ahead? The number was too overwhelming for Fayrl to keep track. Pavos had often foregone any real cover as a spy and instead gone into every situation planning to kill anyone who saw him. Bar maids, blacksmiths, beggars, merchants, innkeepers, children playing by the road. If they looked at him or spoke to him, he killed them. Because it was easier! It made Fayrl’s blood boil.

Pavos looked worriedly at Fayrl. “What are you--”

“I just feel a bit lightheaded, must be the wine. Do you mind just letting me rest a moment, my friend?” asked Fayrl.

Pavos looked towards Ma’zurah to make sure that he would not offend her. “Well, I certainly do not mind.”

Ma’zurah looked concerned. “Oh! Ma’zurah knows some spells that can help!” She half stood and reached a hand out to Fayrl.

Fayrl could see what was happening. He did not like it. “I think it will pass naturally. Just give me a moment, dear.” He leaned back against Pavos’ broad chest. If he was going to leave his new comfortable position, he was going to enjoy it for a moment.

“It would not hurt to try… Ma’zurah is worried…” Ma’zurah stood and walked over to Fayrl and felt his forehead. He did not feel any hotter than was usual for Dunmer. “You had better not be getting sick!”

Fayrl did not understand why she was being so insistent. Was she jealous? “I am sure it is fine. Why don’t you ask your questions of the lovely mer here while I let myself rest a moment.”

“Well… Alright. Ma’zurah is not going to heal Fayrl if he does not want her to…” She sat back down.

Fayrl smiled sweetly at Pavos. “I wonder, my dear friend, is there a way you might help get me to a place I might lie down for a while? I would be ever so grateful.” He ran a hand over Pavos’ chest.

Pavos stood, lifting Fayrl in his arms. “You can lay down in my room for a while.”

“Would you keep me company for a bit?”

“I’d be glad to,” said Pavos and carried Fayrl out of sight of Ma’zurah and Jenassa.

Ma’zurah turned to Jenassa. “Alright, it looks like you will have to talk to Ma’zurah, if that is alright,” she continued in Dunmeris.

“Fine, would you care to move to my table? We can have more privacy.” The pair headed to Jenassa’s alcove and seated themselves.

End Notes:

Fayrl’s song: https://soundcloud.com/song-book-of-fayrl-indoril/molagm-muhrjul

Fayrl’s tumblr: @talldarkandroguesome

Screenshot of Fayrl Screenshot of Ma’zurah Check out my art tag for more pictures of Fayrl and Ma’zurah.

Constructive criticism is welcome. We also really like it if you leave comments on Ao3.

#TES #Elder Scrolls Lore #Skyrim #ESO #Morrowind #My Writing #Fanfic #Lost In Time TES Fanfic #Fayrl Indoril #Ma'zurah the Khajiit #Rated T

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distant-rose-archive-blog · 7 years ago

Text

The Fourth Musketeer

Note: I owe someone out there a Beth/Gideon fic and I was working on it rather diligently until my laptop decided to die and I lost a big chunk of it. It was 5,000 words and I only saved like 3,700 of them so I decided to take a break because I was so angry. During that break, I was talking to @welllpthisishappening (as par the course with me) and during a conversation, we somehow created a fourth Jones sibling for the Little Pirates ‘verse, which through a monkey wrench because I had all of their lives mapped out and now I have to redo a huge chunk to make up for this cutie that we came up with. (I’m really not mad, if anything more amused because I get to play around with this universe more.) Anyway, @welllpthisishappening is entirely to to blame for this monster right here, which I both love and hate her for. Anyway, if you’re unfamiliar with the Little Pirates ‘verse and wish to read more, here’s a link to my pseudo-master post: [LINK]. Please note: Anything under Ever After verse is a bit null and void at the moment because it doesn’t take into account Ned’s existence. Summary: After her horrendous pregnancy with her daughter, Emma Swan was pretty set on not having anymore kids…or so she thought. Rated: T+ Word Count: 7,200+

It all started at Granny’s when they had to meet her parents and siblings for dinner. The joint Charming-Jones clan was big enough to warrant a second table being tacked onto their booth and the kids were banished to the secondary table while Emma sat between Killian and Henry. The kids, for once, were getting along and minding their own business. They all seemed to be focused on Emma’s younger sister Ruthie, watching as she began to draw on her placemat with more artistic skill at six years old than Emma had in her entire life. None of them seemed to notice anxious energy surrounding Snow and David, but Emma had picked it up almost as soon as she walked into the dinner. Her parents were looking at them with nervous smiles, their hands interlaced tightly on the table.

“So…we have news…” Snow started somewhat nervously.

“Very exciting but unexpected news,” David clarified giving Snow’s hand a squeeze in support.

