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rotworld · 1 year ago

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25: Roadside Attraction

(previous)

the road to anchor takes you to stranger and stranger places. but here, at least, you will find some answers.

->sexually explicit. contains terato, non-human genitalia.

The convoy stops at nightfall, filling the parking lot where a rest stop used to be. Only the ghost of a building remains, an inverted mirage surrounded by scorched grass. A pair of vending machines flicker like dying bulbs, translucent, their contents changing each time they wink in and out of existence; snack crackers. Carbonated drinks. Dead butterflies. Jamie warns everyone to keep their distance. The Verlindans pace restlessly. Malachi comes over to check on you as you stretch your legs, leaning against the crumpled hood of your car.

“How is everyone?” Jamie asks him.

“Anxious,” he says, “but morale is high.”

You study the frostbite on your fingers. They’re almost completely numb now, dried and dead to the second joint. “We’re not going to make it to Anchor tonight,” you say quietly. “We’ll be in trouble if a shift hits.”

“Could try sheltering on the Verlindan backroads,” Jamie suggests. “I’m sure they won’t love us driving back there, but given the circumstances, maybe they’ll make an exception.” You nod, unconvinced. Even if you survive the shift, you might be spat back out on the other end of the Drift. Even if you aren’t, you still have to get through Anchor’s gates. It feels more and more hopeless the further you get.

But you look across the parking lot. The people of Nelton gather in small conversational circles, talking and laughing, singing songs. The Verlindans are restless but their eyes are on the horizon. Hopeful—that’s the feeling you get. Everyone is here, following your lead, because they believe it’s worth trying. So you stow your worries and think about tomorrow instead; a house for couriers. A place with fresh eggs, warm beds, and homemade tea.

You’re on the road again soon. An hour more, the convoy agreed. If you don’t find a town, the Verlindans will begrudgingly allow you to use their paths as campgrounds for the night. It’s still dangerous, but better than being caught out on the open road during a shift. Curiosity keeps your mind occupied for a while—you’ve never seen the Verlindan backroads before, and you’ve always wondered how a place stays in one piece without anchorware—but something else captures your attention soon enough.

The salty smell you remember from Aliquando Island suddenly pricks your senses. That’s brine, you know now, a whisper of ocean. But this isn’t the narrow isthmus road. Jamie suddenly stiffens, warning you that a shift’s coming, but you don’t stop. Anchor is still far away, but something else—something familiar—is very close. The road curves. Your headlights glance over dark, churning water. A river? A lake? Through the fog and the dark, you can’t glimpse the far shore or gauge its size, but you never find a bridge to get across.

What do you find is an old wooden sign pitched at the roadside, three painted planks stacked one atop the other reading, “FERRY AHEAD.” The road curves once more, veering off over the water. It’s not a bridge but a fenced ramp, asphalt transitioning to a metal loading dock. The ferry is old and precarious-looking, a steamboat with twin chimneys and a worn, barnacle-peppered hull. Its glittering, golden light ripples on the surface of the water like drowning stars. You’ve never seen such a thing before. There is no ferry service in the Drift, no body of water large enough to warrant it.

And yet, here it sits. A man sits hunched on the ramp’s brittle fencing, standing slowly when your headlights reach him. He saunters over to your window, hands buried in the pockets of a black peacoat. His eyes are hidden in the shadows cast by the black brim of a vintage captain’s hat. You see him tilt his head, glancing through the window at you. His smile is small and bemused, like he’s seen something pleasant he didn’t expect to see. “Evening,” he says, his voice low and rough like gravel. “Headed west?”

“Is there another way across?” you ask. “We’d like to stick together and I don’t think you can take all of us in one trip.”

He chuckles. “Nah, you’ll fit just fine. The Proteus is bigger than she looks. There might be a bridge if you keep going, but there might not be. Depends on the Drift’s mood. Either way, it’s safer to go by boat. Shift’ll pass right over us on the water, you won’t get displaced.”

You can feel Jamie staring in disbelief. They must be thinking the same thing; you’ve found a place that shouldn’t exist and this sounds too good to be true. “How much?” you ask.

The man’s smile widens. You think at first he has a Verlindan’s teeth, curved and wolf-like, but where the Verlindan’s have a pair of prominent canines, he has a mouthful of daggers. “Not a thing. It’s free for kith and kin.”

It takes some coordination, a few insistent reassurances, but you’re moving again soon. You slowly ascend the ramp, your car rattling over the metal loading bay and into a darkened lower deck. The man was right; it’s much larger on the inside, cavernous and echoing like a parking garage.

“Are you sure about this?” Jamie mutters.

You are. Maybe you shouldn’t be. Maybe you should be wary and afraid. But this is your best bet to reach Anchor, and more importantly, it feels right. The hint of sea salt in the air soothes you. You get a feeling you haven’t had since Aliquando Island—that you know this place in a distant way.

The man had grinned at you with his monstrous teeth and you didn’t even feel a twinge of fear, only a sense of muted recognition.

[NOW PLAYING ON THE RADIO: THE DEEP BY PHILDEL]

There’s a trembling sensation as the metal loading bay slides away from the asphalt ramp and shutters closed. The ferry blares its horn and then you’re moving. Water churns and laps at the hull. Those who came from Nelton have started settling in for the night, sharing blankets and pillows, reclining across their seats. Jamie is restless, eager to go above deck where they can at least keep an eye on the captain. You’re inclined to follow, though not out of suspicion.

The Verlindans are unsettled. They pace the length of the lower deck back and forth, whispering to one another. There’s a curving walkway with a gentle slope that carries the smell of salt and soft night wind from above. They stand guard there, as though expecting trouble, but they let you and Jamie through without a few cautious glances to one another.

“Want some fresh air?” you ask them.

“Rather not,” Glenn says. The worried expression on your face makes him chuckle and shake his head. “We’re alright, courier. Just out of our element. Not used to being on someone else’s territory.”

Jamie frowns. “What does that mean? Whose territory is this?”

“I’m not sure. Just know it’s not ours.” He looks you up and down with a contemplative expression, smiling gently as though confirming something he long suspected. “Free for kith and kin, he said? I’m sure we’ll be fine.”

You take the curved walkway above deck and a cold breeze skims the water, kissing your cheeks. It doesn’t look like the same vessel. It’s too small, too tightly compact, no room beneath your feet for half a town to park. There’s little to see—guard rails, unmarked cargo boxes stacked haphazardly, fog as far as the eye can see. The captain is sequestered away in the bridge, a silhouette behind the darkened windows. The lights are off inside, you notice, and dimmed along the sides of the ferry. Jamie walks back and forth across the deck several times before returning to you, looking perturbed.

“No anchorware,” they say. “There’s some kind of spatial anomaly at work here, but it seems stable.”

They join you at the railing, resting their arms over it. You can’t be too far from the shore you just left, but you can’t see it anymore. The water is black like ink and rippling in the ferry’s wake, dyed a dim, sunset shade of orange by the lights. It’s easy to see things in the strange, liquid motion, shapes that aren’t really there. It’s quiet; nothing but wind and waves. The smell of brine is stronger now.

“You look happy,” they note.

You shrug. “I like how the water sounds. It’s easy to relax.”

“You liked Aliquando Island, too. So…how about that beach house?” Jamie grins when they manage to get a smile out of you, draping an arm around your shoulder.

“I don’t think the Drift has all that many beaches.”

“Fine, be evasive again. I didn’t think the Drift had islands, or a ferry,” they say, gesturing at the glassy shimmer of cresting waves. “But here we are. And here you are, looking all misty-eyed and nostalgic. You should always hang onto the things that make you happy, courier.” You nod. You’re going to try. Jamie leans their head against your shoulder and you spend a long, comfortable moment like that, standing on the deck in tranquil silence. Eventually, your eyelids start to droop and you go back below deck together, Jamie’s fingers laced with yours.

Gentle snores echo on the parking level. Jamie tilts their seat back and curls up with a sweatshirt balled up under their head as a pillow. They offer you a spare, soft knit and cream-colored, as a blanket. You drift off watching them stubbornly try to stay awake longer, lashes fluttering, nuzzling against the touch of your hand to their cheek like an affectionate cat.

Someone is singing.

You jolt awake, disoriented. You can’t remember falling asleep and don’t know how long you’ve been out. A fog of exhaustion gives everything a surreal, slightly muted feeling. Jamie is still fast asleep, shoulders rising and falling with soft breaths. The Verlindans have fallen asleep in a heap of bodies, nestled close to each other over each other with what looks like a crumpled mess of picnic blankets piled beneath them. Everything is silence and stillness around you, not a soul awake except for you.

And someone is singing. You don’t know how you recognize it as song—it’s deeper than a human voice could go, lower than guttural, slow and powerful like the grinding of glaciers. But there’s a clear melody, a gradual rising and falling. There’s a message trying to be heard. You’re getting out of the car before you’re fully aware of yourself moving, drawn to the walkway that takes you above deck.

The sound is neither clearer nor closer. You pace in frustration, trying to locate the source, but nothing helps. Gripping the railing, you peer into the waves and ripples. You think you see a phantom shape in the motion, a wave that is softer, more rounded, breaching the surface before it slips beneath again. Water mists across your face. Your neck feels strange. Those sensitive patches along the sides are throbbing.

“Can you hear it?”

You didn’t notice the captain standing there, leaning with his back against the railing not far away. He’s watching you. You can feel it, even if you can’t make out his face or much of anything in the weak dusk-light of the dimmed ferry lights. His silhouette is large and intimidating, filling out his coat with a wide chest and broad shoulders, and he easily towers over you. His hands are in his pockets again.

“What is that?” you ask.

“What, indeed.” You can hear the smile in his voice. “Something old and lonely.” He pushes away from the railing and starts to walk away. You follow without hesitation, falling into step with his brisk, heavy pace. “I should ask you, shouldn’t I? Where you’re from, where you’re going. Feels redundant at this stage.”

Your heart races. Your lungs burn. There’s so much you want to ask him but you can’t get the words past a lump in your throat, a suffocating pressure like a choking hand.

“Deep breaths. Don’t thrash and panic. You know how to breathe.” He pushes a door open. You expect an ascending staircase up to the bridge, but the steps go down in a winding spiral. There are no lights lining the cramped, dizzying corridor. You can’t see how far down it goes. The captain steps past you and begins descending. He pauses when he sees you aren’t following, half-swallowed by darkness.

The song is coming from below. It echoes up from the darkened staircase, low and haunting. The captain holds out his hand and it’s much larger than yours, ridges of tendon prominent beneath the skin. Thin, translucent membranes stretch across the space between his fingers. When you touch him, his skin feels slightly damp.

He leads you down. The air gets colder. The steps shriek and clatter beneath your combined weight. Eventually, you can’t even see that far ahead, the dark too deep and the surface too far away. You should have reached the bottom by now, you think, should have found yourself on the lower deck ages ago. The song grows steadily closer, louder, more defined, notes that ebb and flow with the steady slowness of the tide. You can hear the captain humming the same melody, his voice dipping into the same rumbling pitch.

“He was stranded here by a shift a very, very long time ago,” the captain says. “Where he comes from, the water is endless. It helps to have a voice that carries. That’s why our dreams are what they are, you understand? We speak while we sleep.”

Shimmering light curls at the edge of your vision. It’s gone when you turn to look at it properly. Another comes, closer this time, a luminous body that wriggles by like a floating serpent. Your eyes are adjusting. You start to notice the dark moving; flitting shapes and rippling silhouettes. Bulbous, undulating things that drift along soundlessly, tapered cones of flesh with bulging eyes and tendril-curtained mouths, gently swaying things pulsing gently with colorful light. Is this an aquarium? Some kind of submerged observation deck? The thought is dispelled as a small, darting thing flits right in front of your face and you feel it moving, the wake of its rapid escape like wind on your face.

No. Not wind. Water, you think. It’s all around you. You’re not descending a staircase but sinking slowly. That smattering of white specks like a congested night sky—those aren’t stars. It’s marine snow. The auroras are bioluminescence. All this time, you were looking in the wrong direction, thinking of an alien place impossibly far away. The captain’s coat and hat drift by and you look back to the hand gently holding yours.

He is a glimmering silhouette, twinkling dots outlining a humanoid shape. He takes your hands and presses them to his chest, urging you to touch, to feel and explore. You feel the rough, bumpy texture of his skin and powerful muscle rippling just underneath. You feel fins, both soft, short ruffles and firm, trailing flaps like sails. Sharp spines protrude from his hips like jutting bone. What you initially mistake for a wound—ripped, fluttering flesh—are actually gills, a row of them along his sides. When your fingertips graze over them, he shudders.

“Be careful where you touch,” he says. You don’t think his mouth moves, but you hear him in your head, an echoing, velvet purr. “It’s sensitive. You’re showing interest. You’re very much wanted, I assure you, but do you want?”

He lifts one of his webbed hands to your neck, stroking his thumb along the side, and heat fills your body. You press against the touch more insistently and that rumbling purr grows louder. Suddenly his hands are on your hips and he’s between your legs, giving a slow grind that makes you aware of something unusual. He’s hard, you can feel it—you’re naked and can’t remember when you got undressed, but you feel him, engorged and twitching against your inner thigh.

And he has two, you realize.

“You move too quickly, Lorne. You have only just spoken.”

That’s not his voice. That’s a whisper so powerful it fills your head, all you can hear. The song has stopped, you realize, and the darkness beside you is stirring.

Seeing the thing in the dark is dizzying and difficult to comprehend now. He is not a beast of the cosmos but of deep waters. An abyssal giant of staggering, nearly incomprehensible size, you are smaller than the one silver eye staring down at you. When he moves, you move with him, stirred by the water swirling in his wake. He is trailing fins and floating tendrils, aglow in brilliant gemstone hues. You have never seen him properly because he is glassy and delicate like a cnidarian polyp, great swaths of flesh and flowing membranes partially translucent. You can see winding internal structures, serpents of intestines and descending coils of bone.

“You move too slow,” the captain, Lorne, shoots back. He brings your legs up to wrap around his waist and rocks against you, rumbling in approval at the shiver it draws out of you. “It isn’t fair, the way you’ve been keeping them all to yourself lately. If the rest of us did courtship at your pace, we’d die of old age before we got anywhere.” He tilts your chin and mouths at the sensitive spots on your neck, the scrape of his teeth making you dig your nails into his shoulders. He sucks on a spot that pries a whimper from your throat and you’re embarrassed, painfully aware of how intently you’re being watched.

But the thing in the dark encourages you with the press of a soft tendril, pushing you further into Lorne’s embrace. “This is true. I have been selfish. And they have been hurting and afraid.”

“Not tonight,” Lorne says. He drags you back and forth over the heads of his cocks, teasing you with quick, hard rutting against your sex. “Tonight you’re safe. Nothing will hurt you.”

You want more than he gives you. The friction is good, mind-numbing, easy to lose yourself to. His cocks rub against your sex and you can feel just how large they are nestled against your stomach like that, full, throbbing lengths giving off milky puffs of milt into the water. His grip shifts and he’s clutching your ass, kneading your flesh as he pulls you into the harsh, breathtaking rhythm of his grinding, and you’re imagining how it’d feel for him to fuck you like this. Hard and merciless, pounding your insides with one or both of his cocks, feeling the slap of full balls slapping against your ass.

“God, I will,” he moans, nipping at your neck again. “Come back to me and I will. Get you nice and stretched so you can take all of me, stuff you with so much fucking cum I’ll be dripping out of you for days.” You want it now but he hushes you, cuts off your desperate, choked sounds with his lips on yours. The kiss is razor sharp and you cut your lip on his teeth but it just makes you hotter, raking your nails down his back until you’re sure you feel blood bubbling up around your fingers. It makes him groan into your mouth and grind even harder, every thrust a jerking, violent motion that oozes a cloud of milt.

“Lorne,” the thing in the dark whispers, chiding.

“No.” Lorne sinks his claws into the meat of your ass possessively. You barely notice the sting, too focused on how good it feels to be here, sharing body heat in the cold of the abyss, nearly mating. “No, I don’t—don’t wanna let go.”

There’s a fluttering sensation; warmth and comfort, a blanket against your back. The thing in the dark’s shimmering, auroral appendages throb faintly, filled with a slow heartbeat. “We cannot follow where you are going. But we will do all that we can.”

You shake your head. You don’t want to go. You cling tightly to Lorne but the thing is insistent. It tugs you apart.

“Wake,” it whispers. You feel the weight of its sadness bearing down on you, an ocean of grief—and the smallest, most hesitant spark of hope. “And…return to us safely.”

Your eyes open. It’s dark, but not the way you remember. This is soft darkness; simple shadows. The parking lot of the ferry. Jamie is sitting next to you, trying and failing to conceal a smile. “Good dream, huh?” they say, leering at you. You have no idea how to answer. Your indecision must come across as embarrassment because they laugh and give you a quick kiss, rubbing your shoulder. “It’s morning. I just poked my head out above deck. Captain says we’ll be there soon.”

“Oh. Good,” you say, sounding about as groggy and confused as you feel. You rub your eyes and stretch your legs the best you can.

“Shift was just about over when I woke up. Was he right about that? We didn’t get shoved halfway across the Drift, did we?”

You shake your head. You’re right where you should be. Anchor is west and the gap is smaller now. There’s just enough space for a town on the way but you’ll be there by tonight easily, likely sooner. “We’re really going to reach it,” you say, quietly awed. Fear creeps in soon after, followed by doubt. You’ll be there soon, and then what? Do you really stand a chance?

Some time later, the ferry docks. Metal shrieks and rattles as the ramp lowers and you’re greeted by foggy daylight, the road stretching onward. The Verlindans are the first to leave, rushing for solid ground. Lorne ambles down to shore, bidding you farewell with a curt nod. He looks fully human, you think, no sign of his bioluminescent patches. “Safe travels,” he says. “And sweet dreams.”

It’s only as you’re driving away that you see him move in the rearview mirror, lifting a webbed hand out of his pocket. He lifts his head and waves briefly. Then he touches his thumb and fingers to the sides of his neck in a gesture that looks innocent if not vaguely threatening, not nearly as obscene as it makes you feel. His smile is sharp and jagged. His eyes are the same stark, metallic shade as any other animal adapted to darkness.

(next)

#rotpeach writes #goretober #the drift

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sonxofxgondor · 1 year ago

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dernhelmalso

The morning light spread its pale fingers from behind an unfortunate layer of clouds above. It was to be a dreary day. Éowyn stood, stoic as ever, upon a balcony overlooking the gardens. It was her favorite place to be in the Houses of Healing, especially during times when no others were around. The early mornings, or sometimes late at night. So quiet and so still was the sitting room behind her that Éowyn turned at the sound of another entering, watching with an air of cool curiosity as Lord Boromir approached. His footsteps were much heavier than those of the healers, and slightly more so than Faramir's, although she could not be certain why she would think to compare anyone to Faramir at all, even his own brother. Both sons of Gondor had a steadiness about their steps, regardless. The stable and enduring footfalls of a leader among soldiers. Though Éowyn noted a certain stooping to Boromir's shoulders that told of an injury not quite healed. She'd come to know the posture well, as she cradled her own broken arm close to her chest in its sling. He greeted her kindly, and Éowyn inclined her head with respect. "Good morrow, my lord. I had not thought to see anyone else awake at this hour." She listened as he went on to explain his presence, her fair head canting slightly to the side, pale golden tresses falling over her shoulder. His intentions surprised her, though the only sign as such was the slight raising of her pale brows. She considered him thoughtfully for a few quiet moments, then nodded. "Perhaps we might break our fast together? I have already sent for something, and they always bring more than I could ever finish." As if on cue, a pair of servants entered the sitting room from the hall, each bearing a tray—one of food, the other tea. They placed both trays on a small table on the balcony, put there recently because Éowyn so enjoyed eating there. "We will need another cup for tea, if you please." "Of course, my lady, right away," said one of the servants, and they both bowed their exit. Éowyn turned then to Boromir, and gestured for him to grab another chair for the table. "I will tell you of the Witch-King's demise, but I have one condition." Her grey eyes seemed to brighten for the first time that day. "You must tell me of your travels before you came to be in Edoras. I am certain your battles were at least as glorious as my own."

Boromir grabbed his chair and placed it before the table. Fashioned of good and stable wood, with lines of history carved into the legs, it was not so great in weight that he was unable to carry. Gondor had skill to create works that were both beautiful and strong. As valuable as rubies found in caves deep within the mountains, peoples who gave their love to others through wares built to last several lifetimes. There was no cause to cry out in pain. There was no discomfort as felt by Boromir who handled the chair. Rather was there total peace. Serenity that danced all throughout the room - a sense of a home returned to - bloomed alongside the flowers of the garden. Pansies and petunias that spread across like a rainbow untamed. So small a beauty, desperately had they been missed while Boromir was away.

Blossoms alone were not the only tokens that were desired for. Flowers themselves did not leave such large a hole in Boromir's heart, but a dent to his spirit did they cast, too, food of familiar sorts did just as wonderful damage, the cravings for just one bite. Lambas could fill the stomach. Waters from lakes so clear could quench thirst. But it was the meals of home that Boromir liked best. Bountiful samples - as was prepared for he and Eowyn on the trays of silver - cakes smothered in honey, sliced meats that were seasoned in salt, cheeses that rested beside mounds of fruit and crackers. Always served with tea; a cup that would warm the fingers like pleasant fireplace flames to cold skin. A cup that Boromir filled once the servant returned with it, a nod of thanks and just a spoonful of sugar mixed into the hot drink. It was a most delicious taste.

"My words would do them no justice, Lady Eowyn." Boromir replied over his cup, taking another sip, a smile upon his lips. "But I will do my best! Oh. Never have I seen a greater sight than the men of Gondor after well deserved victory. How bravely the men of these lands fight, it's awe-inspiring. If it were not for them, I know that I would be lost and have few less tales to tell. All of the glory that has been bestowed onto me, it would've been impossible without them. Faramir, also. There's none other who I'd rather enjoy the glory of victory with than he. None else who I trust so much nor admire. He's a brilliant man but an even better captain. Gondor stands as proud as she does because of him. Credit is his, truly."

Lifting a honey smothered cake to his lips, crumbs sticking to the pads of fingertips, Boromir began his feast. "I have never known such great men nor seen as great a battle before, least until I became part of the Fellowship. Stranger though we may all seem when together, stranger still is it to believe, I adore each and every member. They're good creatures. Aragorn and Legolas and Gimli - the hobbits - we are like brothers now. Gandalf has become family to me. I don't think that I could ever part from them. It took many steps to get where we are. Edoras has been very hard a quest. But I would go through it a thousand times over if that's what it took. If only to see those friends of mine again. Alas! I have not thanked you for sharing in your tea with me. Forgive me, Lady Eowyn. I thank you very much. This tea is just what my body needs, and these cakes are a true temptation. I fear that I might eat them all if you do not put a stop to me!"

"But now, our conversation has turned to your favor." Boromir said in kindhearted tease, a second cake plucked by he and eaten. "You must tell me of you. How you destroyed evil come true! How did it feel to see him fall as he so deserved?"

#dernhelmalso #Verse \\ Alternative Universe #Timeline \\ The Return of the King

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shemarmooresfedora · 4 years ago

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Rebuilding Family

Summary: Y/N and Spencer were college sweethearts at Cal-Tech but once Spencer got accepted to the FBI Academy, he ended things deciding it was not fair to make Y/N wait for him. When they meet again years later, he discovers something unexpected.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Warnings: vomiting, light angst due to body image issues (pregnant!reader)

A/N: i have been working on a WIP all day! it’s going to be my longest one-shot by far. if you would like a hint, click here (another hint: it’s not a retelling of the episode)

Masterlist

Chapter 28

Gradually over the summer, your bump started to peek out just a little bit. The bottom of your belly would poke out of your tank tops slightly.

Spencer loved it because it gave him better skin-to-skin contact. He would constantly be rubbing and kissing your tummy while whispering softly to the baby.

He would often visit you in your office for lunch so he could bring whatever you were currently craving. You learned this the hard way once when you packed a chicken caesar wrap for lunch one morning and by the time it got to noon, it made you nauseous just looking at it. Spencer brought you watermelon that day because it was the only thing that sounded good.

You were just finishing up an email when there was a knock at the door.

“It’s open,” you announced.

“Hi, love. How are we doing today?” Spencer inquired.

“Better now that you’re here,” you looked up from your computer to give him a kiss.

“I brought you your fruit salad with extra watermelon and your prenatal vitamins. Also, I don’t know how your stomach is feeling but I would like you to try to have some protein because fruit does not have much sustenance for you and little one. I brought tofu, peanut butter crackers, or a protein bar, whatever you think you can get down,” Spencer unloaded his bag.

“I finished the whole 64 ounce water bottle before noon. Aren’t you proud of me, babe?” you beamed, proudly displaying your empty bottle.

“So proud, I’ll go refill it right now so you can take your vitamins,” Spencer lifted your blouse up and placed a gentle kiss right on your belly button, “Daddy will be right back, little one.”

You awoke to the sickly twisting feeling in your stomach and you carefully rose from the bed in an attempt to not upset your stomach any more.

Spencer was up and out of the bed as soon as he heard the first retch. He grabbed a hair elastic and tied your hair back, rubbing soothing circles on your back.

“Spence, I can’t be sick today,” you cried.

“Jo will understand, love. I’ll tell her you are taking care of little one.”

“I don’t want to miss her first day of first grade,” you sobbed into his chest.

“I will facetime you and take so many videos and pictures, you won’t miss a thing,” he promised you.

“I’m going to call you out of work. Then, I’m going to get you some tea, plain crackers, and iced water,” he kissed the top of your head.

“Will you be okay in here by yourself for a little?” he asked quietly.

You sniffled and nodded.

“Okay, shout if you need me. I’m going to go get that stuff for you and wake Jo up.”

“I want to at least say bye to her. I want to see her in her first day outfit,” you insisted.

“Of course, we’ll be back up in a little,” he assured you.

About 15 minutes later, Spencer returned with a tray of just about every drink and food you had been craving for the past week.

“I love you,” you smiled.

“I love you more,” he replied, setting the tray down on your nightstand.

“Mommy, brother or sister is being bad?” Jo asked.

“No, baby,” you motioned for her to climb up on the bed with you, “They are just growing and it is making Mommy a little sick but it’s okay. I’m sorry I can’t drop you off with Daddy today. But luckily, I heard your new teacher is super nice and you have Henry in your class again this year.”

“Bye, Mommy. I’ll miss you,” she hugged you, “Bye, brother or sister,” she waved to your belly.

“Bye, Baby J. I am expecting a full report on everything that happened as soon as you get home,” you smiled.

“I’ll be back in 30,” Spencer helped Jo off the bed, looking at you worriedly.

“Spence, I’ll be fine, don’t worry,” you assured him.

“Call me if anything happens like even if you just think you’re about to throw up, call me,” he insisted.

You nodded, “Have fun!”

“There’s my big first grader!” you smiled with open arms.

You were waiting on the couch for Jo and Spencer to come home from pick up time.

“Mommy!” she ran into your arms, “Ms. Moore is so nice. She let us color whatever we wanted for an hour during craft time today and she had a whole bin of dinosaur books in the library. And, me and Henry played on the big kid swings at recess today and I jumped off into the air!” she exclaimed.

“Oh my gosh! What a fun day you had!” you smiled.

“And you didn’t even hear the best news yet, Daddy signed up to be a classroom helper,” she beamed.

“Did he now?” you grinned, turning your attention to Spencer.

“Ms. Moore had the sign-up sheet out at pick-up time. How can I resist spending more time with Jo? I’m going to get lonely when both my girls are at work and school,” he plopped down on the couch and squeezed you both.

You couldn’t find a single cute blouse that still fit you that morning. You had to wear an ugly wrinkly gray one from the back of your closet that you bought a while back and hated but never got around to returning. You brushed through your hair quickly and forwent any makeup because you already felt like utter crap.

You would have called out sick but you had an important department meeting today that you had to sit through. Luckily, that meant little to no talking but you just had to pray that your stomach would settle.

At the end of the long day, you went home and changed into sweats. In an attempt to cheer yourself up, you drove to Jo’s school to see Spencer in action. It was his first day as class assistant.

You approached the classroom to see Spencer surrounded by a group of moms. They were all over him, practically swarming him like bees to honey. These were the exact moms that were horrible to you last year. They were all dressed in high heels and skinny jeans, stuff you couldn’t wear anymore.

You turned around and headed back out to the car.

Spencer immediately noticed your car wasn’t in the driveway when they got home.

“Love?” Spencer called out, setting his keys on the table when they entered the front door.

No response.

Spencer tried your cell but it rang out.

He immediately had Garcia on the phone next, “Penelope, I need you to track Y/N. She’s not home yet and not answering her cell and I’m worried.”

“Oh, McDonald’s? Okay, yeah thanks. That’s been one of her cravings recently,” Spencer hung up the phone.

“Why did Mommy leave school and now she’s not here?” Jo questioned.

“Mommy wasn’t at school today, Princess. I think you are confused,” Spencer furrowed his brow.

“Daddy, I saw her,” Jo stated.

“Okay, I believe you,” he picked the little girl up and exited the house once again.

You didn’t want to be the crazy pregnant lady in a McDonald’s crying with a chocolate milkshake and a large fry but that is who you had become.

You heard the bell chime but you didn’t look up, dipping your next fry into your milkshake.

“Love, what’s wrong?”

Spencer was standing over you, looking very concerned and carrying Jo on his hip.

He set her down and whispered, “How about you go play in the play place for a little, Princess. Daddy will order you a happy meal.”

Jo looked at you with the same amount of concern in her eyes before deciding it was best to just follow what Spencer said. She ran off and Spencer took the seat across from you.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he spoke softly.

“Not particularly,” you took a long sip of your milkshake.

“Jo said she saw you at the school today,” Spencer stated.

It didn’t take a profiler to see the way your face sank even more and you stopped sipping your shake.

“What upset you so much, love? I need to know if I’m going to fix it,” he grabbed your hand and kissed it.

“Nothing fits,” you stated.

“We’ll buy you more maternity clothes,” he replied quickly.

“I look ugly,” you protested.

“Completely and unequivocally false,” he answered sincerely.

“Those moms are going to steal you away from me,” another tear slid down your face.

Spencer’s face softened, he moved from the seat across from you to right next to you.

“You are probably feeling some residual feelings of abandonment because you had to do this alone last time,” Spencer stated softly.

You buried your face into his shoulder as confirmation.

“Love, I am never leaving you or Jo or little one ever again. There’s nowhere else I want to be. This is what makes me happy,” Spencer looked around, “I’d gladly stay in this crusty McDonald’s forever if you and Jo are here.”

Your giggle was muffled by his cardigan.

“That’s what I like to hear,” Spencer smiled, wrapping his arms around you.

A/N: i named Jo’s teacher ‘Ms. Moore’ as a little shoutout to @homoose !!! moore...moose, close enough. she was one of the writers who inspired me to start writing my own fics

taglist: (just ask to be added or removed!): @samuel-de-champagne-problems @g0lden-cth @spencerreid9 @averyhotchner @coldlilheart @k-k0129 @ickleronniekinsemotionalrange

#spencer reid fluff #dad!spencer #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer x reader #reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #cm fanfic

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dreamescapeswriting · 4 years ago

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BTS Reaction || Looking After You [TW] [Request]

A/N: I put this as [TW] as I know some of the themes of not eating can be trigger to some people so please be warned about that. I love you guys xx [BTS X GenderNeutral!Reader]

Seokjin:

It didn't take Jin forever to catch on to the fact that you hadn’t been eating great again, he'd been busy with comeback season he hadn't been home to cook and you didn't want to cook if it was only going to be you eating everything. You were living off soup and crackers and that was the only meal you would have,

"What did you have for breakfast?" Jin questioned when he came home earlier than expected that night. You shrugged your shoulders not being able to remember the last time that you'd even had breakfast,

"I think I just had soup at dinner," You said before going back to folding up laundry, Jin stared at you. He really stared at you trying to tell if you were losing weight or if it was just him and he sighed,

"I'm cooking tonight." You watched him as he then began hunting around the kitchen for everything he would need to make dinner for you both. It wasn't that big a deal, you just didn't see the point in cooking yourself a huge meal for only you to eat it, if Jin was home more often you would have done it but hed hardly been home in weeks.

"I'll make your favourites okay?" He asked it wasn't a question though. He was telling you what he was going to make and you were going to have to accept it so you hummed and went into the kitchen to help him cook.

"No, no, you go and finish the laundry and find us something to watch. I will cook." He kissed your head and sent you out of his kitchen so that he could work peacefully. He loved looking after you and being able to cook for you he just wished it was under different circumstances, where he would just randomly cook for you instead of feeling like he was forcing you or reminding you to eat. He made a mental note to himself to start taking a homemade lunch to work so he could leave you something to eat during the day.

Yoongi:

Yoongi felt terrible that had hadn't even been the one to notice that you weren't sleeping, he'd been so busy with work that he'd been sleeping at the studio most nights while you were at home. He assumed you'd be sleeping, you had troubles with sleep in the past and he knew that he just thought you'd gotten over it and he'd been so busy he hadn't noticed but when Namjoon came to tell him that he'd gone to see you that morning and you were passed out asleep in the kitchen Yoongi knew there was a problem. He rushed home to go and see you forgetting everything at work because nothing was more important to him than you were.

"Baby? You okay?" He questioned when he walked into the living room, you were sitting on the sofa with your chin in your hand struggling to keep your eyes open as you stared at the TV. You wanted to sleep and you needed to sleep but it was as if when you finally got ready to sleep your body hit you with a burst of energy and you couldn't.

"Sleepy." You mumbled before getting up from the sofa and rushing into the living room when you heard the alarm going off, he watched you closely wondering what you were doing when he heard a scream and a pan clutter against the floor.

"Babe!" He yelled coming into the kitchen to see you holding your hand as you tried not to cry, he could already see that your hand was starting to bleed a little from the hot pan you'd touched without a towel,

"Tap," He yelled, he was panicking a little as you started to let out tears of pain, he turned the cold tap on rushing you over to hold your hand under the freezing cold water,

"What were you thinking?" He asked as he looked at the tray of food on the floor, it could be cleaned up later when your hand was taken care of.

"I- I had to cook so I was trying to make sure nothing got burnt." You let out a whine and he sighed, he hated seeing you like this. You hadn't been this bad in a long time,

"Why didn't you tell me you hadn't been sleeping well?" He questioned as he went over to the food and began cleaning it up, you shook your head telling him that it was no big deal and that you'd hardly noticed.

"Namjoon found you asleep with your head on the kitchen table, don't tell me you didn't notice." You had noticed but you didn't want to go to Yoongi, he was busy with his own problems and you didn't want to bother him with any more than you had to.

"Baby, you're not bothering me at all." He took a look at your hand, it would be fine once he applied some cream and wrapped it up,

"I'm going to wrap you up and then we're going to go upstairs and sleep, okay?" You nodded at him, he and you both knew you slept a thousand times better with him as your side.

Hoseok:

You could look after yourself but sometimes you would slip up, forget to eat sometimes because you were so busy with work or you wouldn't go to sleep because something was due in with your boss the next day. You didn't see it as a big deal since you'd lived your entire life like this but Hoseok saw it as a huge deal, he saw it as you skipping your meals and not sleeping which could lead to bigger problems. You could start falling asleep at work, on the drive to work or even worse passing out due to the lack of food in your system. He wanted to talk to you about it before it got any worse,

"Babe?" You jumped when you heard his voice coming from behind you, you didn't even know he was home yet.

"Sorry, I thought you heard me." He chuckled seeing the shocked expression on your face, you were almost as jumpy as he was when it came to people sneaking up behind you like that.

"It's fine, do you want something to eat?" You questioned going back down to the papers you were holding and he shook his head, taking them from you slowly.

"I wanted to talk to you about something, this actually." He said as he gestured to the papers you were staring at in his hands.

"It's my report for this week's interns, my boss wants me to file them tonight so I have to-" You stopped when you saw the pained expression on his face,

"You've barely eaten and you haven't slept all week as far as I've seen," You scoffed at how he was overreacting,

"I've slept-"

"How much?" You knew it wasn't the average amount of sleep someone should be getting but you'd been busy, you were getting enough to keep yourself stable in the day but you knew that answer was only going to upset him more.

"Hobi-"

"How much sleep are you getting a day?" He was standing his ground, you looked at the floor not knowing what to say without upsetting him and he sighed bringing you into a hug.

"We talked about this before-"

"I know, I just...I've been overworked and trying to stay on top of everything," You whispered but he just continued to hold you while you softly cried into his chest.

Namjoon:

"This is Namjoon speaking yes," Namjoon said down the phone as an unknown number called him,

"They what? Yeah, I'll be right there." He locked his phone and frantically began looking around his studio for some car keys,

"Namjoon what's going on?" Jungkook asked the leader, he'd never seen him look so scared before and it was starting to worry him.

"Y/n got into an accident, I have to go and get them from the hospital." He didn't have time to explain anything he just rushed out of the studio dropping the song he was working on for a later time, there were too many things rushing through his head right now.

"Namjoon. I'm fine." You groaned as he looked at the cast that was on your arm, he stared at you like you were insane.

"You could have left me at home." You mumbled as you laid on the sofa of his studio. He'd gone to the hospital, got you and took you straight to the studio so he could keep an eye on you.

"So you could neglect sleep again? I don't think so, go to sleep now." You rolled your eyes at him, you hadn't slept in two days and everyone was treating you like it was a huge deal.

"You fell asleep at the wheel, you could have hurt yourself or someone else." What he was forgetting was that the car accident wasn't even your fault, you were in a parking lot and someone went into the back of you breaking your arm when the airbag went off. The man was doing 40 mph in a parking lot what did he think was going to happen, you were lucky your handbrake was on and you hadn't turned on the engine or it could have been worse.

"I wasn't even driving, the engine wasn't on-"

"No excuses, what if you had been driving?" You knew he was right and the cast on your arm was a painful reminder of that. You stared down at the cast and then over at Namjoon. You could tell that what had happened was stressing him out so you laid down on the sofa and pulled one of his blankets over your body.

"Just don't do it again, you scared me." He whispered coming over to you and giving you a kiss on the head.

Jimin:

Jimin walked into the house at 4 in the morning to see you sitting in the living room covered in paint and standing in front of a giant canvas in front of you. You were oblivious to the world as you painted away your feelings with your earphones in, he knew that you were behind in your class but he didn't come home and expect you to be painting at 4 in the morning when he'd left at 6 am the previous morning and you were in the same position.

"Baby?" He called out walking behind you and pulling the earphone out from you ear, you looked shocking and he meant it in the nicest way he could. You didn't look like you'd slept for two days, you were covered in paint, different types by the looks of it and you were staring at him.

"What's up?" You were completely blind to what time it was, you figured it would just be a late-night instead of early morning.

"What's up?! It's 4 am why are you awake?" You frowned looking down at the time before yelling that you were late, you'd spent all week working on this painting for it to be late anyway?!

"Shit Jimin, I'm going to fail! It was due four hours ago!" You cried out finally letting the exhaustion take over your body. Tears rushed down your face as you tried to call your professor and beg to be able to get it handed in late but there was no answer,

"Fuck!" You whimpered looking at the painting which wasn't even finished yet anyway, you still had to add some finishing touches to it and yet you were behind.

"Babe! Relax!" Jimin said holding you in place as you frantically tried to call your professor but it was going straight to voicemail, he took the phone from your hands and threw it onto the sofa.

"I need to call her Jimin if this is-"

"Relax, look at me and breath. When was the last time you went to sleep?" He was searching your eyes as you panicked looking around the room trying to remember,

"I...I can't remember." You stuttered out and he sighed sinking down onto the floor with you in his arms,

"We need to get you some sleep, we'll call your professor in the morning and explain everything but you have to sleep."

"I need a bath-"

"In the morning, I'll change the sheets okay. Bed. Now." His tone was laced with authority and you knew he meant what he was saying so you followed him towards the staircase.