“Okay…I will have to be the judge of that, but I can’t necessarily tell you if it’s exciting and unexpected if I don’t know what it is,” Emma replied, giving them both an impatient look that blatantly expressed her desire for them to just come out with it. She had never been very good at guessing games.

“Well, umm…we’re pregnant again,” Snow announced with a somewhat self-conscious smile. “It’s a bit of a surprise, but we’re happy about it.”

“That’s awesome, Grandma!” Henry laughed, leaning over to brush his hand against theirs because he couldn’t necessarily hug them while being trapped in the booth by his mother and stepfather.

“Congratulations both of you,” Killian replied before Emma could even comprehend fully what her mother had said. “How far along are you?”

“Twelve weeks,” Snow replied.

Her small smile grew before Emma’s eyes until it was beaming. David’s expression matched hers; his own smile dazzling and so big that the corners of his eyes crinkled a bit. Emma couldn’t remember the last time that she saw them smile like that. Fuck, her mother was actually glowing. She was the only pregnant woman that Emma knew who actually glowed when pregnant. Emma had always felt like fricking Emily Rose from that weird exorcism movie that she watched on On-Demand one time because it was free, especially with Beth. Her last pregnancy was horrible.

“You’re pregnant?” Emma croaked out before she could stop herself. She was still coming to grips with her mother’s announcement. She hadn’t been expecting it, especially since they were now either entering or currently in their forties, at least in a physical sense. They were getting a bit old to be handling babies.

“Bit slow on the uptake today, huh Swan?” Killian murmured in amusement as he wrapped his arm around Emma’s shoulders and placed a kiss on her temple.

And that’s when Emma saw it.

There was a particular gleam in Killian’s blue eyes. Over the course of their marriage, Emma had learned that Killian was quite expressive with his emotions and had specific looks that expressed them. Her favorite was when he was feeling particularly naughty and the kids had made themselves scarce and he would look at her with smoldering eyes and a wicked smirk that promised absolute sin. However, he had other ones like when he was observing their children playing in the backyard where his entire face went soft and his eyes were tranquil or when he was irritated while reading in another language and he couldn’t remember the translation, and his eyes were narrow into hard points as they examined the text. The most common look these days however was an exasperated eye roll whenever one of the kids (mainly Wes if they were being honest) did something particularly careless and stupid like trying to hot-wire David’s truck.

This particular look, however, Emma had seen emerge just before their wedding when he had been playing with little Alexandra Herman and it was something she had become increasingly familiar with over the course of their nearly decade old marriage. It was a look very similar to the softness he had for their little trio of pirates but it held more yearning and more wistfulness and it always ended up being entirely focused on Emma. It was a look that so clearly said “I want a baby.”

Dreaded pirate captain was a title he once treasured, but Emma knew that Killian Jones did not covet any position more than he coveted being Daddy. He loved being a father and everything it entailed from checking for monsters under the bed to torturing their little ones with tickling fingers while snuggling on the couch. Killian had their pediatrician on speed dial and was dangerously close to being a bubble wrap dad. He knew exactly how to make mac and cheese the same way that Granny did because that’s all Harrison would eat once upon a time when he was smaller. He knew all the names of Beth’s pirate stuffed animal army from Captain Bear to Gertie. He also knew exactly how many blankets Wes needed to fall asleep and how to arrange them so their little blonde boy was snuggled up like a burrito. Killian lived and breathed to be Daddy.

And now, without even saying a word and just by looking at him, Emma knew that he wanted another little one to add to their little crew. He wanted to add a fourth musketeer.

It terrified her.

It wasn’t that Emma was entirely against the idea of more kids. Quite the opposite. There was nothing more attractive than Killian Jones holding a baby, especially if said baby had his pointed ears and smile as all three of their little pirates did. Making that image a reality had its appeal, but pregnancy sucked. Each and every one of her pregnancies had been taxing and, for lack of a better term, an event. For Henry, she had given birth in prison. Harrison had been so large that he had nearly ripped her open. Wes had been a breach baby. Beth had been nearly a month early and was almost born on the Jolly Roger. As much as she loved her kids, she hated pregnancy with a capital H. Killian would never pressure her and he had been gracious when Emma said that Beth would be their last, but she hated disappointing him.

The look in his eye didn’t leave for a second that night, but Killian made no mention or hint towards the subject of babies to Emma. He did, however, pepper Snow with questions on their plans for the new baby, what the doctor’s recommendations for her health and how the kids coped with the announcement of their latest addition.

When they returned home and put the kids to bed, Emma waited for him to broach the topic but Killian merely kissed her forehead and picked up his book, some old tome in Latin, to read while she turned on the television to watch the latest trash television show on ABC.

The “baby look” (as Emma took to calling it) and the lack of discussing children continued on into the next week. Emma watched as he stared more wistfully at infants in carriages and made silly faces at toddlers in Granny’s Diner to keep them entertained. She nearly lost her shit when he offered to hold a young haggard-looking mother’s baby in the grocery store as she loaded her purchases onto the conveyor belt, cooing and bouncing the child as he did so.