Taehyung:

Taehyung had hardly seen you that week, whenever he was getting in from the studio you'd already left to go to work, then whenever you got home he was going to the studio. Two ships passing in the night, but you made it work. You'd text one another to let the other know what was going on in their day or night and were planning a date night but something was off. Whenever Taehyung would come home to sleep off his day at the studio it hadn't looked like you'd slept in the bed at all, at first he figured it was just because you made it but then he began to notice how stressed you were in your texts. He took the day off work that day to surprise you but when he expected you to come home that you didn't, you were late in.

"Taehyung? What are you doing here?" You asked sleepily as you dropped a stack of papers onto the coffee table in your living room, he stared at it and then at you. It only confirmed what he'd thought, you hadn't been sleeping much.

"I took the day off, you're late home." He was trying to make himself seem calm about the stacks of paperwork you had to do,

"I was trying to get through that, a cleaner came by and told me they were locking up. I'm going to get on with it before I go to sleep," You told Taehyung as you nodded at the papers,

"No. You're going to come up to bed and sleep," He frowned not wanting you to make yourself any more tired than you were.

"It's due tomorrow Tae-"

"That's insane, where are the other employees?"

"Fucking the boss so they don't get shunned with paperwork." You yawned sitting down on the floor to work when he came over and knelt down in front of you,

"You're not going to get all of this done tonight. Come to bed," You shook your head at him explaining that if it wasn't done he could fire you,

"Then we'll sue him for dumping all of the work on you when there are other people who are quite capable." You knew he was right and you sighed not having the energy in you to fight him on anything right now,

"Sleep." You whispered happily as he helped you up from the floor and carried you in the direction of the stairs.

Jungkook:

When Jungkook was away on tour you slipped a little, turning to live on Ramen noodles instead of proper meals because you didn't see the point in making a large meal for one person and the rest to go to waste. Plus, Ramen was great and it was quick and easy for you to do while you were on the move for work which had you rushed off your feet since they began letting people go. You told Jungkook everything was fine and he had nothing to worry about which was one of the biggest lies you'd ever told him in your relationship, everything was not fine. The apartment was a mess and you were starting to get sick due to the lack of vitamins, proteins and everything else you needed from food to keep you running properly. The front door to your apartment opened and Jungkook dropped his bag on the floor seeing clothes everywhere, he was shocked to see the apartment in worse shape than the dorms used to be in. He called out for you but realised you must have been at work, he started cleaning up the house as a nice surprise for you when he found the ramen packets in the bin he knew instantly you'd lied to him about being fine.

You hadn't even noticed Jungkook's car in the driveway, you were too tired from work and too sick to car. It wasn't until you walked into the house and smelt food cooking that it hit you that you weren't alone,

"Kookie?" You whispered seenig him in the kitchen, he took one look at you and you knew you were in trouble. He had the same look of disappointment that he got whenever you were in trouble with him.

"You told me everything was fine, that you were okay!" You sighed as he started yelling and he relaxed knowing it was the last thing you needed right now,

"I ran you a bubble bath, add some more hot water. By the time you're done food will be ready," You thanked him for what he was doing and he took his head at you promising it was what boyfriends did.

"Go and get in the tub, please." You kissed him before heading in the direction of the bathroom wondering what you did to get such an amazing and caring boyfriend all to yourself.

Tagline:

@writingdreamsnottragedies @snowy-meowl @jooniesdarlingdimples @lyoongx @mitzwinchester @fan-ati--c @callingmyangel @rjsmochii @kneel-begyourpardon @taestannie @innersooya

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letsbenditlikebennett · 3 years ago

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Monster Mash || Ari & Cass

TIMING: Current-ish PARTIES: @stolensiren & @letsbenditlikebennett SUMMARY: Ari and Cass are all about the no laws while drinking Claws, but they didn’t mean the same for reality. :/ CONTENT: Sibling death mentioned

With Kitty at work and her dreams being plagued by never-ending nightmares, Ariana was relieved to have some company. It’d take her mind off the guilt that sat like a rock in her stomach and weighed the rest of her down. It was the same thing every night, familiar faces of the dead reminding her of her mistakes, the ones that contributed to their eventual death. Her sleep being plagued didn’t leave her in the best place during her waking hours, so she distracted herself where she could. Making soup had been part of that. So had one armed axe throwing and whittling some more stakes but going for intricate designs so she could slay by all interpretations of the word. She’d set up some bowls and soup crackers at the table while she waited for Cass to arrive. When there was a knock on the door, she bolted up, and went to open it with a pair of dogs trotting behind her. “Hey,” she greeted as she opened the door with a hand up to keep the dogs from completely bombarding Cass, “I hope you like dogs, if not, they’re good listeners and don’t have to say hi or anything.”

“So am I losing it or do you also see the three moons now,” she asked with a glance up toward the sky.

Things in town were getting weird, but when weren’t they? It was the kind of thing Cass had gotten very good at ignoring, the kind of thing she pushed down deep into the pit of her stomach and pretended wasn’t there at all. Tree cults, angry hunters, Marley dropping off the face of the Earth… if she ignored it all long enough, it would be fine. She was sure of it.

Going to Ariana’s for some clam chowder seemed like a pretty good way to push everything else down a little farther.

She grinned as Ari answered the door, looking down at the dogs. “I love dogs,” she assured the other girl, offering the animals a small wave. She scrunched her nose at them briefly before glancing up to the sky, pursing her lips thoughtfully. “Definitely three moons,” she confirmed. “That’s so weird. There’s only one at my apartment, I swear. You don’t think this part of town’s on a different planet now, do you?” The question sounded ridiculous, but… this was White Crest. Nothing was too ridiculous to be true.

The dogs seemed pleased with being acknowledged and trotted back to their respective dog beds to watch over them. Ariana gave them a small smile and said, “Good. All the best people love dogs.” People who didn’t love dogs probably didn’t like her anyway. She was pretty much dog-like even looking as she did now. She was excitable and got around by scent and was loyal to a tee. Her eyes shifted back to the sky and she was relieved that Cass saw the extra moons, too. The extreme lack of sleep did have her questioning her sanity. “Good, I’m not crazy then,” she joked, “Well, at least not for that reason. Jury’s out on everything else.”

She stepped aside to let Cass into the house. The living room was mostly in order, though some of her carving materials were neatly placed on the coffee table with a bottle of whiskey where she had been whittling away earlier. 10 stakes, 3 wolves, and 6 coasters later she had still been restless and made the clam chowder. “Through here, I figured since it’s nice out and we have the whole three moon view, we could eat out back.” She grabbed some bowls from the cabinet and began filling them up with chowder before setting them down on a tray. “Can I get you something to drink? There’s water, coke, sprite, lemonade, White Claw, some different beers, whiskey, vodka, tea– You name it I can probably whip it up.” Ariana laughed a bit and fidgeted with her hands that were itching to keep moving.

This town had a way of making a person question their sanity far more often than anyone would ever like to. Cass had experienced that, too, even after she’d learned that the supernatural was ingrained in the very DNA of White Crest. Even after she’d learned that it was ingrained in her DNA, too. She was glad she could offer Ari a reprieve from all that, even if it was only for a moment, for this one specific question. “At least it’s pretty,” she observed, staring up at the three moons shining from the sky. “I mean, it’s probably not a good thing,” because nothing in White Crest ever seemed to be that, “but it sure looks cool.”

Stepping into the house, Cass took a quick glance around. It was a force of habit, she knew, the way her eyes zeroed in on everything sitting in the open to determine if any of it might be worth anything, even with no intention of taking anything. This was the worst part of herself, she often thought, but she didn’t know how to change it. “You’re into wood carving?” She nodded to the table, a faint smile on her face. “That’s pretty cool.” She picked up one of the wolf carvings, absently turning it over in her hand before carefully placing it back down and trailing behind Ari into the kitchen. “I’d love to hang out outside.” The moon thing was definitely going to go to hell sooner or later, so they might as well enjoy it while the novelty was still in place. “And I’ll have whatever you’re having. I’m not picky.”

As a werewolf, Ariana hoped the two additional moons meant some kind of impromptu extra full moon that she couldn’t prepare for ahead of time. She immediately tried to shake that thought because it caused a spike of anxiety that she could be in the wrong place at the wrong time. “Yeah,” she said with a nervous laugh, “Hopefully it doesn’t mean anything too bad. But in this town, it probably is.”

“Oh, yeah! I made a lot of the furniture here too. Used to be in carpentry school actually, but,” Ari paused and grimaced, “I had to get out of this place for a bit, I don’t think I’ll be going back though.” As much as she loved working with wood and how it felt in her hands, it didn’t feel right anymore. She’d lost too many parts of herself to really connect with the process and it didn’t feel like enough. It didn’t feel fulfilling anymore. She wanted to help people, but her help always seemed to make things worse. Even with someone else around, it was getting harder and harder to push away the negative thoughts. She shook her head and grabbed a couple of White Claws from the fridge to add to the tray. “White Claw it is. A personal favorite because there’s no laws when you’re drinking Claws,” she cracked a grin that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Ari carried the tree out to the outdoor table behind the house. Once she set their dinner down on the table, she turned around to flick on the clear Christmas lights she’d put up outside for lighting. Once they settled in, she tried to relax a bit with a sip of drink. It still felt weird to be at the farm, to be having dinner with a friend at the farm, when she probably didn’t even deserve to be here. “So, what’s your bet on what chaos the 3 moons will cause?”

If there was one thing Cass had learned about White Crest, it was that it had a way of weighing on you. You could make jokes about the weird things that went on within the town’s borders, could crack a smile and pretend none of it mattered at all but, eventually? The weight of it would crush you. And Ariana was laughing, but there was something heavy to it, too. The threat that gravity posed was an ever-present kind of thing.

“That’s really cool,” Cass replied, trying to force the rising concern back down. What could she do for Ari besides be here? She might call herself a superhero, but there were some battles she wasn’t sure how to fight. “Even if you don’t go back, you definitely learned a lot. I don’t think I could ever make furniture like this.” She cracked a smile at Ari’s joke, staring at the cans on the tray for a moment. “No laws is always good. I like no laws.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes any more than her friend’s did, tinged with concern and unrest, but she hoped Ari wouldn’t take it personally.

It was nice outside, at least. In spite of all the chaos, in spite of the strangeness that seemed to soak the town no matter which way you looked at it, it was nice. The air wasn’t the biting cold of winter, but it hadn’t moved into the stifling heat of summer yet, either. And the moons were pretty, even if they were concerning. “Maybe it’ll be the fun kind of chaos,” she offered. “Like, maybe aliens are going to show up, but they’ll be cool aliens.” It sounded unrealistic. Things didn’t work that way in White Crest. Cass had learned that, too.

Once they were set up at the table, Ari was quick to open up her White Claw. She wanted to be good company. Her brain wrestled with the thought that she didn’t even deserve the comfort of company, but that didn’t matter. Cass was here and Cass deserved to have a good night. If she could get her own mind to settle, it’d be easy. She took a sip from the can and swirled her spoon around in her chowder. She grasped at the feeling of being proud of her work like she once was. “Yeah, a lot of it I learned as a kid. We didn’t have a lot of money so I know a lot of random home repairs and started learning how to build things. At first it was more like… refinishing thrift store furniture and kind of took off from there,” she smiled thinking of that first dresser she and Celeste found in a little thrift store outside of Seattle, “If you ever find anything cheap, I can polish it up for you. Lumber prices these days are a bit wild.”

It got easier to relax as she spoke, as if saying the happy memories aloud could somehow transport her back to a time when things were simple. Well, at least not as complicated as they were now. Ari cracked a laugh at the thought of cool aliens. That was definitely a best case scenario. “Fun chaos is my favorite. You know, I can get down with cool aliens. If I turn them into Swifties, then Taylor won’t be an internationally acclaimed artist. She’ll be universally acclaimed.” She let out a laugh and could just imagine the scenario. Well, minus what the aliens would actually look like.

Something in the atmosphere seemed to shift the moment Ari finally seemed to let go of the heavy feeling that lived in her body for the last few weeks. A gust of cold wind blew the trees around them and she wrapped her flannel around her a little more tightly. “Huh, weird, it’s been warm lately,” she shrugged, “I can grab a jacket or blanket if you need one.” When the wind stilled, everything looked a little different. Not in a way she could put a word on, but not right. Gone was the light of the extra moons and the open air no longer felt freeing, something about it felt suffocating. She felt a chill and heard the rustle of whispers. You can’t tame a beast. Monster. Her head whipped around to see where the voices were coming from but nothing was there. “Did you hear that,” she asked Cass in a worried voice.

Cass opened her own drink, though she didn’t do it with the same speed as Ariana. She wondered, a little, if she ought to be worried about the desperation with which her friend clung to the can, but she pushed the thought away. If Ariana wanted to talk about what was bothering her she would, right? It wouldn’t be good to push. Cass was trying to do better about that, trying not to be the kind of person who strong-armed her way into conversations. For a con artist, it was a tough thing to do. “It’s a good thing to know,” she offered, taking a quiet sip of her White Claw and wishing that she’d gotten useful skills in exchange for the issues she’d faced growing up instead of a tendency towards dishonesty and a talent for lying. “I’ll totally take you up on that. My apartment is, like, half furniture the last tenant let me have and half stuff I found in the trash. The decor could definitely use some sprucing up.” And Cass, needless to say, could not afford any kind of lumber prices.

Ari seemed to be unwinding a little, and Cass felt the relief like a physical thing. Turning aliens into Swifties was a safe conversation topic. “That’s absolutely what she deserves,” she joked, cracking a smile.

And then the wind shifted. There was a breeze too cold for recent weather patterns, a hint of something in the air. And a voice. It was chilling and terrifying and its words felt familiar, reminded Cass of the store below her apartment and its broken window, took her back to glass at her feet and pain in her shoulder and the ranger who called her a monster long before she even knew there was anything different about her at all. Her breath hitched and she thought, for a heart-stopping moment, of the one who’d gotten away. The one who knew where she lived, whose partner had died under Marley’s hands, who she’d seen out of the corner of her eye enough to wonder if it was her imagination playing tricks on her or if he was coming back to finish something he’d started. Was he here? Had he followed her to Ari’s? The thought that she might have led someone like that to her friend made her stomach twist.

“Yeah,” she said, voice quiet and throat dry. “Yeah, I heard that. I — Somebody’s here. I think somebody’s here.”

This wasn’t supposed to happen, not outside of her dreams. They weren’t here. They couldn’t be here. They were dead. Ariana pinched her forearm and grimaced at the sharp pain. Awake. Her stomach lurched at the thought. If Cass could hear them, too, they had to be there. Her face paled at the confirmation. “You, you hear them too,” she said shakily, “But no, you can’t, they can’t.” She looked around and the cold suddenly felt bone chilling, she could hardly see a thing. It wasn’t the dark, she could see through that, there was just nothing to see. She grit her teeth and knew she had to take care of this. “I’ll check it out. They shouldn’t be here,” she ground out.

“She’ll be here any minute then we’ll be rid of both of you.”

This couldn’t be real, but she didn’t have a logical answer so against judgment of any source, Ariana followed the sound of the voice.

Eyes wide and wild, Cass turned to Ari with a nod. Of course she could hear them. They were right here. They were stalking around Ari’s house because Cass had led them here, were going to kill the both of them because Cass was the sort of person who thought ignoring a problem long enough would make it go away. “Ari, wait,” she said desperately, reaching out to grip her friend by the sleeve. “You can’t go along. They’ll —”

“Time’s up, monster.”

The voice sent shivers down her spine, but it wasn’t right. That hunter was dead. Marley had killed him to save Cass’s life. Metzli got rid of his body to protect her. He was gone. He couldn’t be here. “Something — Something’s not right. Ari, something’s not right.”

While Ari knew it couldn’t really be Celeste’s parents there, she wasn’t going to let Cass face consequences that were hers alone. It seems Cass had other ideas as she tried to stop her. The grip on her sleeve made her even more on edge. She couldn’t put Cass in danger, she couldn’t let someone else die because of her. “Cass, you have to let me go– they shouldn’t be able to be here, they’re de-”

The sound of an unrecognizable voice threw her off. The words were similar enough to the ones Ari was constantly haunted by these days, but she didn’t know the voice. That was a change. The hairs on the back of her neck were standing straight up as she felt a chill go down her spine. This couldn’t be good. “It’s not. Something’s wrong, I don’t know that voice, but the others… it couldn’t be them. They died,” her words came out rushed and she felt desperate to make whatever was going on to just stop. If she couldn’t find peace in sleep, was it really too much to ask that she could have some peace while she was awake?

“You should have died with your parents that night. A beast has no place among people.”

“Cass, you need to go,” Ari directed more firmly this time, “They won’t care that you’re human, you’re with me, they’ll still kill you.” The voices sounded closer now and everything she could see felt blurred somehow.

Cass didn’t know what was going on, but the terror that gripped her by the throat made it difficult to even attempt to figure things out. There were voices in the air, whispering words that were both familiar and strange. They might as well have been screaming. Their effect on Cassidy was immense, and Ari seemed to be just as stricken. There was a reason for that, Cass realized as her friend began to speak. The voices that were unfamiliar to her were familiar to Ari.

And they were just as much ghosts as the one haunting Cass now.

“I do.” Her voice was small and scared, her breath catching in her throat. “I know that voice. That’s — He’s dead, too.” Ghosts were real. Cass knew that much, even if she’d yet to come into contact with one herself. Ghosts were real the same way sirens were real, the same way vampires and werewolves and maras and spellcasters were real. Ghosts were real, and maybe there was a whole slew of them haunting Ari and Cass now, drawing ever nearer.

The new words, ones that Ari seemed to recognize, were harsh and biting and they must have hurt. “All monsters hurt people,” echoed right after it, like the ghosts were agreeing with one another as they repeated dying words from dead men. Ari told her to leave, and Cass tightened her grip. “I’m not,” she admitted. “I’m not human. They’ll kill me either way, Ari, and I’m not going to leave you here.” Not alone. Not ever.

The whispers in the air were quickly becoming overwhelming. It was bad enough to hear some variation of those words in her dreams every night, but Ari was awake. She could feel the tight grip Cass on her arm and the wind whipping against her face. She was awake and this couldn’t be real. The Aquillas had been dead for nearly two years and while ghosts existed, she couldn’t hear them. Something wasn’t right, but it wasn’t real either. “They can’t really be here,” she whispered again, “They’re dead, they can’t hurt us.”

Ari wasn’t sure if she was trying to reassure herself or Cass. The way her heart hammered in her chest and boomed in her ears had her claws itching to come out. She had to breathe, but she felt like her breath had been stolen from her and each small gasp for breath wasn’t doing much. She only barely registered that Cass knew the other voice and they were dead too. The whispers of monsters and threats were still in the air and she had to force her breaths to come out evenly. She couldn’t panic, not now. “They can’t be here then,” she said though it didn’t come out all that convincing as she was still unsure herself.

“You’re not,” Ari asked with furrowed brows, “Okay, you’re not human either, but it can’t be…” The air started swirling around them and it felt even darker, impossibly so. She kept repeating in her head that it wasn’t real, it couldn’t be. Even if she could find it in her to act again, she couldn’t see where she was going, couldn’t smell anything properly. So she gripped onto Cass and kept repeating the mantra in her head. This isn’t real. They were in her backyard, safe at the outdoor table, not in some dark space with ghosts of hunters. They had to be safe. She refused to accept that she dragged Cass straight into danger.

The sound of a gunshot reverberated through the empty space and Ari gripped Cass even tighter, as if that could somehow make sense of where the sound came from and protect her friend. Panic set in as she waited for the bullet to pierce one of them. This wasn’t real. Something that was proven by the lack of bullet wounds and the dissipating darkness.

There was something painfully untrue in the statement. Cass knew it, and she was well aware that Ari knew it, too. Dead things could still hurt you, even when they’d been buried for ages. Sometimes, there was nothing that could hurt you more. But… That wasn’t a productive line of thinking right now, was it? Cass nodded, trying to convince herself as she repeated, “They can’t hurt us.” And it sounded even less like the truth from her lips than it had when it came from Ari’s, but maybe it would ease the pounding in her chest or slow the rapid pulse she could feel through her grip on her friend’s arm.