Watching the scene made Emma’s biological clock scream at her, reminding her that she was nearing the end of the fourth quarter fertility-wise. She was well aware that she was about to hit the two-minute warning; her forty-first birthday was about to approach in the upcoming months. They really needed to talk before Emma’s ovaries overrode her brain and she did something drastic.

“Okay, Killian. Out with it,” Emma snapped abruptly that night as they prepared for bed.

Her husband blinked at her in surprise, obviously not expecting the outburst. He gave her a puzzled look as he closed his book and gave her his undivided attention.

“Out with what, Swan?” he asked with a small frown.

“You’ve been acting…different since Mom’s...announcement and you’ve got that look going. That look when you want something…something that we’ve discussed several times.”

“If you already know what I want, then why do you need me to say it, Emma?” he asked her, running his hands through his hair.

She quietly sucked on her teeth when he used her actual name instead of his patented “Swan.” It meant they had crossed over into the realm of a serious conversation and Emma wasn’t entire sure she was prepared for it.

“Because I need to hear you say it, Killian…” she said it so quietly that for a moment she wasn’t sure that he heard her.

“You want hear me say it? You want to have this conversation?” Killian clarified with a furrow of his brow. “Because I was pretty certain that this conversation was done nearly five years ago and you weren’t interested in opening up again and I sure as hell am not interested in starting a fight.”

“Just say it!” she commanded, squeezing her eyes shut.

“I want another kid, Emma,” he stated softly. “I want another kid so badly it hurts, but I know you don’t so I didn’t think it was up for debate.”

“It’s not that I don’t want another kid,” Emma started and before she could properly think about it, she began blurting out nearly every thought she had on the issue. “Want is not an issue. If the whole process of pregnancy, childbirth and childrearing was easy, I would give you as many kids as possible because you’re the best goddamn father in the world, but that’s not the issue here. We have three children. Three wonderful, demanding, wild, crazy children. I love them with everything I got, but bringing them into this world wasn’t easy. Pregnant in my thirties was tough enough, I cannot imagine how tough it would be now. Especially with all the risks. Birth defects, still births and miscarriages are much more of a risk now than they’ve ever been…I’m not sure I could survive that…not to mention, we’re old. I hate to say it, sailor, but we’re going a bit gray,” Emma finished.

Her fingers dug into the flesh of her palms as she recited all the information that she looked up on the internet while she had been sitting in the Bug on stakeout this afternoon. She was pretty sure her palms were bleeding, but she ignored it.

“I know the risks, love. You’re not the only one who knows how to use Google anymore. Yeah, there are risks, but with age, we are older, wiser and we’ve now been around the block a few times. Hell, we now know how to handle a kid who knows how to start cars without keys. Look, Swan, I’m happy. I love our kids and they’re more than enough, but I’m never going to stop wanting more children with you because what we make is perfection, though sometimes that perfection is...a bit rough on the edges...but any child with you as a mother couldn’t be anything less than perfection…”

“You always know exactly what to say, don’t you?” Emma said softly, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. She hadn’t expected to get this emotional during this conversation, but he always knew what buttons to press to get a response from her. She both loved and hated him for it. “It’s almost not fair…”

“It’s not fair,” he agreed. “But I want nothing more than a little girl with blonde hair and green eyes. I want a little Swan.”

“You have Beth,” Emma chuckled wetly. “And she would take that statement as an ultimate betrayal.”

“Or she would be excited at the prospect of being an older sister and having someone to boss around,” he countered.

“Beth? Our Beth? We talking about the same girl? Because she would hate the idea of being an older sister, especially to another girl. She would have a fit because that means she won’t be Daddy’s special little girl anymore and she would have to share you.”

“She already shares me with Henry, Harrison and Wes,” Killian scoffed.

“Your relationship with our daughter is very different than the ones you have with our sons and that’s fine. This isn’t a criticism because I honest to God love that you two are so close, but yeah, you have very different with her than you are with the boys. She knows it and she loves it. She wouldn’t want to share it,” Emma replied with a shake of her head.

“Sharing is a part of life though,” Killian responded with a heavy sigh, refusing to acknowledge Emma’s commentary on the nature of his relationship with their daughter, not that she expected him to. Killian, who prided himself on being a good father to all of their children, did not want to acknowledge the idea of possible (most definite) favoritism. She could understand that. It wasn’t particularly the nicest thing to come to terms with.

“It is,” Emma agreed with a sigh. “But before we discuss this further, I need you to ask yourself this…Are you sure you really want to go all the new baby nonsense again? Sleepless nights? Spit up? Changing diapers? Messiness? A good few months without sex? Going through potty training again? Yes, potty training, you remember that nightmare, right? Not to mention, I would be out of commission for a few months with a new baby. Money really isn’t an issue for us, and yes, we can convert the office back into a nursery, but do you think you can handle being interim sheriff? And deal with the dwarves on your own without killing them? Be professional without me and without my Dad because I doubt he wants to leave the farm this time around? And if the answer to any of those questions is no, this conservation has to end now.”

Killian’s eyebrows rose at her words and Emma watched as his mouth opened to speak but nothing came out. If the conversation they were having wasn’t so serious, Emma would have laughed at the fact she had rendered her normally verbose husband speechless.

“Swan…are you saying that this is actually on the table? That you’re actually considering this? This isn’t just all hypotheticals?”

“I’m asking you if you’ve really thought about this beyond the baby fever nostalgia and remembered how shitty taking care of a baby is both figuratively and literally, and if that’s something you’re willing to do still while we’re getting old…fuck, we would be the oldest parents at high school graduation.”

“No, Snow and Dave will be there right beside us with their little one. Our child would automatically have a playmate there. As for the challenges, yes, I have thought about it, but any challenge, any struggle and yes, all the sleepless and sexless nights are worth it. Even if we get another hellion with a penchant for chaos, it would still be worth it because there’s nothing in the world that’s better than having children with you and I mean that with every fiber of my being.”

“Okay…” Emma replied, letting out a heavy breath. She couldn’t think of a legitimate response. She was feeling a bit tongue tied at the moment.

“Okay?” Killian repeated with a hint of inquiry, leaning forward a bit. “You never said whether you were seriously considering this…but what do you say, Swan, we give it one last good try…?” His voice trembled a bit on the last few words and he was looking at her with something akin to desperation.

And that was the question there, wasn’t it? Did she want to give it “one last good try” and all that it entailed? It meant commitment. It meant genetic disorder screening, prenatal vitamins, fertility shots, specialists, possible treatments and a horde of doctors telling her that late in life pregnancy was far from ideal with high statistics on everything going wrong. No, she didn’t want any of that hassle. It was too much. However, the image of Killian playing with the baby in the grocery store was burned into her mind. Though she couldn’t get herself to say it out aloud, Emma privately admitted to herself that she loved and even wanted to see him hold another child while softly singing sea shanties and whispering stories about his days on the Jolly Roger while he thought Emma wasn’t listening.

“No, I don’t want to try,” she said softly and she watched his face crumble for a moment before he was capable of masking his disappointment. It was that final look that affirmed her decision.

Emma moved forward and opened the top drawer of her nightstand. She bent down on her knees and began riffling a bit through the junk before finding her birth control pills. She could almost physically feel the weight of Killian’s eyes as on her as she picked up the foil package and lifted them up so he could see them.

“Emma…what are you doing?” he asked quietly.

She ignored him as she stood back up and walked towards their bathroom with a sense of purpose. She pushed the door open and made a deliberate choice not to close it. She stood next to the toilet and looked back at her husband who had scrambled to the edge of the bed, obviously wondering to himself what the hell she was doing. The lines of his forehead had never looked so pronounced.

“Emma…?” This time his voice was louder and the silent question more present.

Emma closed her eyes for a moment, steeling her nerves. When she opened them, she looked Killian straight in the eye as she deliberately dropped her birth control pills in the toilet and flushed. Once more, her husband opened his mouth to say something but was speechless. Emma had never seen him more confused in her life.

“I don’t want to try.” Emma repeated with a sigh, “but I don’t want to not try…or at least I don’t want to try to prevent it. Trying means doctors, treatments and I know you…you will look up ever old wives’ tale about fertility and probably eat a huge fucking lemon whole just to make yourself more fertile or some nonsense like that…I don’t want the hassle…but if it happens…and that’s a big “if” because like I said, we’re old…then it happens and I would be okay with that, but if it doesn’t happen, don’t beat yourself up about it because, you’re right, we make some amazing kids and we already have three good ones down the hall. Okay?”

“Okay,” he replied softly and now, he had tears in his eyes and a smile so hopeful that it made Emma’s heart ache.

He opened his arms, gesturing for her to come to him and she nearly sprinted into them. They both started to laugh and cry at the same time as they embraced, holding each other so tightly that Emma was sure they were going to give each other bruises. Killian wiped at her tears and began to kiss every inch her face, still chuckling between each one.

“Tell me this isn’t a dream…” Killian murmured against her hair and Emma got the impression that he was trying to hide the fact he was legitimately crying now by burying his face in her hair.

“It’s not a dream,” she murmured, running her hands down his back in a soothing gesture. “But it’s also not a guarantee. We agreed to not try but not prevent, remember?”

“I know, I know, Swan,” he murmured, rubbing the pad of his thumb against the apple of her cheek.