Saying the words didn’t make the voices go away. Repeating them didn’t stop the air from feeling heavy. It wasn’t real, it couldn’t hurt them, but it was as if no one had told it that much. It was as if they knew something the world didn’t and, until the world was convinced, it would continue to operate as if they were surrounded, as if they were in danger.

The gunshot that pierced the air was loud, reverberating and echoing endlessly. It was the shot that took Marley’s fingers clean off her hand. It was the shot that grazed Cassidy’s side when Marley knocked the gun out of the way, it was all the shots that were fired and missed their targets. Cass tensed, waiting for the bullet to hit, waiting for either the pain or the rush of air as it whizzed past her, but there was nothing. Of course there was nothing. It wasn’t real.

As soon as the realization was cemented by the shot with no bullet, the rest of the world seemed to catch up. The air, which had been chilled moments before, warmed back up to the unseasonable temperature. The sky, darkened by whatever had come over them, returned to the soft light of mid-afternoon. The voices, low and distorted and everywhere, disappeared all at once. Cass didn’t let go of Ari’s arm, but she loosened her grip just a little. “What the fuck was that?”

It felt like time had stilled as the darkness faded away and back into a familiar scene. Their bowls still remained just as they were at the table and the string lights sparkled again. Ari still couldn’t get the pounding in her chest to fade away. It didn’t make her feel any more solid on her feet. She felt Cass’ grip loosen, but she couldn’t find it in her to loosen hers, like if she let go that somehow the calm could just fade away again and she’d be right back in the nightmare again. Maybe there really was something wrong with her. The thought horrified her. If this was because of her, what Cass had just had to go through. She felt like she was going to be sick and the smell of the chowder was sour in her nose.

“I’m so sorry,” Ari finally squeaked out. Now, somehow even the familiar felt all wrong and she couldn’t stop the tears that pricked the corners of her eyes. She took in a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself. It only partially worked, but it was enough. She wouldn’t crumple, not here, not now. “I don’t know what the fuck that was. I– I’ve been having these dreams, but I don’t think, I didn’t know the other voice. I’m so sorry, I don’t know what that was.”

“Something White Crest,” Ari finally managed, “It has to be. That’s not normal.”

Ari’s grip remained tight, but Cass made no move to pull away or loosen it. She understood the compulsion to keep a tight hold on, understood why her friend needed something solid to cling to. The experience they’d just gone through had been terrifying. Even now, knowing it was over, Cass felt unsteady on her feet. It was exhausting, in a strange sort of way, like she’d just run a marathon without ever moving at all. And it was strange seeing the world fall back into normalcy as if nothing had happened at all. If not for the fact that she knew Ari had experienced it with her, she might have believed she’d imagined the whole thing.

“No, don’t apologize,” she said quickly, moving her hand to Ari’s back and rubbing small circles between her shoulderblades. It was something one of the kids in a group home she’d stayed at once used to do; according to her, it was a calming motion. Cass had never been sure how well it worked, but it seemed like something to do. “It’s not your fault. It isn’t. The other voice was…” She trailed off, swallowing. “I knew the other voice. That means at least part of it had to have been coming from me.”

Heaving a sigh, she nodded. “Something White Crest,” she agreed. “Probably tied to the three moons in the sky, right?”

Even if Ari knew that whatever White Crest was happening wasn’t her fault, guilt still stirred inside of her. It wasn’t something she could seem to find much reprieve from these days and it was starting to feel much deeper than something coming solely from inside her. She’d ignored it as much as she could, but it was clear now something wasn’t right. Pretending it wasn’t there clearly wasn’t fixing anything. “No, I think it might be. Or at least connected maybe,” she tried starting to explain but her breaths still felt far too hollow and it left her winded.

She finally loosened her grip on Cass’ arm and tried to wrap her mind around everything that had happened. One of the voices there was one Cass knew and she didn’t. Ari knew it had to be something and the dead weren’t rising, as evident by the lack of anyone but them in the yard. It was all too peaceful now for how fast her heart was still racing. “I’ve been having these dreams lately, the whisper started off exactly like them. The voice you knew was different, but maybe it’s.. I don’t know what’s happening.”

Then the question struck Ari and she softly noted, “You said you weren’t human either. That voice, the person it belonged to tried to hurt you.”

It was clear that Ari was hurting. Whatever was happening, whatever had happened, it wasn’t something unfamiliar to her. Maybe the extremeness of it was, maybe the method, but the thing itself? Cass could tell she’d experienced it before. As she spoke, the pieces clicked into place a little more. Dreams. “Is this the first time it’s happened while you were awake?” In White Crest, the idea of dreams leaking over into reality… wasn’t quite as far-fetched as Cass might wish for it to be. But it was still only the voices, wasn’t it? The gunshot hadn’t landed. That was a good thing. That had to be a good thing.

But just because the voices weren’t real didn’t mean that none of it was. Cass had still made a confession in that desperate, terrifying moment. She’d still admitted to something she might not have had she been thinking a little more clearly. She couldn’t exactly take that back, even if she thought she might want to. Shifting a little, she nodded her head. “Yeah,” she replied, “I did say that.” She picked up her drink, tapping her fingers against the can just to give them something to do. “I, uh, I thought I was human. For a really long time. But a few months back… I ran into a couple of hunters. They were after somebody else until they saw me, and then…” She trailed off, gesturing vaguely. “Less human than I thought, I guess.”

The admission hung in the air between them. Ari could barely stomach the idea of Cass being attacked by a hunter. If the words both hunters said were so similar, she hoped they didn’t haunt Cass the way they did her. If Cass didn’t even realize she wasn’t human until then, she couldn’t have possibly done anything to warrant the attack. It left a bitter taste in her mouth. The world hardly cared what people deserved, but damn if it wasn’t fucking infuriating. The Aquillas were right about her, but Cass was different. Cass didn’t lose control to the moon every month. She was better. “I’m sorry they did that to you,” she finally breathed out.

Ari bit back the questions she had. This confession hadn’t been something that necessarily came out willingly. It was a heat of the moment decision and if Cass wanted to tell her more, she could. It wasn’t like she was particularly eager to hash out where she knew two of those voices from. “You don’t have to tell me more. I don’t care what you are,” she spoke a bit more surely this time, “No matter what you are, that voice was wrong about you.”

The topic of the hunters who’d attacked her all those months ago with Marley was a tough one to broach, but it was harder still knowing that Ari had firsthand experience with things like that. Cass wanted good things for her friends, and White Crest was a place that so rarely left her satisfied with that. (And it wasn’t just White Crest. Deep down, Cassidy knew that. It was the world that was cruel. White Crest was just the most convenient target to aim her frustration towards, sometimes.) “It’s okay,” she said quietly, even if it wasn’t. “I’m sorry you know what it feels like, too.”

She looked down at her hands, at the White Claw that was mostly warm now, at the can that was mostly dented. “I’m a siren,” she blurted, almost before Ari was finished speaking at all. It wasn’t something she said aloud very often; it wasn’t something she understood very well. But Ari was her friend, and Cass thought she deserved to know, even if she wouldn’t ask. Maybe especially because she wouldn’t ask. “I’m a siren,” she repeated, a little quieter. “I’m still… I mean, I don’t really know much about it. I haven’t figured most of it out yet. But I think… I don’t know. I really don’t know what I think.” She didn’t think she was a monster, not really. But… she’d spent a lot of time conning people with an ability she hadn’t known she had even when she was using it. And maybe the fact that she’d done that, that she still did that, and didn’t feel any kind of shame towards it… Maybe that said more than anything. “You know they were wrong about you, too, right?”

Two years ago, Ari might have agreed with Cass, that she shouldn’t know what it was like to be hunted. Two years, she was innocent, the only blood on her paws from random forest animals. Not a hunter, not a random hiker and she definitely wasn’t essentially an accomplice in the murder of a leanan-sidhe. She was still good then when she had Celeste guiding her through life and somewhere along the line, she’d lost that part of herself. It wasn’t something she could pinpoint to a specific moment, it just happened over time as more and more of herself was chipped away. “Thanks,” she managed, “No one should know what that feels like.”

Ari hadn’t believed herself, but it was easier than arguing she deserved it. Cass was a good friend, she was kind, she would probably try to reassure Ari in some way that she knew she didn’t deserve. Ari was surprised to find Cass admitting just what she was and read the mixed feelings all over her friend’s face. She placed a hand on the siren’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. It seemed like out of nowhere, Cass had just been thrown into a whirlwind of discovering she wasn’t human. Ari couldn’t even begin to imagine what that felt like. What harm could she have possibly caused that warranted being hunted if she had still thought she was human? It made her angry at everything. The world they lived in, hunters, this fucking town. “A siren,” she repeated, “I don’t know much about them, but that had to be a big thing to just find out and… like that. And it’s okay to not know what you think yet. That’s a huge thing to find out.” She wished she still had the drive to make the world a better place for her friend, but she simply didn’t believe in a better world anymore. That naive belief had been stripped away. All she could do was be there for support. “Yeah,” she agreed, not really believing herself, “You’re right.”

No one should know what that feels like. It was true, almost painfully so. No one should have to be hunted for things they couldn’t control and yet, most of the people Cass knew in White Crest had experienced it in one way or another. Marley had talked about hunters like they were a thing she faced often, Metzli knew more about them than anyone without far too much personal experience would, Ari heard their voices in the wind. It was infuriating, the kind of thing that made Cass want to shout and scream and throw a fit because it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. And it happened anyway, to pretty much everyone she loved.

She offered Ari a small smile as the other girl’s hand found her shoulder, sighing as she glanced up at the three moons in the sky. “I guess part of me had suspected it for a while,” she admitted. “There were… hints, you know? Even before I knew what they meant. Like, I don’t have a belly button?” It sounded so obvious when it was all put together, but for a kid who’d only ever wanted to fit in? Those pieces had been easy things to ignore or explain away. And, until she met Metzli, Cass hadn’t even known about the supernatural world. It wasn’t like any logical person would jump to ‘siren’ without knowing they even existed. But, even so, she knew denial had played a big part in it. And she was still trying to shrug the remnants of it now. If she weren’t, she would have told Ari all of this sooner — and without the push of ghostly whispers forcing it from her throat. She turned back to Ari, taking another swig of her drink. “Let’s just… Eat our chowder. No more creepy hunters, no more ghosts. Just chowder and Claws. And three moons!” Denial was all Cass knew how to offer, sometimes.

“No belly button to siren is a pretty big jump if you don’t know what sirens are,” Ari reassured. Not that she knew all that much about sirens or anything at all outside of now she knew they existed and apparently didn’t have belly buttons. There was a wave of relief that rushed through Ari as Cass suggested they go back to their somehow still warm dinner. Far too much about both of them had been revealed and she was eager to tuck that nightmare safely away back where it belonged. “Yeah, let’s do that,” she said with a quick nod before returning to the table. While the three moons remained a nice source of ambient light, she couldn’t help but feel like there was still more horrors to come.

#wickedswriting #cass #sibling death tw

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theonetheycallhannah · 4 years ago

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The Treatment of Captain Syverson-Chapter 10: Myofascial Release

Characters: Captain Syverson x OFC (Shane Benton)

Summary: Shane and Sy decompress after an emotional evening, Shane finds it difficult to get out of her own head and live in the moment, but Sy knows exactly how to help her, and not to be a complete hoe and spoil things, but…things get steamier than ever between our favorite therapist and patient duo.

Oh snap! You’re behind! Get on track here!

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: Language, mature themes, alcohol consumption, the smut you’ve all been waiting for so patiently! (I hope it lives up to your undoubtedly high expectations!)

Author’s Note: Oh gosh, y’all, I am so nervous to post this. Somehow it doesn’t feel like my smuttiest smut. And like, all previous chapters have been kind of leading up to this moment. The good news is, I’ve decided to continue writing this story after the sex. I’ve got some ideas about where to go from here, and I want to keep it going. Plus, it feels wrong to write all of this and then just drop them without a big picture resolution. They’re gonna go through some shit, though. You have been warned.

Disclaimer: Unfortunately for me, Henry is not mine, le sigh, and all mention of him, his characters, any characters from his films, or his precious doggy, Kal, are strictly for transformative and recreational use. I neither ask for, nor accept payment for the work I post on Tumblr or AO3. Unbeta’d because this is for fun and escapism.

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Hope I’m not forgetting anyone! If you want to be notified when I post a new chapter or work, I’ll be happy to add you to my tag list! Stricken blogs are getting personal messages from me when a new chapter is uploaded because Tumblr’s faulty tagging system will not stand in the way of me delivering what the people want!(?) lol! (Although…their lackadaisical notification system might…sorry for that. I have no control. lol!)

X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@

Her living room was cast in the low light of the floor lamp she had left on. Intending to come home after dark. Alone. She hated walking into a dark house by herself.

Well, tonight, she wasn’t alone. And although Sy had been to her house before, this was different. They were officially a couple, and they were no longer waiting to express, to the fullest extent, their true affection for one another.

Ever the hostess, despite her nervous tension, Shane asked Sy if he wanted anything to drink, rambling off several options somewhat awkwardly.

“I’m fine, darlin.’” He assured her, stopping her at some point in the rant, before she was completely done. “Do you need something?”

“Umm, I think I should have a glass of wine.” Her eyes darted to the kitchen across her serve-through counter space and landed on her fridge. “I’m…I’m really nervous.”

"Why don't we watch a little TV for a while? You get you some wine, and I'll put somethin' on. What are we watchin', sunshine?"

"Ummmm, something light? Funny? Something I've seen." She wouldn't be able to process anything new or heavy right now.

"I'm on it." he kissed the top of her head and left her side for the sofa, where he plopped himself down like a comfy hound dog, and picked up the remote to her Smart TV.

She smiled as she busied herself in the kitchen. She decided she wanted a snack with her wine. She got a plate of cheese and crackers together first. Then she remembered she had some venison sausage one of her coworkers had brought in, and put that on the plate, too. She got out a chilled bottle of her favorite, cheap moscato and a stemless glass. She couldn't go in there without something for Sy, so she also got a glass of ice water ready for him. She put the whole spread on her big serving tray and took it to the living room.

Sy was already halfway through the first episode of Parks and Recreation.

"I saw this in your 'Watch it again' group, and thought maybe you'd like to re-watch it. I've heard you talk about it a lot, and I've never seen it." He didn't complain at her for taking forever. He just lit up when he saw her. Like it was the first time. And not the hundredth.

"That's perfect, babe. I brought some snacks out, too. Some cheese and crackers, and this really good sausage one of my coworkers brought me. You like deer?" she asked.

"One of my favorite pet names." he teased. "I do, though, yes."

They ate, and laughed, and watched about four or five episodes, it was hard to keep track. But after approximately half the bottle, Shane had summoned some courage. She started playing at the texture of Sy's jeans, running a fingernail across the coarse fabric.

"Hang on, love bug. I want to know somethin.'" she looked up at him, mildly confused. "I'm trying to think of a reason you need to get tipsy to sleep with me that I shouldn't take personally." he rubbed her upper arm, comforting her as no one had done since she was a small child. At least not that she could remember.

"No, Sy. It's not like that. You aren't the problem at all!" she paused. He let her gather her thoughts. She appreciated that he knew she intended to continue and that he didn't rush her to do it. He was patient. And kind. And all of that should have made this whole night easier. But somehow it didn’t.

“I’m the problem." She confessed after a long pause and a deep sigh. "I mean, I’m in my head about it all, I know. But it’s been…almost six years since I’ve slept with anyone, five and a half, at least, and I can’t seem to wrap my head around it now that I know it’s going to happen again.”

He pulled her body into his, squeezing her tightly for one of his soul cleansing hugs.

“Sunshine. Everything will come back to ya. We’ll just go as slow as ya want. I got all night.”

“Okay. Well, I guess, since I’m a bit sleepy from the wine, we should head to bed.”

Sy affirmed the idea, and made to help her put their snacks away in the kitchen.

She got out containers for their leftover food while Sy stoppered the wine, put it in the fridge, and washed their glasses.

She felt his warmth before she felt his touch. He stood behind her, radiating his particular brand of heat for a moment, and taking in the scent of her hair near her right ear. She heard a low rumble from someplace deep in him which slowed her efforts at the counter. His hands were light but very much present on her hips. A whisper against the fabric of the casual but feminine floral dress she’d chosen for the night. But she felt it like the weight of her favorite old blanket, heavy with years and warm comfort.

He kissed her temple, chaste and unassuming. But still full of desperation. She could tell that he was ready. Even without the alignment of their bodies completely giving him away.

“Don’tcha think this stuff can wait a couple hours, darlin'?"

His baritone, breathless in her ear, was soothing her back into the mindset of being with him. His feather touch still lingering at her hips and waist. She thought back to those seminars she'd gone to on manual therapy where the speaker talked in depth about the fascial tissues running all across the various muscles in the human body and how trauma to one part could cause tension in another like a snag in a sweater and how he taught the participants techniques to undo that trauma through myofascial release. Sy was slowly managing to unwind and unbind the taut fibers of her heart and relieve that pain that Elliott, in particular had set into place so firmly when he'd hurt her. Lied to her. Cheated on her. Gaslit her. Made her feel like she'd never be loved if she left him. Made her question the very idea of what love meant. Because if what they'd had was truly love, she didn't want it. Wanted no part of the games or the abuse or the manipulation.

Without fully realizing it, during this time of reflection and healing, Shane had given up the task at her hands and turned to Sy, open to his treatment, as he'd always been so open to hers…or mostly. And she let him kiss her, reciprocating. And hold her, returning his enveloping embrace. She even let him pick her up, wrapping her legs around his waist, resting them on his…all too well-defined bilateral gluteus maximus that she'd had to pretend to ignore for weeks. In the therapist side of her brain, alarm bells were going off. "His knee isn't fully healed! You're gonna undo all of the work you've both done so far! He's gonna hurt himself carrying you around!" but she ignored them and trusted him as he walked to her room.

Shane wanted to say that her bedroom was one of splendor. Immaculately made bed, and overall, the picture of tidiness. The reality was much, MUCH different. Glasses half full of water were everywhere (she may be forgetful, but at least she was optimistic), at least one coffee mug sat on the nightstand from the previous weekend when she took a morning cup of tea in bed with her George Harrison biography. Laundry overflowed from a sorting hamper in the corner, and her bed sat, unmade, littered with crumpled pillows, sheets, blankets, and the pajamas she'd slept in last night. She wasn't the kind of person to make her bed for reasons other than having company over, like the fancy company you had to give a tour of your whole house. She'd tried to be that person numerous times, but it never seemed to stick.

Tonight, though, the guilt that came with sub-par housekeeping skills wasn't plaguing her. Right now, all she felt was the weightlessness of being with Sy, wrapped in him, kissing him, and fully ready for what was about to happen between them, as he fell with her onto her bed. Their heads clunked together awkwardly, invoking a mutual wince, followed by bouts of laughter and playful kisses.

He hovered over her a moment, just taking her in. His fingers ghosting her forehead and cheeks to clear it of the whisps of hair obscuring her face. He seemed to examine her in methodical quadrants. Learning the curves and colors and every wrinkle, freckle, and pore. She was still fully clothed, but she'd never felt so bare and vulnerable.

He left her eyes for last. His gaze drowning her delightfully. Random song lyrics came to mind, "the serenity of a clear blue mountain lake" and she thought yes. That is the precise aesthetic of this man's stare. His expression was inscrutable. She wanted to say he looked happy and content, but she didn't want to presume.

He began tracing the floral pattern on her dress with his fingers, and said, "I really like this dress on you."

She laughed, "Oh, that's the beginning of the oldest line in the book. You know you've already got me in bed, right?"

"No, I…" he chuckled, embarrased. "I mean it sincerely. Seeing you in flowers like this…makes me think they bloom right from ya."

She propped herself up on her elbows, dumbstruck by this uncharacteristically poetic side of him she'd just been shown. She stroked the side of his face.

"The man who came up with the original pickup line is rolling over in his grave attempting to kick himself for not thinking of something so beautiful."

"Yeah?"

"HELL yeah. He would have gotten WAY more lucky with a statement like that."

"You're probably right." he said, pulling her up to hold her in his arms.

"If for no other reason that it would have landed him a higher caliber woman than the floozies that he probably got."

He moaned his ascent against her neck, and continued, "Which would have meant a lot more getting lucky down the road, right?"

"Traditionally speaking, I'd say yes." she laughed, her fingers in his hair, which was barely long enough for the action.

"Okay, I know I said I liked the dress, but…" he tugged at the hemline tucked just under her hips and pulled it off her willing body.

"About time, cowboy!" she smiled, breathless.

He continued kissing her as he unhooked her strapless bra and tossed it aside, into the abyss, where the dress had gone. She was so dizzy from him that she barely noticed he was laying her down until her warm back hit cool sheets. She could feel his touch everywhere at once, despite the fact that he was really only making two or three points of contact.

Shane trembled as Sy peppered her soft body with kisses. She couldn't recall shivering like this before, especially when there was nothing but warmth, even heat, around her. His beard grazing her hips and thighs was sending tremors through her unlike anything she'd ever felt. She was a goner, and he hadn't even truly begun.

His breath against her skin was like lightning in the clouds. A storm began forming within, and all around them from his work on her…and eventually in her. He took the time to remove both of the shirts he was wearing--plaid cotton blend and thick white jersey. She reached out to run her fingertips over his chest, covered in a manly stand of thick, dark hair. It ran over his pecs and down his abdomen…farther, she knew, than was exposed right now.

She wanted to touch him. To return the favor. To stir in him the same tempest he'd stirred in her. She unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans. She was a little surprised he wasn't resisting her, but pleased, all the same. She took the heavy weight of him out in some shock…she'd caught outlines and silhouettes often since they'd been together, but he hadn't let her go this far yet. It had made her feel a little slutty at the time, but now, she understood. He was…protecting her, in a way. She handled him curiously, gently, as he'd been with her. Her apprehension, however, grew with him.

"Sy, you're…I…" she wasn't sure what to say. But she had concerns about being rent in two by him.

"I think I remember tellin' ya you wouldn't be laughin,' sunshine." he grinned at her, breathless as she stroked him.

"You were right. But don't get too used to me saying so." she smirked back at him.

He pulled away from her, reluctantly, but eager to get back to tasting her.

She couldn't comprehend what he was doing. But it felt incredible. No one she'd ever been with had made her feel like this. Like her blood was effervescent and her body was aglow like embers. His reaction to her was as much a part of the pleasure as his ministrations themselves. She could tell he was enjoying himself which fed her desire.

She felt a tension coiling inside her, something similar to climaxes past but she could tell, much more intense. What was different? Other than Sy, she didn't know. But it was working. She moaned and writhed into him.

"Yeah, sugar. Let that out. I wanna hear it." he quickened, driving her mad and sending her spinning into her bliss, incomprehensible words and sounds escaping her, growls of satisfaction escaping him, but he didn't stop.

She felt his fingers working inside her to pull another climax from deep within her. This was new for her, as well. Not only was he putting her first, but he was making her a priority in double measure before taking anything for himself. As that pressure built in her again, she felt his gaze on her, hungry and adoring, and she heard his grunts of exertion and she thought, lust. She wasn't sure how many of his digits he'd managed to slide into her, but it felt splendid, and she wanted more. She gripped his arms to convey this desire, words caught in her throat. He dove headlong back down to her, adding his mouth to the onslaught of his hand, and before she could get out more than a "Fuuuu" she was falling apart again, her body spasming and writhing beneath his utter oral perfection. Eventually, she finished the word when she ran out of air and had to take in a large gasp on the "uck."

She watched him kiss around her thighs and hips, in awe of him in his entirety.

Breathless, she asked, "Why are you so good to me, Sy?"

"Well, a wise woman once told me, 'good go to heaven.'" he looked coyly up at her. "I think I'm there, sunshine."

"Ya know, you're the best patient I've ever had." she smiled.

"Well, I should hope so." he boasted as he kissed at her breasts, nipping at the taut, dark bud in the center. She gasped. He let go and continued his ascent.

He had a point. Who could have qualified as a "better" patient than him when he'd given her so much? Even more than what they were doing tonight. His kindness. The love he had always shown her, even when she wasn't ready to see it. His strength, but also his vulnerability that she seemed to be the only one ever to see. Combine that with the fact that his mind was basically a steel trap for her every word and it would have made him more than perfect enough for her.

But as he broke away from her kiss to take off his jeans, she marveled at the shape and size of his whole body. Those thick, strong arms, the broad, defined torso, the massive, powerful legs of an avid runner, and a face that God Himself would probably be jealous of, if He was capable of the feeling. This gorgeous exterior that Michelangelo would have killed to sculpt, combined with all of his other amazing qualities, and he was almost too perfect.

He cuddled up next to her, reached up, and caressed her face, still flush with pleasure.

"I could look at this face, and nothin' else for…damn… hours. Maybe days."

She blushed and cast her eyes down, and half whispered, "The feeling is mutual."

"Then why're you lookin' away, darlin'?" he tilted her chin up. "That shy business is cute and all, but you don't have to hide from me, sweetheart."

"Again, it's not you, it's me." she chuckled, nervously.

"You wanna call it a night, for now?" he asked without a hint of disappointment in his voice.

"You're kidding, right?" she raised her eyebrows. "You did all that work getting me ready for you, and I won't let that be a wasted effort." she pulled him to her and into a deep kiss, rolling onto her back and bringing him with her.

"Oh, sugar, that wasn't no wasted effort. That was time well spent. No matter what." he said in short bursts when he could pull away from her lips.

He lifted himself up and over her, kneeling between her legs, already open for him. She thought he should know how ready she was. Thought it should be painfully obvious. But he asked anyway.

"You ready, sunshine?" he asked, as he opened the condom and rolled it on…damn he was slick! She hadn't even noticed him get it from wherever he'd had it. She presumed his jeans pocket, which would explain much. She had been very distracted by his naked perfection.

"Yes. Please." she had been struck with an urgency as they stood here on the verge of everything.

He sunk slowly into her, the contentment of coming home spread over his face, the bliss of being whole spreading over hers. No, she thought. She was more than whole. She'd always felt mostly whole during sex. Sy made her feel as though she was overflowing with herself. And not just because she was overflowing with him. The way he moved in her, over her, with her, it was like he was afraid she'd turn to vapor around him before he could finish. Like she was nothing more substantial than a bubble full of smoke, and he thought she may burst and disappear. Although, you couldn't tell from the tight grip he kept on her. A bruising grip that she thought might have had a chance of popping a football. She didn't care. She wanted him to touch and hold her like this until they had no more to give each other.

As they built toward their mutual undoing, the world and everything in it faded away. There was no personal drama or injury. Nothing but the euphoria of this newfound oneness. The caresses and thrusts and groans of pleasure were the only things that mattered. Each other, and what they found therein.

“Shane.” He whispered to her, his pinnacle nigh.

“Sy!” She whimpered, that familiar tension approaching its apex.

He kissed her, as if he meant to permanently emboss her onto the bedding and onto his lips. She reeled as she came undone, little sparks of light obscuring her vision for a fraction of a second. He followed her closely, breathless and spent.

He laid down beside her, as close to her as possible, and began drawing mindless circular patterns on her stomach and around her breasts.

“Wow.” She said, almost under her breath.

“How ya feelin,’ sunshine?”

“Mmm, boneless. Dazed. Half wishing we’d done that weeks ago. I didn’t have a clue what I was missing.”

“Oh, I think you had an idea.” He said as he neatly doffed and disposed of the prophylactic in the waste can by her bed.

“Okay, a bit.” She chuckled. “It’s not like you can hide that…thing.”

“And I don’t try to, darlin’!” He kissed her forehead “Well, I don’t hide it just anywhere, put it that way.” He smirked at his dirty joke and she swatted him for it.

“You’re bad!”

“And you love it.”

She couldn’t argue. She loved his badness and his goodness and everything in between.

Up Next: Chapter Eleven- Discharge Plan

#netflix #netflix sand castle #sand castle #henry cavill #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill smut #henry cavill x ofc #captain syverson #captain syverson fanfic #captain syverson x ofc #sigh for sy #syverson smut #Smut

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leafs-lover · 4 years ago

Text

Because Two People Got Drunk: 26

Series Masterlist

Chapter 26

A/N: Italics indicate flashbacks

Summary: You and Fred have the first ultrasound and hear the heartbeat. You start to prepare for the move as the date is approaching. Warnings: Smut, edging, oral sex (male and female), swearing

Word Count: 6700

The past couple weeks have been hard on you and your body. You have had morning sickness most days, and whoever named it morning sickness is an absolute liar, you’ve been having it at all times of the day. You have been exhausted most days, and chasing an energetic two year old has made it even harder. Fred had scheduled Christie to come over while he was out on the road to try and relieve some stress from you and allow you to nap, and also get things ready for the move.

You are kneeling on the cool tile of the bathroom the sun just barely peeking through the blinds on the window. You woke up feeling extremely nauseous, barely making it to the bathroom before morning sickness took over you.

“Ugh” you groan flushing the toilet. Instead of standing up you lean back expecting to hit the bathtub but instead crash into Fred’s large legs; he must have followed you without you noticing.

He strokes your head as you sit in silence for a couple minutes. Your body is clammy; your face is hot, which is making you feel like you might be sick again. Fred grabs a facecloth and runs it briefly under the bathtub faucet before placing it on your forehead.

“I’m sorry babe” he says soothingly.

“It’s not your fault” you mumble. “I mean it kind of is, but I don’t blame you” you say as you tilt your head to look up at him.

“Well thanks smuk” he laughs lightly.

You sit on the floor for a couple minutes, with your eyes closed. After a few deep breathes you push up off the floor to stand up, Fred puts an arm under yours, helping to pull you to your feet. He wraps his arms around you, holding you against his chest, fingers tangled in your hair while you face is pressed into his chest.

“Was it like this last time, with Ollie?”

Your fingers lightly play with the back of his shirt, you look up at. You hear the gentle beating of his chest, your head rising and falling with his breaths.

“I wasn’t around as much during the beginning of that one, I missed some of this stuff” he says softly. Fred has never told you but you know he has some regrets for how things played out last time, not that you don’t.

“Babe once you found out you were there. I mean you didn’t know until I was almost 8 or 9 weeks pregnant. But once you found out you were amazing and did so much” Fred gently rubs circles on your back holding you against him. “You made me dinner, came to the appointments, made sure I never ran out of mushrooms” Fred chuckles slightly at that, a small smile appears on his face.

“You were there for me babe” you reassure him. He grips your collarbone; fingers tangled in your hair and he places a soft kiss to your forehead. You grip his t-shirt and take a deep breath before continuing “but yeah I had some morning sickness with him I wasn’t as tired though, but it was over by the end of the first trimester. So guess I still have a few more weeks of this”

“Sorry skat” he says resting his head on yours. You stand there for a little while later before you finally let go of Fred and walk over to the sink grabbing your toothbrush.

You begin brushing your teeth, while Fred leans against the doorframe waiting for you to finish. You spit out the toothpaste begin to rinse your mouth when you hear Fred over the running water ask “how far do you think you are?”

You turn around leaning against the vanity counter “Uh I had a period around Ollie’s birthday, so my G.P thinks this little one was likely conceived a couple weeks later, around my birthday.”

“So your 6 or 7 weeks then” he says and you nod into his chest.

“Yeah, so 6 or 7 more weeks of this” you groan. Fred walks over to you and scoops you up, carrying you to bed “I’m here for you babe” he whispers lying beside you; gently rubbing your back until you doze off again.

You wake up closer to 9am when you hear the bedroom door gently open; Fred brings you breakfast and tea in bed. “Hey babe” you mumble trying to open your eyes.

The bed dips while Fred leans up against the headboard sitting beside you “how you doing princesse?”

“Better than a couple hours ago” you say curling up beside him, your head leaning against his side.

“Christie will be here at 10:30 so we can leave any time after that.” Fred grabs the fork and scoops some eggs, bringing it to your mouth. You wrinkle your nose in disgust and shake your head, scrambled eggs was a great breakfast yesterday but not today.

His hand has begun rubbing soft soothing circles on your back, as he puts the fork back on the plate. “Bacon?” he asks, he doesn’t even wait for you to respond the look on your face giving away your answer.

“Toast?” he asks and you nod your head as he hands you the toast and sets the plate in front of you, trying to stop the crumbs from getting in the duvet.

You take two bites, before you get a whiff of the bacon causing you to gag. You quickly set the toast down and jump out of bed, taking some deep breaths trying not to vomit. Fred looks at you before you finally say “the bacon, it needs to go.”

“On it” he laughs shoving the bacon in his mouth. He quickly chews the two pieces of bacon, and you laugh watching him. When he finally swallows the last piece you crawl back into the bed beside him, head resting on his shoulder.

“Thanks babe” you say reaching over him for your tea.

“No problem I will eat your bacon any day” he says laughing. “You should eat some more food though” he suggests but you just shake your head and put the plate on the side table.

“I can’t eat now” you mumble feeling your stomach churn thinking of food. You bring the mug to your mouth; you smell the aroma of honey and lemon and feel the steam on your lips. The tea helps to settle your stomach slightly as you sit in silence with Fred for a couple minutes before you hear the loud banging of toys from the living room which draws Fred out to check on Oliver.

After getting ready you and Fred head out to look at some furniture and meet with the designer for the new house. You are bringing all your furniture from your current house, but given that the new house is substantially bigger you need to buy a lot more. You spend two hours looking at wallpaper patterns, furniture sets, throw pillows and various pieces of art.

You can tell Fred would have preferred you do this without him. You keep saying you want his opinion and input but he responds that as long as you and Ollie are there and he has a bed he doesn’t care about much more on the inside.

“So you want to design Oliver’s room the same as his current room?” Sarah asks.

“Yeah but with a toddler bed” you respond. “We thought the move would be easier on him if he had some similarities to the old place.”

“I have the paint we used, I will send it over to you” Fred adds.

“Okay well I think that’s good for today. Most of the big decisions are done and I will be in contact for everything else” Sarah says smiling while you both rise to your feet.

You walk out of the building; the cool Pittsburgh air hits your face. Your face burns from the temperature, while you pull your hood over your toque and zip your zipper up to your chin. Fred laughs watching you do this “thought you were Canadian” he teases.

“What a stupid stereotype. Toronto doesn’t even get that cold” you mumble knowing he is completely joking you just hate the assumptions people always make when they hear you’re Canadian. Fred leads you to the car, opening your door for you before heading to a nearby café to get some lunch before your doctor’s appointment.

“I’m so sleepy” you yawn resting your head on his shoulder in the waiting room. Another doctor was called away for a delivery, causing the others to try and squeeze his appointments in, creating a delay. Fred has an arm wrapped around you, you head resting on him while you close your eyes.

You feel your stomach grumble and sigh, Fred tried to get you to eat more but your stomach was still doing backflips at lunch. You managed to eat most of your soup, but couldn’t even consider ordering a sandwich. That was almost two hours ago and now you wish you brought a small one with you.

You feel Fred shift slightly beside you, but you keep your eyes closed “here” he says and you open your eyes. You see your purse on his lap, and he has 2 different types of granola bars, a container filled with crackers and your Contigo bottle in his hands. You sit up and stare at Fred who just shrugs at you “When you didn’t eat breakfast I thought you might get snacky. And a snacky (Y/N) leads to a hangry (Y/N). I didn’t like dealing with a hangry (Y/N) before you got pregnant, so I put these in here while you were showering.”

“Thanks” you laugh its crazy how well this man knows everything about you; knows what you’ll ask for before you even have the chance. You place a soft kiss on his cheek and grab one of the granola bars; Fred opens the other one and eats it as you return your head to his shoulder. About 20 minutes later you finally are called to the exam room.

“Hi I’m Dr. Morris sorry for the wait. Nice to meet you” she says walking in. “How are you feeling? Any nausea?”

Fred laughs lightly causing the doctor to shoot him a glace. “Yeah I’ve had some; it’s been kind of rough. It wasn’t this bad in my first pregnancy. I’ve also been really tired.”

“You’re general practitioner thinks your around 6-7 weeks?” she asks and you both nod. “That all can be normal in the first trimester. It typically subsides during the second trimester but I can write you a prescription for the nausea, you take it as needed at night. Let’s start with the ultrasound” she says handing you a prescription.

She moves to start the ultrasound, placing some cold jelly on your stomach, you jump slightly at the feeling. You forgot just how cool the jelly was. Fred laughs under his breath, sitting beside you grabbing your hand. She takes a second moving the wand around “so everything looks great.” She starts as she turns the screen to you “and here is your baby” pointing on the screen. “We might be able to hear the heartbeat right now.”

A few seconds later you hear the heartbeat fill the room. Fred’s grip tightens on your hands and he shifts closer to you “that’s amazing” you hear him whisper, eyes locked on the screen. She continues taking some pictures, moving the wand around on your stomach.

“Are you sure you are 7 weeks?” she asks.

“I saw my doctor last week for the referral and she dated me at around 6 weeks based off my last period” you explain. “She didn’t do an ultrasound though.”

“Well periods aren’t always accurate some women get their period for their entire pregnancy. Based off the sizing, I would put you closer to 12, maybe 13 weeks.”

“Well my last period was very light, more spotting than anything” you explain.

“That could have been implantation bleeding, very easy to mix up if it was light spotting. We’ll keep monitoring it and confirm it later, but I think you are closer to 12 weeks” she says smiling. You continue with your appointment and she provides you with some vitamins and other nutrients to add to your diet

“12 weeks eh?” Fred says sliding into the passenger seat with a grin on his face. “I thought this baby was conceived on your birthday, but that lines up more with my birthday.”

You smile and begin to remember that night:

You sit on the couch waiting for Fred to return. He went to tuck Oliver in 30 minutes ago and hasn’t returned. After training camp they started the season with a couple road games in Philly and Boston, so he was actually away for his birthday. It’s now October 8, and it’s his first night at home without a game since the season started.

The episode of the office you were watching ended and before the next one begins you pause it and get up walking down the hall to Oliver’s room, a large smile spreads across your face at the sight before you. You see Fred sitting in the chair in Oliver’s room legs resting on the built in foot rest, the chair reclined slightly. Oliver is snuggled into his arm a fleece blanket resting across both of them, he’s sleeping but Fred continues to reads him his story. Fred smiles when he sees you in the doorway “he wanted another story, how could I say no?” he asks.

You walk over and kiss Oliver’s forehead “you don’t” you say smiling. You place a hand on Fred’s chest and lean down placing a soft kiss on his lips.

“You gonna sleep in here?” you ask him softly pulling his ball cap off his head revealing his slightly messy red hair.

“Maybe, this chair is really comfortable” Fred says closing the book and handing it to you. You put it back on the shelf before heading to the door. “It’s a shame, I have one more present for you” you say suggestively.

“(Y/N) what present?” he asks, interest peaked. You turn your head and just wink at him and grin before walking away. You head to the bedroom and strip out of your clothes throwing them in your hamper leaving you in a bright red, deep plunge teddy. The neckline drops to one inch above your belly button, and the thin straps cross in the back. There is a floral lace pattern sewn onto the minimal fabric, minimal because the bottoms are crotchless and assless.

There are some thin straps that outline the shape of underwear, with a few criss-cross patterns, but otherwise you are completely exposed below the hips.

“Fucking hell” you hear as he gently closes the door. “This mine?” he asks his finger sliding down your spine and onto your ass.

“Mhm” you hum in response. “You can do whatever you want with it, keep it on, take it off” you trail off as you feel his hands cup your ass he sucks on your neck. “Whatever you want baby, today is your day” you finally finish.

“Whatever I want?” he hums sucking on your earlobe, he steps up to you his erection pressed into your back one hand massaging your breast the other playing with the straps on your pelvis.

He bites your collarbone causing you to gasp and tilt your neck “whatever you want babe” you moan out.