He captured her lips with his in a brief but intense kiss that was full of promise. He pulled her close until he had firmly slotted himself between her thighs, his hips rolling against hers. Emma couldn’t stop the soft sigh that escaped her lips and she moved to run her fingers through his hair, dragging her nails lightly against his scalp in the way she knew he liked. He replied to the gesture with a deep groan that rumbled in his chest and his eyes were dark as he pulled away.

“If you don’t mind, I would like to start this “not trying” business right now…” Killian murmured against her lips.

“No one is stopping you, especially not me,” she replied softly.

Before she had even finished her sentence, she found herself on her back with a very amorous Killian Jones hovering above her. He captured her lips in another fierce kiss that held more emotion that Emma knew what to deal with. Giving her bottom lip once last nip, he changed courses; his nose brushing a sure line along her jaw as he worked teeth and tongue torturously against her skin. He nuzzled his head against her throat before worrying his lips against the pulse point in her neck.

“I love you…” Killian whispered it so quietly that she almost didn’t hear it.

“I love you too,” she whispered back and she hooked a leg around his waist, knocking her hips against his. “Don’t stop.”

“I won’t,” he replied, biting gently. “Never, ever.”

Killian had always been a thorough and attentive lover; it was one of Emma’s favorite things about him. However, he was extra zealous in his efforts that night and there was a renewed sense of purpose that seemed to power each caress, kiss and thrust. It was as if he was physically trying to will a child into existence with every fiber of his being despite Emma’s insistence of “what will be will be.” When they finished in a sweaty boneless heap of limbs, Emma caught him absently worrying his thumb against her abdomen as his eyes fluttered shut and he rested his head against her shoulder.

As Emma predicted, it wasn’t that easy. Even after months of vigorous and almost embarrassingly near-constant lovemaking, there was nothing. Emma watched as her mother’s stomach swelled and hers remained stubbornly flat. She tried not to feel bitter when Snow gave birth to another boy while her own womb was empty. Though she knew that it wasn’t going to be an automatic success in the same way her other children seemed to be, she privately became fearful that their no longer subtle efforts would be fruitless and wondered if their kids could sense the unspoken disappointment and desperation growing between them.

Worse, Emma was starting to wonder if she was menopausal. Over the course of the months, her periods had gotten lighter and less regular. She hadn’t bled in early two months, but she also hadn’t felt any of other pregnancy symptoms that she had with her other kids. With the boys, she had incredibly sharpened senses and near constant queasiness. With Beth, the symptoms had been amplified to the point where she had barricaded herself in the bathroom due to the near constant vomiting and diarrhea.

Now, she was just tired and dizzy, which unfortunately led to her being short with everyone including her kids. She had yelled at Wes the other day so heatedly that she thought her normally cool-as-a-cucumber son would be reduced to tears. Emma knew she had gone too far when Harrison embraced his younger brother afterwards. As long as they had been alive, Harrison and Wes had never had the best relationship, but that day she saw Harrison captured his little brother in a hug and look at her like she was an alien. Emma Swan had never felt like a bigger asshole than she did in that moment. She was a terrible mother and maybe it was best that she didn’t expose another innocent child to her shitty parenting skills.

She couldn’t bring herself to tell Killian her suspicions; she didn’t have it in her heart to crush the dream. She did, however, book an appointment with their family doctor to confirm the fact that at forty-one years old she had entered early menopause just as she was just getting around to the idea that she actually really wanted another kid as badly as her husband did. The irony was not lost on her.

“You’re not menopausal,” her doctor stated bluntly as she looked at the results of her blood test. “Your estradiol levels are normal. If you were going into early menopause, they would have greatly decreased. Your estriol levels are pretty high though. Dollars to doughnuts, you’re pregnant, Emma.”

“What?” Emma blinked.

“You’re pregnant. This shouldn’t be such a surprise. You haven’t been using any form of prophylactics, you’re sexually active and you’re in relatively good shape. I have less concerns for you than I did for your mother with Robbie, however I do have to remind you that being pregnant in your forties is risky business and you’re more likely to run into complications such as Down’s syndrome and pre-eclampsia.”

“I can’t be pregnant. I’ve had no other symptoms. No vomit. No smells or cravings. Not even sore boobs. None of the usual mess,” she replied in disbelief.

“Not every pregnancy is the same, Emma. You know this. Sometimes not all symptoms present themselves. It happens. Regardless of symptoms or no symptoms, blood doesn’t lie. Your estrogen levels are through the roof. I would like to take an AFP, HCG and a hormone inhibin A test, if that’s okay with you? Maybe even an ultrasound?”

“Yeah…” Emma croaked, still in shock. She had prepared herself for the worst and now her doctor was telling her she was pregnant. It felt like she was in a fever dream.