He pushes you a few steps forward, and you brace yourself on the dresser. His hand connects to your ass and you yelp slightly. Fred chuckles reaching around you to open a drawer and pulls out some lube, he uses his hands to separate your cheeks and squeezes some onto your ass.

You groan thinking of him taking your ass; you haven’t done it in a while. Fred senses your eagerness as you stick your ass out for him, he chuckles, spreading some of the lube around before sliding two fingers inside you.

“We can’t do that babe, can’t put a baby in you that way” he says thrusting his fingers in and out of you.

“Freddie” you whine back at him, you didn’t realize how bad you wanted it until he put his fingers in your ass.

“You said I could do whatever I wanted, well I want to put a baby in you. On your birthday we can do whatever you want” he says slowly pumping his fingers in and out. His other hand comes around to your breast and begins to massage it.

“Fuck” you cry out, pressing your hips back. You bring a hand down to your sensitive bud; you’re practically dripping from anticipation. You start pressing hard circles into it as Fred pinches your nipple. You slowly slide two fingers inside your folds, moaning at the feeling.

“You like that babygirl?” he growls, still unaware of what your hand is doing.

“Fuck babe” you moan as your match Fred’s pace with your own hands. “Oh my god” you say loudly as your head falls back onto his chest. Fred removes his hand from your breast and slides it down your body. He approaches your core and stops when he feels your arm. “Babe, are you” he starts to ask but before he can finish he slides his hand down and feels your wrist confirming his suspicions.

He pulls his hands from your ass and quickly turns you around. Your fingers slide out of your folds as you grip the dresser. You stare into his eyes when he finally growls “bed now.”

You walk over and lie down; Fred sits on the bed beside you staring into your eyes. You roll on your side, sliding a hand to his thigh inching towards his bulge that is straining his pants when you feel a firm grip on your wrist.

“No, keep your hands to yourself” he whispers kissing your forehead. He gently pushes you onto your back and puts a pillow under your head; he grabs your dominant hand and slides it down to your folds coating it in your juices. His pupils dilate dark with hunger. He takes your hand and brings two fingers to your entrance and pushes them in your folds. He uses his hand to help set a pace before pulling his hand away.

“Just like that babe” he encourages, eyes locked on you as he quickly pulls his clothes off. You watch his hard cock slap against his stomach, precum dripping from it. You keep thrusting your fingers in and out of yourself; your eyes locked on his hard member wanting to put it in your mouth and taste him for the first time in 2 months.

He sits beside you again; his hard cock a few inches from your face, his tip is red and throbbing. Your mouth fills with saliva, you swallow remembering how he feels in your mouth. You want to wrap your lips around him when you hear Fred’s voice bringing you back to reality.

“That feel good?” he asks you his eyes staring at you while his hands lightly trace circles on your stomach.

“Not as good as you” you reply, still pumping your fingers in and out.

“Slide in another” he says. You nod and slip it in, moaning at the feeling. Fred brings a hand to your breast pulling the fabric to side, massaging it gently.

“I need you” you moan. “Need you to make me cum. Your fingers are magic, mine don’t work anymore” you groan picking up your pace. Fred chuckles and pinches your nipple; he stands up and walks to your bedside table pulling out your favourite toy.

He walks back over to you and grips your wrist, pulling your fingers out. He hands you the toy and sits back down waiting for you. You rub it along your drenched slit a few times; you turn it on and press it to your clit eliciting a loud moan. You set it to your normal setting and you slide it inside your walls, causing both of you to moan.

“I’m gonna fuck you later babygirl. But right now I want to watch your pretty face as you make yourself cum.”

You moan loudly as you feel your high approaching. Fred watches you slide the vibrator in and out, you can see his erection is now painfully hard from watching you. He brings a hand back up to your breast, massaging it; you can feel his erection pressed into your thigh as he shifts to be closer to watch.

“Yeah this is what I want,” he says peppering kisses on your inner thigh.

You are unable to respond as your first orgasm rips through you. Your other hand clamps down on Fred’s wrist for stability as you hold the vibrator deep inside you. Fred brings his hand from your breast down to grip the vibrator, taking over control from you.

“I definitely want to watch you have more of those” he says increasing the speed and changing the pattern.

“Fuck” you groan gripping the bed sheet tightly your back arching off the mattress “Freddie” you moan as your eyes shut not having any time to recover.

“Open your pretty eyes” he hums sucking on your neck. You reluctantly open your eyes, and see Fred’s brown ones staring back at you.

“Much better” he says bringing his lips to your chest placing soft kisses, the vibration increases its speed again and you feel your toys curl, your legs squirm as you feel your second orgasm approaching. Fred’s hand starts pressing circles into your clit and you squirm underneath him.

“Babe” you moan. “Babe I’m gonna” you try to say between pants eyes shutting again.

“I know skat, that’s the whole point” he jokes sucking beside your belly button. “I need you to open your eyes for me (Y/N).”

You feel his breathe close to your core, as you are a writhing mess under him.

“(Y/N)” he says nipping your thigh “eyes”. You hear him but you can’t open your eyes, your orgasm is right at the edge, the know so close to becoming undone. But before you can tumble over everything stops.

Your head snaps up and you open your eyes staring at Fred. He smiles at you standing up; he walks over to your shared closet. Your eyes are glued to his ass until he disappears in the closet. He comes back into view and your eyes fixate on his hard member and Fred just chuckles watching you.

Your eyes are locked on his hard dick, you lick your lips. You bring one hand forward gripping his hard member; you stroke it a few times feeling the precum leak onto your hand. You bring your hand up to your mouth, sucking it clean moaning at the taste of him.

“Fuck” Fred mumbles.

“I just wanted a little taste” you say as Fred brings your favourite blue silk tie into your eyesight. He runs the smooth fabric over your chin and wraps I around your eyes “since you want to keep your eyes closed” he hums tying it tightly around your face.

You feel Fred straddle you, resting on his knees. He tilts your chin and you open your mouth for him, unsure if he will actually let you taste him.

“Just a little taste” he replies putting his dick in your mouth. You practically choke on him, caught off guard since Fred hasn’t let you give him a blow job since you started trying to get pregnant. You taste his salty precum swirling your tongue around him causing both of you to moan. Fred pulls on your hair, tilting your head back more and he begins to rock his hips. You hollow your mouth allowing him more space as his pace picks up. You feel him hitting the back of your throat, spit dribbling down your chin while your hands reach around and grab his ass.

“Fuck I missed watching you take me in your mouth” he moans snapping his hips.

You give his ass a light squeeze and Fred responds by increasing his pace making you gag slightly. He keeps up his pace for a few more minutes, and you bring a hand up to massage his balls. You know that he doesn’t want to finish in your mouth but you have missed this feeling and are hungry for more. Your other hand caresses his ass giving him a tight squeeze, trying to hold him to you enjoying the feeling of him hitting your tonsils with each thrust.

Finally Fred pulls out completely; you feel his chapped lips come crashing into yours. “I said just a taste” he growls turning your vibrator back on “I’m still trying to put a baby in you.”

A loud groan leaves your lips while you rock your hips trying to bring your orgasm back. Fred turns up the setting, finding the pace from earlier but he doesn’t stop there. He turns it to the highest setting, curse words leave your lips as the tingling in your core begins again.

You feel Fred’s lips placing soft kisses on your pubic bone, your hands finding his hair. You run your hands through his hair while your hips rise. Your breaths become short and sporadic, loud moans leave your lips. Just before your second orgasm approaches again everything stops and Fred pulls the toy from you, you hear it hit the floor.

Before you can react, you feel Fred’s beard rub against your thigh while he throws your legs over his shoulders. You feel his warm breath blow onto your pussy; it feels like he stares at you for hours slowly exhaling on you. Finally you feel his tongue stroke the bottom of your clit, placing a soft kiss before pulling away; again you feel the soft gentle touch for a brief second which is replaced by his warm breath. Finally he flattens his tongue licking a stripe up your folds, sending a shiver down your spine. You grip his hair and his tongue slips inside your walls.

“Freddie” you groan legs squirming. Fred throws his arm over your hips pinning you to the bed while his tongue continues to slide in and out of you, his thumb comes to press circles into your sensitive bud. “Babe” you groan encouraging Fred while he continues to fuck you with his tongue.

Your whole body feels like it is on fire, your legs tighten around his head and just before you can tumble over the edge he slows his tongue pulling his thumb away. He places soft kisses on the inside of your thigh while you groan in displeasure. Your clit is red and swollen waiting for a release.

You hear Fred chuckle, his beard grazing your inner thigh while he brings his lips to your sensitive bud and sucks harshly on you. His tongue flattens against your pussy and he slowly drags it up, he flicks his tongue against your clit and you throw your head back into the pillow with a low guttural moan escaping your throat.

“Babe” you groan “stop teasing me.”

“You said I can do whatever I want, I just happen to want to tease you” he says placing his mouth back on you and sucking hard. His thumb slips down and pressing circles into your bud, his tongue slipping inside your folds.

“Fuck” you cry out.

You desperately need to cum while his tongue slides in and out of you. He brings two finger up and scissors you open, sliding his tongue in further.

“You’re unbelievable skat” he mumbles curling his fingers and setting a pace inside you.

His mouth returns to your clit sucking on you while his fingers pump in and out of you. You feel a burning between your legs, beard rash likely developing from the time he has spent there. Your head falls back into the pillow while you moan loudly, surely keeping the neighbours awake. You feel your orgasm return, your legs clench around his head your heels digging into his back.

“Babe please” you whimper as he pulls his fingers from you leaving you on the edge once again.

He slides them further down you to your hole. He slowly slides two fingers in and out of your ass, sucking on your clit. Your fingers scratch his scalp and your toes curl while he pumps his fingers slowly inside of you. He keeps this slow pace up, gently sucking on you to keep you on edge but not enough to send you over.

His tongue slides inside your walls, his fingers increase their pace. Your orgasm starts building again while your legs tighten around his head. You are sure you are cutting off his oxygen but Fred doesn’t stop. Your legs are practically shaking from the need to cum.

“Fred, I’m so close” you groan between pants while he continues to pump his fingers in you. Your orgasm continues to build when you feel Fred pull his mouth away from you once more.

“Frederik” you huff in displeasure.

You hear Fred chuckle as he slips his fingers out of your ass, dropping your legs from his shoulders. You feel the bed dip beside you, while he crawls up your body gently drawing his finger up your stomach in the process. You feel his mouth attach to your breast sucking on your nipple, his hard cock poking your entrance. He slides it over your folds, coating it in your juices before thrusting it into you bringing your orgasm right back.

He pulls out and slams back into you, your hands reaching his back scratching him, your legs instinctively wrap around his hips. Your nails gently rake up his muscular back as he slams into you another time which sends you over the edge. Your orgasm rips through you, as Fred continues to thrusts into you.

You don’t know if it’s your lack of sight or the hours of edging but this is the most intense orgasm you have had. You pulsate around his dick as he keeps thrusting inside you; it’s a slow pace but every time he bottoms out hitting your cervix. Your nails dig deep crescents in his back, trying to ground yourself, your whole body shakes.

Fred’s hand grips the back of your thigh, a slew of curse words leaving your mouth. If your eyes weren’t tied shut they would roll into the back of your head. As your orgasm finally stops so does Fred, he gently lifts your head and unties the tie from your face. You finally see the man above you resting on his forearms. His eyes are dark with hunger, forehead covered in sweat beard glistening in your juices and he has a huge smile while he looks down at you.

His hands run through your hair, and then his lips are on yours bringing you in for a sloppy kiss. Your hands slide down his body nails gently scratching him through the kiss. Fred gently runs his hands through your hair waiting for you to fully return from your high. You feel your juices sliding down your legs onto the bed below you; it’s a complete mess between you.

“Fuck babe” you moan. Your breathing slowly returning to normal while Fred peppers soft kisses on your collarbone and neck.

Fred resumes thrusting into you, your back arches while you bring your nails up to his neck, running them through his hair. You feel his chain and use it to pull his face down to yours locking him in a passionate kiss. It’s wet and sloppy; you’re both hungry for the other. You pull apart when you feel his thumb pressing into your clit; you throw your head back into the pillow.

“I love you so much” he mumbles against your neck, rocking his hips into you. He hooks his arm under your knee, pressing it into your chest. You feel your orgasm approaching, your hand still tangled in his chain while your other scrapes down his broad shoulder.

A slew of curse words and your skin slapping fill the room, the sounds you are making are filthier than a porno. You know the neighbours will be complaining about the noise later but you don’t care. Fred pulls your leg straight and places it on his shoulder, allowing him to hit you deeper.

The pace isn’t fast, but it also isn’t slow, every thrust is deep and he hits your g-spot each time. Every time he pulls out he drags himself along your walls.

“Babe” you moan while Fred sucks on your neck.

“Wait for me smuk” he growls in your ear.

“Babe” you whine feeling your orgasm right at the edge. The teasing from before has you feeling extremely sensitive, and you aren’t sure how much longer you can wait.

You feel Fred begin to get sloppy as he presses your leg further into your chest. His hips stutter, you pull his chain tighter bringing his lips to yours. His kiss swallows your moan, your hair a mess draped in front of your eyes. As he pulls away he sucks your bottom lip, you whimper under him unsure if you can go any longer.

He continues fucking into you, deep hard thrusts. You take deep breaths trying to wait for him, you know his high is getting close, but you just can’t wait any longer. Your pussy flutters around him, Fred groans while you clench, coating him in your cum. Swear words spill from your lips, your hands grip his chain so tight you practically choke him.

You draw out Fred’s high, his hips stutter and he fills you with his warmth. He pumps into you a few more times, shooting deep inside you before finally stilling. You feel both your juices dripping down your pussy while Fred drops his sweaty body on you.

“You know you swore in Danish” he says finally breaking the silence lifting himself to his forearms.

“What?” you ask looking up at him.

“When you came, you were swearing in Danish. Super hot babe” he mumbles kissing your neck.

Your attention is brought back when Fred brings a kiss to the back of your hand at a stoplight. You look at him and he shoots you a boyish smile that makes your heart skip a beat.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks sitting at a red light, the music is so soft you can hear the turn signal.

You smirk and reply “just remembering your birthday.”

“Yeah that was a great night” he places a kiss on the back of your hand.

“Play your cards right and we can relive it tonight Mr. Andersen.” He laughs before turning his attention to the road, silence once again filling the car.

“What are you thinking about babe?” you ask.

“Telling Ollie, how do you think he will react?”

You both agreed to wait until you were 13 weeks to tell Oliver. You don’t want anyone knowing until you are out of the first trimester and he doesn’t have the best track record for keeping secrets. An hour after making handprint snowman Christmas ornaments he told Charlotte all about it over facetime. You thought you had a bit more time to figure out what to say.

“I don’t know, I think it will hit him more when the baby comes, or at least when I am showing more. I don’t know how much he will understand at 2 without actually being able to see something” you reply looking out the window. Because of the late appointment you are now in some after work traffic on your drive home. You use the time to go on google, trying to find some suggestions for approaching this with a two year old.

When you walk into your apartment Oliver comes running to greet both of you.

“Mommy, daddy!” he squeals “I drew you this picture.” He has the biggest smile as he hands you a piece of paper, you see 3 crayon shapes of varying sizes that represent the three of you. You are all holding hands; Fred’s head is abnormally large. But he got all your hair colours right and even tried to draw Fred with his hockey jersey.

“Wow this is awesome buddy” Fred says picking him up “let’s put it on the fridge.”

You hang your coat up and remove your shoes, pulling your ultrasound picture from your purse. You sit on the couch and wait for Oliver and Fred to return. They sit beside you and you kiss Oliver’s head as Fred settles in beside you.

“So we have something to tell you Ollie” you say looking at him.

“What mommy?” he asks looking at you.

He smiles at you, his golden brown eyes looking up at you.

“Well” Fred starts trailing off for a second “you’re going to be a brother.”

“A brother?” he asks turning his head to look at Fred.

You show him the ultrasound, and point to it “this baby, is in mommies belly.”

You both allow him a second to process the news; you can see the gears in his head spinning as he tries to make sense of it.

“The baby is in your belly?” he finally asks.

“Yeah bud, the baby is going to grow in here for a little bit” Fred says touching your stomach “and once it’s big enough you get to meet it.”

“How long?”

“Still a little while, like 6 months”

You all sit there in silence for a couple minutes, waiting to see if Oliver has any questions. Fred brushes his red curls from his eyes, he needs a haircut but you both love how his hair develops tight curls as it gets longer and don’t want to cut them off.

“You have any questions?” you ask softly after a few minutes.

“How did the baby get in your belly?” he asks putting a hand on top of Fred’s.

“Well…” you trail off; you were kind of expecting this question and are thankful you went to google beforehand. Most websites suggest you keep the answers simple and allow him to ask more questions if he has then.

“When a mommy and a daddy love each other a lot they can make a baby if they want” you put your hand on his holding your three hands to your stomach.

“You still going to love me when the new baby comes?” he whispers.

You and Fred chuckle while Fred pulls him tighter to his chest “we will never stop loving you, no matter what” Fred replies.

“You are the most amazing boy, and we love you so much. Nothing will change that ever. We are so lucky to be your parents” you snuggle up into Fred’s arm, pulling Oliver tight into you.

“Why can’t I meet the baby now?” he asks.

“Because the baby needs to grow and be big and strong. So mommy is going to keep it in there until it’s ready to come out” Fred replies.

“Is it a boy like me?” he asks.

“The doctors need the baby to grow a bit more before they can tell. So right now they don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl” you respond kissing his cheek.

“I want a brother” he says sliding off Fred’s lap and walking over to his toy blocks on the floor, seemingly satisfied with the conversation.

“For the record I’m team boy too, only because you will let our daughter walk all over you” you say smiling at Fred.

“I can’t even argue, that’s 100% true. But I do love the idea of a miniature you walking around” he says with a large smile on his, stroking your stomach while you watch Oliver play with his toys.

Next Chapter

#frederik andersen #Freddie Andersen #fred andersen #frederik andersen fic #frederik andersen smut #freddie andersen smut #freddie andersen fic #freddie andersen x reader #frederik andersen x reader #fred andersen smut #Fred Andersen Fic #fred andersen x reader #nhl fic #nhl smut #because two people got drunk #my writing

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apiratewhopines · 3 years ago

Text

Killian, Persuaded

Chapter Nine - Speed with Secrecy

Summary: In which our hero spins his wheels

Chapter Nine on AO3

“And I will wait here awhile

Just long enough to be

Sure that you

Didn’t make a wrong turn”

-Wrong Turn, Jack Johnson

When you didn’t work, every day felt like the weekend. Even though he was now employed, his schedule was so light he may as well have not been working so the principle held.

However, that didn’t mean Killian was unfamiliar with the concept of waiting for the weekend, working for the weekend, Monday blues, and so on and so forth. Unfortunately, since he came to Storybrooke and tumbled head over heels for Emma again he found himself dreading this most sacred of times.

Especially this weekend.

The reasons were simple really. During the week, he had two chances to run into Emma every day since Henry joined them on their transit to and from school. But on the weekends it was a crapshoot honestly. If he was lucky, he spent hours of uninterrupted time with her while she visited her best friend and his nieces. Then some weekends he didn’t see hide nor hair of her. Those were the hardest times.

Especially this weekend.

Honestly, would it have killed her to pop over and let them know if she was engaged or not? Didn’t women normally want to gush or commiserate over their relationships? Surely she wasn’t so busy she couldn’t tell them what happened after she ran away from the man who wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.

Well, one of the men who wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.

Her boyfriend. Wanker extraordinaire. Maybe fiancé now.

Since he apparently lacked subtlety, he didn’t bother to conceal his interest in the comings and goings at their neighbor’s house from his family. They were wise to him anyway so what was the point. The absence of Walsh’s car was noted, and celebrated, when he walked the kids back from their Halloween dance. Since then, he hadn’t seen the man or his vehicle or Emma dragging an obnoxiously large diamond behind her when she left for work.

He kept reminding himself these were all good signs.

“Did you know one of your friends hit on her every time your back was turned?”