Emma ended up leaving the doctor’s office in a daze, barely holding onto the tiny ultrasound photo in her hands. When she had come to her doctor this morning, she had done so with the expectation that her doctor was about to tell her that she was entering menopause and her baby making days were behind her. Now, she was leaving with the knowledge that she was eleven weeks pregnant with a baby the size of a fig and said fig had come up healthy on the test screenings so far. Praise the Gods for small blessings on that front.

Shit, what was she going to tell her kids? Killian was a non-issue; he would be through the roof with excitement over the news. Her kids who had no knowledge of the fact their parents were trying without really trying to get pregnant over the last six months were another issue entirely. Henry would be okay with it. He was grown, out of the house and very much focused on his own life. Harrison would be okay, he would probably give them a bit of lip but he would get over it fairly quickly. Wes and Beth? Their reactions would be anyone’s guess, but Emma was preparing herself for the Apocalypse. A meltdown of epic proportions was in her future and she could feel it.

Her husband and kids were on all couch, yelling and playing some racing video game on the big screen when Emma arrived home. She stuffed the ultrasound photo into her pocket and observed them for a moment, gathering her bearings. Killian, who was still getting used to using the one-handed game controller that Henry had gotten him for Christmas, was in last place with Beth in third. Wes and Harrison are neck-and-neck with Killian indiscriminatingly sending them complications from his last place position in hopes of letting Beth gain the lead.

“I win!” Harrison shouted.

Harrison thrusted his fist into the air in victory as his character crossed the finish line ahead of Wes’s character which had spun out to the side and allowed Beth to gain second place. Killian, in an act of fatherly selflessness, paused his character to allow Wes to finish in front of him.

“That’s because Dad kept blue shelling me,” Wes grumbled, tossing his controller and crossing his arms in front of his chest. Her youngest son was incredibly sore loser as they had long since learned.

“Nothing against you, lad, but I was trying to give your sister a fighting chance for once,” Killian replied, dropping the controller in order to ruffle Wes’s blonde hair.

Ever the tough guy, Wes tried his best to wriggle away from his father, but Killian caught him and decided to up the ante by giving the boy big, loud, smoochy kisses. Wes protested loudly and Emma couldn’t help but smile at the scene, her hand subconsciously resting upon her stomach. He was such a good father. This new kid was going to be so well loved.

Beth caught sight of her first. Her eyes lit upon seeing Emma standing by the door. She immediately scurried off the couch, running towards Emma until she had wrapped her arms around Emma’s knees. Beth looked up at Emma with a delighted grin and little gurgling giggles emitted from her throat.

“Hi Mommy!” Beth greeted sweetly.

“Hey kid,” Emma replied with a small laugh, running her hands through her daughter’s long dark hair. The girl’s wild mane was forever tangled and Emma did her best to work through the knots.

“Swan,” Killian greeted with a small smile, still holding a squirming Wes against him.

“Mom! Help me!” Wes cried out dramatically, making Emma laugh harder. Their current youngest son had a flare for the dramatics and Emma wasn’t sure if it was genetic or something he learned from watching Killian.

“Resistance is futile. She won’t help you,” Harrison grinned wickedly, leaning forward to tickle Wes’s ribs as Killian held him in place. “No one will save you now, Westley.”

“Actually, I do need to borrow your father for a moment,” Emma said with a small smile before looking down into her daughter’s bright eyes. “Is that okay?”

“Is Daddy in trouble?” Beth asked curiously.

“No, Daddy is not in trouble, but Mommy and Daddy need to talk,” Emma replied, tapping the end of Beth’s nose with her finger gently. Her daughter scrunched her face in response to the tap and Emma never realized how many freckles her daughter had until that moment.

“She said ‘need to talk’!” Wes exclaimed in stage-whisper to Harrison. “Dad is so in trouble!”

“Dog house,” Harrison said in agreement.

“Daddy’s in trouble! Daddy’s in trouble! Daddy’s in trouble!” Beth began to chant in a sing-a-long voice, the boys joining in as she got louder.

Emma sighed and brought a hand up to bury her face in. Maybe having another kid wasn’t the best idea they had ever had. They could barely control the three they had as it was.

“Alright, alright,” Killian sighed as he released his hold on Wes who immediately moved to tackle his much larger brother. “That’s enough from the peanut gallery. Mom and I are going to go talk, please do not burn down the house or commit any ritual animal sacrifices while we’re gone, aye?”

“We will do our best,” Harrison responded with a shrug as he successfully pulled Wes off of him.

It was almost comical how little effort Harrison put into fending himself off from his younger brother. They were the closest in age out of their brood with only fourteen months between them, but they couldn’t have been more different from each other like day and night. Emma privately wondered what the unborn child inside her would be like when it finally made its appearance. Intelligent and kind like Henry? Strong and gentle like Harrison? Wily and witty like Wes? Fearless and commanding like Beth? Or would it be something else entirely?

“But we make no promises,” Wes tacked on, rubbing at the bruise that was beginning to form on his left cheek from being tossed by his brother like a ragdoll.

“Naturally,” Killian replied dryly. “I wouldn’t have expected any less.”

Emma reached down to give their daughter a brief kiss before meeting her husband’s eyes and tilting her head towards the stairs in hopes he would get the hint. He nodded in response and gave her a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. She reached for his hand as they climbed the stairs, intertwining their fingers and giving his hand a squeeze in solidarity, trying to tell him without words that everything was going to be alright.

Killian sighed and ran a hand through his hair as she closed the door to their bedroom behind them. The smile on his face was positively nervous and it was clear that he, like their children, thought he was in some sort of trouble despite her reassurances otherwise.

“Alright, Swan, what is it? Whenever someone says the words “need to talk”, nine times out of ten I’m not going have a good conversation,” Killian replied, sitting on the bed and looking up at her expectantly.

“Like I said before, you’re not in trouble. So I guess this is the one instance out of your ten scenario,” Emma replied, playing with her hair as her nerves started to get the best of her. “I thought this was going to be easy, but honestly, I feel so unprepared and finding out about it kinda put me in a daze so I apologize for not coming up for a cute way of telling you but…”

She pulled the sonogram out from her back pocket and nearly shoved it into Killian’s chest. Surprised, Killian took the photograph into his hands automatically and Emma watched as he took in exactly what he was holding, his eyes nearly popping out of their sockets.

“Swan, is this what I think it is?” Killian asked, breathlessly.

“Yeah…” she replied, unable to stop the smile that spread across her face so wide that her cheeks hurt. “Congratulations, Dad. The fourth horseman of the Apocalypse is on his way.”

“Her way,” he corrected absentmindedly as he studied the sonogram. “It could be a girl. Why didn’t you tell me that you thought you were pregnant, Swan?”

“Because I didn’t know,” she replied with a small laugh. “When I made the appointment, it was because I thought I was menopausal. My period stopped but I didn’t have any pregnancy symptoms and I didn’t want to tell you because I wasn’t sure and I didn’t want to disappoint you because I knew how much you wanted this baby…And well, I’m definitely not menopausal because you’re holding actual photographic evidence that there is a eleven-week old fig inside of me right now…a healthy eleven-week old fig…”

Killian dropped the sonogram on the bed and pulled her to him, arms wrapped around her in a vice grip. Emma pushed her fingers into his hair, caressing the soft strands as Killian rested his head between her breasts for a moment before dropping to his knees so that he was eye-level with her stomach. With misty eyes, he placed a kiss against her lower abdomen. Emma felt her heart triple in size as she watched him.

“Hello there…” he whispered to her belly as he pulled away. “I know you’ve been around for awhile and we haven’t spoken yet, which is awfully rude of me but in our defense, we didn’t know about you, however, allow me to make amends by introducing myself. I am Daddy and the delightful creature who are you’re inside right now is Mommy. We love you very much and we’re very excited to meet you.”

Emma had promised herself that she wouldn’t cry, but that promise was broken as she listened to her husband talk to the unborn little pirate inside of her. It had made all six months of trying but not trying completely worth it. She didn’t think it was possible to love Killian anymore than she did in that moment.

“How are we going to tell the kids?” Emma murmured as she continued to play with his hair.

“I don’t think that will be a problem, Swan,” Killian replied with a chuckled, looking up at her with some mirth in his eyes. “Because I’m pretty sure we have three of the world’s worst eavesdroppers standing outside our door listening to each and every word. Isn’t that right, Jones crew?”

There was a loud creak and hushed whispering from outside their door. Emma groaned, taking her hands out of Killian’s hair and rubbing her eyes. For the second time that night, she wondered if bringing a fourth child into the fold was a good idea.

Killian got off his knees and kissed the top of Emma’s head as he rose to his full height. He immediately went over to the door and opened it, exposing their three sheepish-looking children.

“How did you know we were there?” Wes asked, looking very impressed with his father.

“Because I’ve been living in this house longer than you’ve been alive,” Killian remarked before tapping his foot on the floorboard beneath Beth’s foot. “And I know that board creaks when stepped on. Valiant effort I must say, but a very rookie mistake. It’s not polite to listen in on other people’s conversations. Mom and I were having a very adult conversation that wasn’t for your ears.”

“Is Mom really having a baby?” Wes asked bluntly, ignoring his father’s lecture.

“Yes. Mom’s pregnant,” Killian affirmed with a sigh.

“Jeez, another one? You think you guys would have learned after having these two,” Harrison remarked, jutting his thumb in the direction of his younger siblings.

Wes let out an offended squawk and hit Harrison between the ribs while Beth, who had been looking at her parents with the most betrayed look, burst into angry tears. Both Killian and Emma sucked in a breath. In the haze of emotions, they hadn’t prepared themselves for a round of Hurricane Elizabeth.