“Honestly, the only part that shocks me is there was only one who tried,” he replied, switching his focus away from the window to his sister-in-law. Elsa looked more rumpled than usual. Her long hair was down, perhaps for the first time since he moved in with them, and she was still in her pajamas despite the fact it was almost dinner time. She was sick most of the night with an upset stomach and the smell of eggs at breakfast that morning was enough to send her running to the bathroom all over again. She slept most of the day, leaving Liam to run the girls to all their practices.

When his brother asked him to stick around in case Elsa woke up and needed anything, he happily complied. All the better to scope out the neighborhood, or one neighbor as the case may be. Although his sister-in-law hadn’t left the bedroom, he brought her a cup of mint tea and a few crackers around lunchtime. The quiet of the house made him wonder how he had lived in his silent penthouse for so long.

She sank on the other end of the couch and stretched her legs out until her feet rested in his lap. “I feel terrible. Distract me before I puke again. Tell me a story.”

“A story? Darling, I only know tragedies. Perhaps we could play charades instead.”

Leaning her head back against the arm of the sofa, she watched him through narrowed eyes. She looked worse for wear, pale and weak from the unknown illness. Taking one of her feet between his hands, he began to massage her arch. Softly, she picked up on her earlier comment, “I think his name was Chipper.”

“Aye, that makes sense. He was a bastard.” Absentmindedly, he continued to knead her feet, alternating between the two until he thought she may have fallen asleep. When he glanced over to check, he found he was still the focus of her undivided attention.

“Tell me what happened. Why did you leave her?”

“Determined to hear a tragedy, then,” he remarked without humor. “Fine. How much has she told you?”

With a hint of a smile and a roll of her eyes, she joked, “You know Emma. Something along the lines of ‘There was a guy, I thought he was different, turns out he wasn’t.’”

“She’s always had a succinct way of getting to the heart of the matter,” he observed, staring at the wall and getting lost in the memory festering in his mind like a wound that wouldn’t heal. He wasn’t sure where to start. How do you relay the depths of heartache and broken trust that brought about the end of the happiest time of your life?

“It was fate when we met,” he murmured. “Of course, she said it was coincidence and no deeper meaning was at the root of it. We agreed to disagree. She was working a summer job at a dockside restaurant catering to tourists, not the rich kind summering there like me and my friends. It was a kitschy place complete with fake fish mounted on the walls and plastic sharks in their cocktails.”

“The kind of restaurant you normally would never have been caught dead in,” Elsa supplied.

“Too right. It was raining and I got turned around on my way to the yacht club. It had been a couple of years since I traveled to the US and honestly I was still having a hard time keeping to the right side of the road most days. I planned to duck in long enough to ask for directions when I saw her running out into the squall to fight down the patio umbrellas so they wouldn’t take off in the wind. She was wearing this awful Hawaiian shirt that was plastered to her like a second skin and I remember thinking she was the prettiest girl I’d ever seen.”

Her eyes drifted closed but she teased quietly, “Hawaiian shirts are a well known aphrodisiac.”

Laughing, he nodded. “I didn’t go a full day without seeing her after that. She led me on a merry chase. The competition was fierce, everyone looking for a summer romance to create memories they could take home as a souvenir and a woman like her was the object of many a wishful thought. It took me days to learn her name and weeks to get her number.”

“Poor thing. It must have been quite trying.”

“It was, thank you for noticing,” he said with mock sincerity. “Despite what you may think, or whatever barmy stories Robin may have shared with you, I had never pursued anyone before. When you’re young, filthy rich, and handsome, you don’t really have to work for anything. It usually falls in your lap. Everything changed when I met Emma.”

“Was it about the novelty then?”

“Maybe at first. Although I would be lying if I said attraction wasn’t the greater contributor. Even now, longing will punch me in the gut from time to time so I can’t say it wasn’t a factor then. It started as an amusement, quickly became a frustration, then morphed into a fascination I’m still not over. I’m not sure how long you’ve known Emma but she wasn’t always as open as she is now. She rarely smiled and when she did, it was usually a pretty imitation meant to appease or deflect someone. When I earned my first real one, I knew I was a goner.”

“How did you earn it?”

He hadn’t thought about it in a decade. Had made himself forget the beginning because it would inevitably lead him to the painful end. He shouldn’t have repressed it. The image of her looking up at him from the side of the road, dirt on her cheek and eyes flashing, was something to be cherished. “I let her change my flat tire.”

“How chivalrous of you…”

“I never said I was a catch. You asked for this story,” he reminded her. When Elsa flashed him an apologetic look, he continued. “It was the gateway to our first date. She didn’t think of it that way of course. I was strictly in the friend zone. But I have a tendency to grow on people and she was no different. I made her laugh and she made me feel. She was my best friend before she was anything else.”

“A best friend you wanted to see naked,” she accused with a snort.

“I’m sure you’ll find, in general, that is more common than you’d think.”

“Men,” she mumbled sleepily. “It doesn’t make any sense. If you were so close, how could you just leave?”

“I didn’t just leave.” He wished he didn’t have to skip over the middle and go straight to the end. For some reason, he wanted Elsa to know they had been happy. It didn’t last forever. Hell, it didn’t even last a second season, but it was more than a swift trip from lust to leaving. It was the deepest connection he ever experienced.

“We became serious more quickly than either of us could have imagined at the outset but we were still young. She wasn’t out of her teens and I had the emotional maturity of a toadstool. But I knew…I was determined she was the one. So I asked her to run away with me. To elope.”

“Wait a minute, so Walsh wasn’t the first guy to propose to her? I’m going to kill her. She never even hinted—“

“You’ll do no such thing.” He wasn’t surprised Emma never mentioned it, though he told everyone who would listen at the time. To his own detriment, as it turned out. After it ended, he doubted he had uttered her name once, much less given a detailed account of the rocky relationship. Until now. “It was a spontaneous thing. We were at a fair on one of the piers near her restaurant splitting a funnel cake and I knew I never wanted to be parted from her. So I tried to make sure I didn’t have to be.

“We agreed to meet after her shift the next night. I wanted to fly to Scotland but she didn’t have a passport. For that matter, I didn’t have a ring. It’s all a little surreal now. Seems like it happened in some cheesy movie I watched years ago rather than my own life. Only the movie hero wouldn’t have flaked at the last minute. It would have had a happy ending.”

Taking a deep breath, he prepared himself for the worst bit. “My father found out somehow. I’m sure one of my friends told someone who told someone else until it reached his ears. He flew across the country and demanded I break it off. Said men like us were free to find our pleasures where we wanted but carrying on the family name was a responsibility that should only be shared with someone who could understand the importance of it. Not orphan waitresses who were in it for the money.”

He expected anger or disappointment from her. Instead, she whispered sadly, “You listened to him.”

“No, not at first, and never about Emma being in it for the money. I’m an idiot but I’m not blind. It wasn’t until he said he regretted marrying my mother and seeing how miserable she was in our world I started to doubt. I didn’t want to doom Emma to a lifetime of cuts and mistreatment from people who thought she was beneath them. I loved her but I knew too well it wasn’t going to be enough, had seen it play out with my own parents. I wouldn’t have been able to protect her completely and I couldn’t condemn her to my mother’s fate. She deserved better. They both did.”

Almost shyly, Elsa asked, “Liam never talks about your mother. What was she like?”

“A lot like you, honestly. Even the same profession. She was beautiful and gentle with a lion heart who never stopped fighting for the right things. Liam shouldn’t make her a stranger to you and the girls. She is worthy of being remembered.”

They both fell silent and he was mortified to feel the prick of tears. She switched positions, moving to lean against his side, so he wrapped an arm around her slender shoulders and relaxed into the embrace. He had never held a woman like this, the closest thing being in the final days of his mother’s life when she was too sick to sit up by herself. Shaking off the memory, he was glad Elsa didn’t feel like she was running a fever but he could tell there was something off about her.

“It was Emma’s decision what she deserved, Killian. You should have talked to her.”

With an exasperated tone at odds with the comfortable way they were huddled together, he blurted out, “Thank you, Captain Obvious. I realized my mistake about ten minutes after it was too late. But I wasn’t thinking clearly then. I didn’t have the strength to face her. I knew my resolve would cave if she put up even a token resistance. I’ve always been a selfish man and I took the easy way out. I walked away without a word because it was less painful for me.”

He shuddered to think about it now, how he did the one thing he repeatedly promised Emma he would never do. “It was the worst kind of betrayal. I knew everything about her past, every broken promise and abandonment, yet I still walked away. The fact she will speak to me at all is a bloody miracle.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

“I’m going to wallow in misery, love her from afar and hope Walsh chokes on his own table legs.” It was a sound plan. He had already put it into motion and was getting exactly the results one would expect.

She chuckled softly then groaned. “Don’t make me laugh, it makes the nausea worse.”

“C’mon love, I have some experience with making women nauseous. I think some ginger ale and dry toast will have you feeling better in no time.”

—

“You truly think she said yes to such a bumbling proposal?”

Nursing his drink, Killian wondered why his friend looked so amused at his distress. He’d never been cruel in the past but the way he shook his head and smiled ruefully across the table carried an air of superiority out of place for the conversation. “I don’t know, Robin. But if not him, it will eventually be someone else.”

“They really did a number on you, mate.”

“In their defense, I don’t think I can take their relationship as a personal affront. Emma was dating him for a year before I came back into her life.”

“Not Emma and Walsh. Your sorry excuse for a father and ex-fiancée.” He stilled under Robin’s direct stare. They hadn’t talked about the situation beyond the barest of mentions since his friend arrived. He couldn’t say he was particularly interested in talking about it now either. Picking up his glass and gesturing toward him with a sense of bewilderment, Robin continued, “Where is the famous Killian Jones confidence? Why are you standing idly by? Emma is a woman worth fighting for but you refuse to even toss your hat in the ring.”

“You don’t know our history. I had my chance and I blew it.”

“Are you mad? I’ve seen the way she looks at you. Whatever the history, it is far from being buried and in the past. If you messed up that badly, this is your opportunity to make a brand new ending…a happy one this time. Don’t waste it. Apologize, tell her how you feel, show her you’ve changed. Faint heart never won fair lady.”

Rolling his eyes, he was about to correct his friend’s misconceptions when a figure stopped at their booth. The barely concealed dislike he felt oozing out of their visitor gave him an inkling of who it was before he looked over and saw the perfectly coiffed raven hair.

“Mr. Jones, a moment please?”

Sighing, he debated whether resistance would do any good. He had obviously lost his mojo and was at the mercy of the fates now. “Principal Mills, I’m in the middle of something. Perhaps we can have another tête-à-tête in your office tomorrow.”

Sliding into the booth next to Robin, who hurriedly shuffled to the side to avoid having a tightly wound woman in his lap, she said, “Now works better for me.”

“Then by all means, don’t let us inconvenience you,” Killian muttered under his breath. To his horror, Robin was grinning at the woman like she was a new shiny toy he couldn’t wait to play with. “Principal Mills, this is my friend Robin Locksley. Robin, meet Regina Mills, the bane of my existence.”

“Forgive him, Ms. Mills, he’s always been a surly drunk. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

With a slow smile, Regina made no effort to hide her thorough perusal of the man who shared the vinyl bench. Extending her hand gracefully, she spoke in a breathless voice dripping with raw interest. “Yes, I believe it may end up being a pleasure.”

Clearing his throat to break the tension, although he would be hard-pressed to say if he was more amused or disgusted by it, Killian watched them jump apart as if he had doused them with cold water. “What do you want?”

“I heard you’re building a website for Granny’s Diner.”

“You heard wrong. I only negotiated a deal to build a website. My brother is actually developing it. Have a nice night.”

“Killian, mind your manners.” Robin’s eyes were pleading with him to behave, probably in some misguided effort to impress their third wheel. Knowing he would regret it, he leaned back and waited for the other shoe to drop.

“Thank you. It’s refreshing to meet someone who doesn’t underestimate how appealing civility can be.” As she turned back to Killian, he was amazed at her ability to insult him while simultaneously flirting with Robin. “I want to hire you to redesign the school’s website. I have several ideas for increased functionality and a detailed vision for the overall look and feel. You can drop by tomorrow to get the information from Mrs. Nolan.”

Standing up to leave without waiting for his response, she added, “Whatever Mrs. Lucas is paying you, I’ll only agree to half since I’ve done most of the work already. Good evening.”

With that, she swept away regally.

“Where have you been hiding her? She’s enchanting,” Robin murmured after polishing off his drink. His eyes were still on the door as if hoping to catch one more glimpse of her.

“Hiding her? She probably crawls back to her lair when the sun comes out to avoid being turned to dust. Trust me, you don’t want that kind of trouble in your life.”

“She is exactly the kind of trouble I want.”

“Whatever, mate. It’s your funeral. Just remember to pack some garlic and maybe a crucifix or two on the first date.”

—

He took his time walking home that night. After they finished dinner, simple fare prepared by Granny Lucas herself with the help of Roland who had taken quite a shine to the older woman, there wasn’t much more to say. Robin seemed determined to ruin his life with the forceful brunette who had a knack for pissing him off and he was just as determined to be miserable over the unsettled state of affairs with Emma.

The most disturbing thought of all was perhaps it was already settled but he didn’t know. That there was nothing he could do but spend a lifetime regretting it.

Reaching the house, he stopped on the porch. He could hear the girls running around wild inside and while he had missed them this weekend as they went about their packed schedules and prior commitments, he was going to need a minute to regroup and put on a happy face. They didn’t deserve the brunt of his gloom and doom attitude.

“Killian.”

Her voice was quiet and so longed for that at first he thought he imagined it. It wasn’t until he saw her hesitate on the step he allowed himself to believe she was actually there. “I’m glad you’re here, love. I’ve been worried about you.”

It was the truth, although not the whole truth. He was as worried about her answer to the question hanging over his head like a knife.

“I’d like to…that is, I’ve been thinking.”

She was agitated. He could tell by the halting meter of her words and how she hadn’t met his eyes once since she arrived. His gut twisted in preparation for hearing the unwelcome news she would be lost to him forever. “Nothing wrong with that, Emma. It would seem you have a lot to consider.”

“Right. Can I just…” Her voice trailed off and she froze in front of him, her entire body tense. He wondered if it was as hard for her to tell him as it was for him to hear it. Somehow, he doubted it.

“It’s fine, love. Say whatever you need to say.”

She gave a huff of frustration and he thought he heard her mutter something and the next thing he knew, she grabbed the collar of his jacket and pulled him to her. Before he could draw a breath, and heaven knew he needed one because he was pretty sure shock knocked all the air out of his lungs, her lips were on his and then he moved on pure instinct.

He had dreamed of this moment for ten years. At times he wasn’t sure if it was a fantasy or a haunting. The memory of her body against his, the way her fingers would comb through his hair, the rush of emotion that flooded him when she looked at him with desire nearly matching his own, it was painful to endure knowing he would never experience it again.

But to experience it again. Well, it was a different kind of pain. The piercing combination of love and lust threatened to make his knees buckle. Wrapping her tightly in his embrace, his right hand wound in her hair and his left moving to cradle her face, he kissed her with the pent-up emotion of a man who had been banished from the promised land only to be allowed a brief return.

Robin was right, only an idiot would waste this opportunity.

The kiss deepened and he advanced them slowly until her back pressed against the wall of the porch. He couldn’t get enough of her. His lips caressing hers in a way achingly familiar and yet excitingly different. The years had added experience for them both but the underlying emotion was the same as always. Her hands were in his hair, a little moan he felt before he heard it escaping her mouth.

Without realizing what he was doing, his hand drifted down her leg, gently lifting it against his hip and rocking into a closer position. Blood thundered in his ears and he was fairly certain his heart was going to explode in his chest. In all honesty, that wasn’t the only thing on the verge of exploding.

Suddenly, the high-pitched giggle of one of the girls broke through the night and burst the heated bubble surrounding them. With a shaky breath, Killian pulled away and rested his forehead against hers. His hand still held her leg in place against him, the fingers of his other tracing the silky skin of her cheek. “I’m not complaining, love, but what are you doing?”

“Thinking,” she murmured, her hands dropping to his shoulders and lowering her leg to the ground but otherwise remaining pinned against him. She watched him with hungry eyes and he knew this was everything he wanted in life. He would have to tread carefully or risk losing her again. Not that he was entirely sure he had her now.

Smiling softly, he pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “An important woman like you must have many things on her mind. Perhaps it would help if you thought about them some more.”

He kissed her tenderly, allowing himself to savor the feeling of being close to her. Unhurriedly, he brushed his lips across her forehead and pulled her to him in an embrace somehow more intimate than the near ravishing that had just occurred. Her head fit perfectly under his chin, her arms wrapped securely around his waist as if she too was afraid of falling.

“Why did you have to come back? I was happy. I could have been happy.”

“Darling, I’m sorry. For so many things. I would leave tomorrow if you asked me to…I’d do anything for you. I know I don’t have any right to comment on your life but despite my admittedly vested interest in the situation, I only want your happiness. You won’t find it with Walsh.”

“I could have. You ruined it.”

He grinned into her hair at her stubbornness. He loved how the fighter in her was never dampened, never repressed. “Blame me all you want as long as you tell him no.”

She pulled away and swallowed hard, clearly trying to come to terms with what happened between them and visibly retreating behind her walls.“I already have. He wants me to take some time to reconsider.”

“Trust your instincts, love. They are impeccable.”

“He’s a good man, Killian. He would never hurt me. He would make sure Henry and I have a good home. It should be enough.” Her voice filled with frustration and maybe some anger. Knowing her like he did, he knew she was regretting the impulsive act that led to this conversation.

“It won’t be. The emptiness of a mismatched relationship will consume you until you don’t recognize your own reflection. Don’t do that to yourself, Emma.”

“We’re taking a break. We’re going to meet at Thanksgiving and talk it out. So this,” she said gesturing between them with a hand that shook, “whatever this was, can’t happen again. I’m sorry I gave into the impulse. I’m not sure what came over me. It was a one time thing, got it?”

It scared him how quickly she was slipping away but a pesky hope rooted in him and he refused to cede the ground he had won. He needed to earn her trust and her love. It wouldn’t be easy but the idea invigorated him. “Whatever your heart desires but I’m not going anywhere. When I win your heart back Emma, and I will win it, it won’t be because of any trickery. It will be because you want me in your life as badly as I want you in mine.”

His hat was officially in the ring and nothing was going to stop him.

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theawkwardterrier · 4 years ago

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Taking Care

Steggy Week 2k20, day 2 Prompt: Tropes, cliches, and symbols

Summary: Peggy gets sick. Steve shows up to help.

AO3 link here. Thanks to @steggyfanevents for organizing!

Peggy’s immune system is notably strong and she’s far more likely to be the one nursing others than to need nursing herself. But this means that when she actually does start feeling under the weather, she ignores it, certain that it will simply pass or that she can overcome it by sheer force of will.

She’s actually able to pull it off for a few days, but once her eyes start watering so much that it takes her three times as long as usual to read anything and her coughs and sniffles become the soundtrack of headquarters, Phillips tells her that the war isn’t going to be lost if she takes a few days off to get well and sends her home.

“Perhaps I am a bit under the weather, but I can still—” she begins in protest but when she needs to take out her handkerchief partway through the sentence, Phillips simply points her toward the door and she actually complies.

She manages to fall asleep for several hours before waking jerkily, somehow less rested, her head muddled. The thought of food appeals not at all, but she is absolutely parched; she lies for much longer than she would ever admit trying to convince her body to stand and go to the tap.

Tea sounds absolutely wonderful at the moment but she can’t guarantee that she won’t fall asleep at the tiny table while the water comes to a boil, so she contents herself with several glasses of water. She is turning to return to bed when there’s a knock at the door.

Peggy doesn’t typically receive visitors here - in fact, she barely receives herself in the tiny efficiency she’s been renting for the past months. There’s a war on, after all, and she essentially uses this as somewhere to catch a few hours’ sleep before returning to headquarters. She isn’t even certain that anyone knows this address. Then again, it would be just typical of today to have someone coming to inform her of a fire or a gas leak while she’s in this state.

But to her surprise, when she calls a polite if stuffed-up, “Who is it?” through the door, the response is, “Steve Rogers.”