“I don’t want a baby, Daddy!” she cried, stamping her foot.

“Why not, minnow?” Killian asked gently, getting on his knees so he was eye-level with their five-year old. “Don’t you want to be a big sister?”

“No!” she shrieked, giving another stamp with her foot. “I don’t want a baby! You have us! There’s three of us! You don’t need it! You don’t need another baby! You have me! You have me! I’m your baby!”

Emma sighed as she leaned against the doorway looking down at her daughter having an absolute meltdown. Well, this reaction was predictable. Killian looked up at her with a helpless expression, not sure how to respond to Beth’s tantrum. Harrison and Wes watched in fascinated interest as their sister’s face turned purple.

“Hey, hey…” Killian murmured, soothing Beth’s shoulders in hopes of quelling her tantrum. “This is exciting. You get someone new to play with. Maybe she will even play pirates with you and help you terrorize your brothers and you won’t be so out-numbered. That would be fun, right?”

“No because then I wouldn’t be the Pirate Queen!” Beth cried harder, tears dribbling down her cheeks in earnest.

Killian’s brow furrowed, obviously not following his five-year old’s logic.

“And why is that?”

“Because there can only be one and you’ll want us to share and there can’t be two Pirate Queens, Daddy. There just can’t!” she explained as if it were obvious.

“Says who?” Killian asked, squeezing her shoulders.

“Everyone,” Beth replied seriously. “There can be only one, Daddy. Everyone says so.”

“Good to know someone’s been watching Highlander,” Emma remarked with a chuckle before joining Killian on her knees to get to Beth’s level.

He was doing a shit job at damage control. For someone so close was to their daughter, he didn’t seem to understand the root of the problem. Beth didn’t want another child to ruin the dynamic and hierarchy that already been established, especially when it came to her father’s affections where she was number one as the only girl and the youngest.

“I know this is scary and new, but it’s also exciting, Little Beth,” Emma said, tugging a strand of hair behind Beth’s ear. “The new baby isn’t going to replace you, I promise. We are still going to love you and your new baby brother is going to love you so much. I guarantee he is going to follow you around and want to be just like you because you’re such an awesome sister.”

Both boys snorted at the statement and Emma gave them both a withering look that made them both step back a bit.

“Baby sister,” Killian corrected.

“Oh no, this one is definitely a boy. A dark haired, blue eyed boy. I can feel it,” Emma replied with a smirk.

“Care to wager on that feeling, Swan? Because fatherly intuition says it’s a blonde haired, green eyed girl,” Killian responded, raising his eyebrows at her.

“What do you say, Little Beth, should we wager a full month’s worth of diaper changing and ice cream on a boy? Since fatherly intuition doesn’t exist and Daddy is full of crap?” Emma remarked, pulling Beth to her side.

“If there’s ice cream involved, I want in on this,” Wes remarked, joining Emma’s side. “And I’m Team Brother because one Beth is enough.”

At his words, Beth looked positively offended and with the maturity of any five-year-old, she stuck out her tongue at Wes. Emma sighed and mentally counted to ten.

“Traitors,” Killian admonished his youngest children without much heat. “The two of you are traitors.”

“Sorry, Daddy, but there can be only one Pirate Queen,” Beth replied, not sounding the least bit remorseful.

Harrison who had been quietly observing for the majority of the squabble took that moment to join his father’s side, looking at Emma with apologetic eyes as he placed a hand on Killian’s shoulder.

“I’m Team Sister because the world cannot handle another Wes Jones.”

“You’re right,” Wes said with a smirk. “The world cannot handle any more of this kind of awesome.”

“Well, that’s definitely a word for it,” Harrison muttered under his breath.

“Alright, enough with the witty banter. It really gets tiring after a while,” Emma huffed. “The stakes of the wager are as follows, an entire month of diaper duty carried out by the losing party. Kid or kiddos on the winning party get ice cream. We have ourselves a wager?”

“Aye, love, it’s a deal,” Killian replied, leaning forward and sealing their wager with a brief kiss that made all of their three children gag.

“Good because I’m going to make you eat your words because fatherly intuition does not exist,” Emma declared.

And in the end, she was right because six months later she gave birth to a son; a dark haired, blue eyed son whom they named Edward David Jones but affectionately called Ned. Emma practically cackled when they placed him in her arms, looking at her husband like the cat who ate the canary.

“You know what Neddy is telling me right now, Killian?” Emma asked, as she held her newborn son to her breast.

“What Swan?”

“That you and Harrison are going to have a lot of fun changing his shitty diapers.”

#captain swan #cs fic #cs ff #cs fanfic #daddy killian #cs fanfiction #little pirates #my fic #my shit #this monster can entirely be blamed on laura #it's all her fault #I swear it #little pirates fic #the fourth musketeer #ned jones #beth jones #harrison jones #wes jones

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