“I thought you were in Amsterdam,” she says, opening up and stepping back (it comes out as “Absterdam;” Phillips really was probably right to send her home.)

“We were until this morning,” he responds, following her inside and closing the door behind himself. “Only got back a couple of hours ago, but when I went to track you down with some documents, they said that you’d gone home sick so I—” Fully inside now, he peers at her more closely, and she thinks she should probably be embarrassed, but she barely has the energy to hold her dressing gown closed around her body so more complex emotion will have to wait.

“Right,” he says, his tone changing to a decisive firmness. “Okay. Back to bed.”

“But I—” she protests, mostly out of habit. The thought of even the thin single bed that came with the flat is so tempting that it should be featured in a Greek myth.

“I don’t think so.” He reaches over and gently touches her shoulders with both enormous hands, turning her around and directing her over to sleep.

“You aren’t meant to boss me around,” she tries, but it comes out around a yawn.

“I’ll keep it in mind for the future,” he says, and even through her muzzy head, she thinks there’s affection in his voice. “But maybe just listen for now, huh? I’m kind of the expert.”

The memory of that very lengthy file of his from boot camp comes into her head, but she can’t hold the thought there. Before she even has time to pull up the blanket, she’s crumpled into sleep.

When she wakes up again she isn’t certain of the time, though she feels much more clear-headed overall. A glass of water sits beside the bed, and she manages to sit up (the blanket slides off as she does; apparently someone put it on her) and drink it down without much dizziness.

“I can get you another,” comes Steve’s voice. “Or I can try my hand at a cup of tea.”

She looks around and finds him sitting at the table - the only place to sit, really - with a newspaper in front of himself. She clears her throat. “Do you have any experience with that?” The words come out clearly, which she considers a fairly good sign.

“Not really. It’ll probably be a good thing that you can’t taste much.”

“I’m actually—” she considers, realizing it with surprise for the first time herself. “I actually feel a bit peckish.”

“Good sign,” he says, standing. “Just a minute.”

“I don’t have very much here at the moment,” she points out, and then feels compelled by some lesson of hospitality or politeness or normalcy which her mother tried to impart to her to add, “I’m not about often. I usually end up in the mess back at headquarters or finding a bit to eat on the way between here and there.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s not as if I could cook you up anything edible even if you had a full fridge,” he says easily teasing, as he comes over to her with a bowl of consomme and a saucer with a bread roll sliced thin and slightly charred from toasting it over the open flame of the stove. He hands her the bowl, places the roll beside the clock on the nightstand.

She studies him more carefully as he brings one of the kitchen chairs closer to her bedside. He had arrived in full uniform, but now his jacket hangs on the back of the chair he had been occupying, his sleeves are rolled to the elbow and he has his tie loosened. His hair is a bit disheveled. He looks wonderful, and she tries to forget how wrecked she must come off just now.

“Where did this come from, then?” she asks, taking a careful spoonful of the broth. It is a touch salty, noticeably warm but no longer steaming, and feels wonderful moving down her throat. She takes another sip.

“I ran over to the place around the corner. Told them I had a sick friend, and they threw in the roll for free.”

A sick friend. She rolls the words around in her head as she bites gingerly and thoughtfully into one of the small rounds of toast. Thinking of herself as sick is unfamiliar but it’s currently true and she can accept it as fact. Friend, though…

She and Steve have been courteous to each other since the incident with Private Lorraine, but don’t spend extra time together. Sometimes, though, their eyes will meet across the table during a strategy session, or they’ll each choose to deliver something to the other that isn’t strictly their responsibility. Just in those occasional moments, when she allows it, she remembers how determined he is, how quietly funny, how sharp and kind.

She thinks it might actually be nice to become real friends with Steve, but she doesn’t know that she’ll be able to forget the time when she thought that they might become something more, doesn’t know that she can stop herself from still hoping for the future.

“You must be a bit of an expert in the sickbed experience,” she says, eager to change the topic, only realizing once she has that it might be rude or bring up painful memories. Thankfully, however, Steve only laughs.

“It’s a little strange to have nearly gotten through winter with nothing happening. I keep expecting the flu or a nice case of pneumonia to sneak up on me.” His face twists into a slight sadness. “I was lucky, though, back then. My mother took really good care of me. Made sure I always had books and pencils, someone to call if she had to work, soup and crackers when I needed them...A couple of times, when things had been really bad, she got me an orange. We couldn’t afford it and I know that she missed dinners because of it, but she insisted on it so that—so that when I could taste again, that would be the flavor waking me up.”

The soup glides over the tenderness growing in her throat. Here, again, is the reminder of why Erskine was drawn to him, why she’s been drawn to him: because without considering otherwise, he uses the protection given by the serum to help those who need it, because he won’t ever forget the way it felt to eat an orange gifted by someone who scrimped and hurt for it but did it anyway because she loved him.

“I don’t expect you were the most compliant patient, if you’re being truthful,” she comments once she’s swallowed.

“What tipped you?” he says, mouth curling up into a grin. He spreads his hands. “I would have been an angel and stayed in bed, but when one person works twelve hour days, it's up to the other person to make sure the house is clean. Plus, Bucky's team really needed a second baseman."

She laughs too, though it turns into a bit of a cough at the end. As she catches her breath, she looks into the dwindling depths of her bowl. "I'm reminded just now," she says, "of how hard it can be to ask for the help you need, to give up control and let someone take care of you on occasion."

There's a quiet in the room with them, a ticking clock silence. Then Steve says slowly, "That's always been pretty hard for me too. But I think it's something I could get good at if I had the chance. If I came across the right person."

When she looks up, he's already there waiting for her with a steady gaze. An understanding passes between them, but after what's happened before, she needs more than that.

"I think it's something I could learn as well. Leaning on someone." She reaches over, covers his hand with hers. "I hope we both have the chance for it."

"So do I," he says softly, holding on until she yawns again. "Okay," he says. "Time to sleep again, I think. Doctor's orders, probably."

She screws up her face, but is actually tired enough to comply, lying down and letting him clear away her dishes to wash.

"I'll stay around until you wake up," is the last thing she registers before she drifts off. And even though she knows he must have a thousand things to do over at headquarters, when she wakes once again, he is still there, just as he is each time after.

#steggyweek20 #Steggy #Steggy fic #Peggy Carter #Steve Rogers

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justasparkwritings · 4 years ago

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Merry & Bright: I Sincerely Tried

Previous: All the Love and Joy

youtube

The stockings were no longer hung by the chimney with care, but tossed around the living room, contents splayed on the carpet. The twinkling lights were barely visible in the daylight, and Nat King Cole was on his second rendition of The Christmas Song. The pretty paper once containing the presents you had meticulously selected was disregarded, wadded up or folded to be recycled before dinner. The ribbons and bows sat in an empty box, to be reused next year. You sat on the floor, engrossed in playing with the new toys, laughing, tickling, smiling like this had been all you wanted for Christmas.

Seokjin sat on the couch, eyes transfixed by the sight in front of him. Sipping on his tea, he tried to smile through the surge of emotions he was feeling, the combination of sugar high and emotional distress. He promised you he wouldn’t do this; swore he would be strong until the kids were tucked in their beds for the night. He guaranteed he could keep it together. You knew he was lying, despite Instagram edits of his previous successful attempts at righting his emotions. But this? You knew when you found out you were pregnant the first time that Seokjin would be a blubbering mess for the rest of his life.

Glancing up at him, you notice the gloss in his eyes. An untrained eye wouldn’t be able to distinguish the glare from his spectacles from tears about to spill, but you knew better, you always did. Standing up from your place on the floor, you moved slowly towards the kitchen.

“Honey, can you help me clean up some of the breakfast mess?” You called, grabbing your children’s dirty plates and moving languidly towards the kitchen. Seokjin cleared his throat and followed, not stopping to make a dad joke about the Christmas mess his children had made.

Delicately placing the plates in the sink, you began to fill it with hot soapy water, leaving them to soak for a while. As the sink filled, you turned to your husband.

“This has to be the record,” You said, eyes forgiving as you took in the alligator tears sliding down his cheeks.

“I tried, I swear, I did,” He said, shaking his head.

“It’s okay, baby, you can cry,” You pushed yourself off the counter and wrapped your arms around his waist. “You do every year,”

“I wanted this one to be different! I don’t want them going ‘oh why is Appa crying? Is he okay?’ I’m a grown man, I should be able to control these tears!”

“Darling, it happens every year,” You smiled at him.

“I sincerely tried to hold it back, I was going to wait until they went to sleep,” Seokjin set his glasses on the counter, his hands grasping at his sleeves to try his tears.

“I know that was the goal, Seokjin, but you can’t control your emotions like that,” You reminded him.

“I’m ruining Christmas,” He said.

“It’s not your fault that Christmas makes you cry,”

“I just… They’re growing up so fast,”

“Oh honey, they’re three and five,”

“Yeah, old enough to remember that their father ruins Christmas every year because he’s crying over them,”

“Baby, you are crying for a totally valid reason, you know I cry on their birthdays,” You offered.

“You at least wait until they’re in bed!” Jin countered.

“No, I don’t, this year I cried during cake!” You jogged his memory.

“They thought you hated your cake,” He laughed, shoulders bouncing up and down.

“It was so funny, they didn’t believe me when I said it was my favorite!”

“It wasn’t your favorite,” He couldn’t stop laughing.

“I don’t need to spoil their dreams, I can pretend it’s my favorite until they get older,” You said, your own laughs settling.

“And then you have to tell them you’ve been lying their entire lives?” His eyes were wide.

“You’re the one that says the Little Mermaid is your favorite!” You argued.

“Low blow,” He said, feigning offense.

“But daddy, I love him!” You whined.

“How dare you,” He was trying to blue steel you, but it wasn’t working.

“I love that you cry on Christmas,” You said, moving back to stand within his grasp, a hand moving to cup his face, thumb tracing shapes on his fair skin.

“You remember our first Christmas as a couple?” Seokjin asked, resting his cheek in your palm.

“I try to forget it,” Your scrunched nose went perfectly with the horrors of that first year together.

“When I was twelve hours ahead, and couldn’t get a hold of you for two days?” Jin reminisced.

“My heart was shattered, I thought you didn’t love me anymore,” You added.

“But my phone was broken, and my texts from my computer weren’t getting to you,” He continued.

“None of the guys were around because they’d gone to see their families, and your brother was in and out with the restaurant,” Your prolonged list of sorrows kept getting worse.

“It was hell, no one to kiss under the mistletoe,” Seokjin said, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Do you remember our first married Christmas?” You inquired.

“Mmm, I missed my flight, and I didn’t arrive to your aunts house until the 26th,” Jin closed his eyes at the blunder.

“I cried then too,” You said.

“We cried together, remember?” He probed.

“Oh my god, we just sobbed on Facetime,” You rested your forehead against his chest, shaking it slowly.

“Everyone kept saying merry Christmas and happy holidays,” Seokjin said.

“We were trying so hard,” You laughed.

“But we were so miserable,” He joined you in mocking the memory.

“And now, look at us,” You were still smiling, eyes bright as you watched him.

“Two kids, a house, a marriage,” Seokjin said, tightening his grip on you.

“Mm,”

“Mama?” Your eldest yelled from the living room. “I’m hungry.”

“Well, who is in charge of snacks?”

“Appa,” They said.

“Hm, who do you need to ask?” You said, glancing past them to eye your three-year-old.

“Appa, can we have a snack please?” They asked, arms reaching up for Seokjin to lift them.

“I think a snack is a good idea, what should we have?” He wondered.

“Whatever makes you stop being sad,” Your eldest responded.

“Oh, honey, Appa isn’t sad,” Seokjin said, placing a kiss to your eldest’s forehead.

“Then why were you crying?” They questioned.

“I was just so happy, watching you two play with mama,” He said.

“Oh, happy tears, like mama on my birthday?” They asked, eyes wide, pouty lips parted.

“Just like that,” Seokjin held your child close, a faint smile on his lips. “I love you.”

“I love you!” Your child giggled before placing a kiss on Jin’s cheek and wiggling out of his arms. “Mama, Appa loves me!”

“I love you too honey,” You replied, your youngest resting on your hip, thumb in their mouth.

“Oppa’s making a cha-cha- something board with cheese,” They said sitting on their stool at the counter.

“Oo, yum,” You said, smiling warmly at your little family.

Seokjin moved around the kitchen, gathering fruits and veggies to make the little charcuterie board for your children, setting string cheese and a simpler cracker on the board. He skillfully cut salami and more elegant cheese for the ‘adult’ board he was making for you and him, complete with a flute of prosecco for each of you. He smiled while listening to you and your children chatting, your youngest trying to keep pace with your eldest. His heart swelled at the banter, and in a moment of emotional reprieve, Seokjin was glad that Christmas always made him cry.

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nimbus-cloud · 5 years ago

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He’ll call you back

A BokuAka collaboration inspired by Ch. 381 Story by @nimbus-cloud Art by @mezbee

More fic and more art under the Read More!

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There were few things Bokuto loved more than a nice hot shower following a hard practice. His muscles tingled with a comfortable soreness that let him know he’d worked hard and that meant he’d sleep well by the time he got to bed. He took several deep breaths of the steamy mist—he loved his showers scalding hot—before finally wrapping a towel around his waist and stepping out of the bathroom only to hear the faint sound of Akaashi talking to someone on the phone behind his office door. He’d come home at some point during Bokuto’s long shower, and Bokuto perked up immediately. Akaashi was one of those few things Bokuto loved more than a nice hot shower, really, more than anything, and he especially appreciated the days when he could come home early and not stay at the office for insane hours.

He tip-toed over to the office door, pressed his ear to it, and listened.

Akaashi’s voice was faint and muffled, and moving between volumes—he was pacing around the room as he talked.

“It’s just a bit inconsistent from five chapters ago, when you wrote that the zombies rely on their vision mostly.”

Ah, he’s talking to Udai Tenma, Bokuto thought. They had to be talking about Zombie Knight Zom’Bish... unless there was another zombie series that Akaashi was in charge of editing and Bokuto didn’t know about it.

“It’s really just the one panel on page eight where... yes. Mmhmm. I see.”

Because the door was shut and latched, Bokuto had no chance of sneaking up on him, so he came up with another idea, and headed to the kitchen to make a pot of tea. If he were bringing sustenance for his hard-working boyfriend, it wouldn’t be quite so rude to barge in while he was in the middle of a phone call, right?

He just needed tea and, “Senbei... senbei... where do we keep the senbei?” Bokuto dug through about half the kitchen drawers before he found where the snacks were kept, and with an odd sort of smugness, he poured the crackers onto a plate, arranged them sort of neatly, and admired his handiwork. He wasn’t a fancy chef or anything—a plate of rice crackers didn’t exactly qualify as hors d'oeuvres—but he was a pretty decent boyfriend, he thought. Great husband material, if he could convince Akaashi to tie the knot eventually.

He plopped a teabag into a mug, poured the hot water in, then strutted back over to Akaashi’s office, gently turning the handle before checking the door with his hip to get it open. As expected, Akaashi turned to greet him with something of a stern glare, but Bokuto was quick with his apologetic pout and gesturing to his pre-prepared peace offerings. Anyway, Akaashi’s glaring wasn’t quite as effective when he was already dressed down into his favorite house robe, legs bare and alluring... and reminding Bokuto starkly that he himself had very little clothing on to try and shield any boners he might get.

Quietly, he placed the plate and mug down after clearing a little space on the desk—it was piled high with papers all over—before sneaking closer to Akaashi and placing his ear close to the phone. Akaashi moved the phone away and again, gave him a look that said, Shoo shoo! But Bokuto had heard the voice on the other end of the line and confirmed his suspicions.

“Hi Udai-saann!!” He even threw in a wave, not that Tenma could see.

Akaashi sighed heavily but after a few seconds said, “He says hello.”

After a few more seconds, Akaashi’s shoulders slumped in defeat and he added, “He also wants to know when your next game is.”

“Oh ho ho!! We’re mutual fans!! I’ll get you guys tickets, don’t even worry about it!”

Then he wrapped his arms around Akaashi’s waist and lifted him a little, half on impulse really...

“B-Bokuto! Put me down!” Akaashi sputtered and blushed—even if Tenma couldn’t see this nonsense, he was still listening on the other line. “T-Tenma-san, can I call you back later?”

“Yeah! He’ll call you back later!” Bokuto chimed in mischievously—Tenma got to hog more of Akaashi’s time some weeks than even Bokuto, and there were some days when that just wouldn’t do.

He planted a wet kiss on the back of Akaashi’s neck, which made him finally end the call and then and only then did he put him down on the ground.

“Bokuto,” Akaashi huffed when he could finally straighten up a little. “That was very rude, you know I have to take work calls sometimes at home.”

“S’your fault for wearing that,” Bokuto crossed his arms. “You only wear that when you want to seduce me. Or you want me to seduce you.”

Akaashi’s ears went beet red and he nervously pushed his glasses up his nose. “Y-yes, well... when I came home and heard you in the shower, I... But then Tenma-san called and I had to answer it; we have a deadline coming up and—”

From high school to the present day, truly the best way to shut Akaashi up and get him to loosen up was to just kiss him straight. He could feel Akaashi relax in his arms and lean into him, relying on him for support. Good.

When they parted, Bokuto smirked a little to see Akaashi’s glasses smudged from their kiss. He let his hands settle into the small of Akaashi’s back. “You know our next match is up in Sendai, right? The two of you really want to make the trip just to see me play? With your deadline and all that?”

“Not just for you,” Akaashi bit back. “We all know it’ll be Hinata’s first match since his return home.”

Bokuto’s staggering confidence deflated a little. “Aww, what? I thought Udai Tenma was my fan!”

“He is. But also a fan of Hinata. They have history, after all.” Akaashi poked at Bokuto’s bare chest and added, “Anyway, I’m still your biggest fan.”

That made him puff his chest out a little more.

“Promise?” he whispered, pressing their foreheads together and taking a firmer grip on Akaashi’s back. He pressed their hips together and felt his towel knot come a little undone between them.

“Promise,” Akaashi whispered back, bringing his hands up to cradle Bokuto’s face between them.

“I’m better than Sakusa, right?”

Akaashi gave a little snort, but nodded his head. There were days when Bokuto came home from practice displeased with himself for not out-performing absolutely everyone, but of course, he was still Akaashi’s star. Anyway, Sakusa might be a skilled player, but he didn’t exactly exude the charisma of an Ace.

With a grin and a triumphant wiggle, Bokuto resumed trailing kisses down Akaashi’s neck, gently pushing the robe off his shoulders to a soft, satisfied sigh—

Buzzz!!

They jumped at the sudden noise and Akaashi frowned. “Was that the doorbell?”

It was only then that Bokuto remembered, “Ah! Shit, I totally forgot I invited Hinata over for dinner! You uh... you don’t mind, right?”

Akaashi huffed as they quickly rushed from his office to their bedroom to make themselves decent. Bokuto definitely needed pants at least, and Akaashi was not about to let Hinata see him in his loungewear. As he hurriedly pulled on a pair of jeans, he stole one more deep kiss from Bokuto before growling, “You’re going to make this up to me later.”

Bokuto loved Akaashi always, but he especially loved getting Akaashi fired up. Even if he wasn’t his setter anymore, Akaashi could still work Bokuto whichever way he wanted.

#bokuaka #haikyuu #haikyuu fanfiction #collab

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dreaming-gamer · 4 years ago

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DMC Week day 5: Hurt, Heal, Happiness – Nico & V

This work is lightly tied to my day 2 & 3, but can also be read as a standalone fic. Hope you enjoy!

No warnings, just fluff ahoy, no shipping.

V turned carefully in his bed for what felt like the thousandth time and yet only 10 minutes had passed since he last laid eyes on the clock. This was not a phenomenon he was too familiar with. Pushing forward while having slept too little had been common in his life, but not staying awake when he had the opportunity to sleep.

Shadow was curled up by his feet, a warm lump of fur, he didn’t know how many times his feet had brushed against her every time he needed to move. And yet V couldn’t tell why he felt this need, why he simply couldn’t just fall asleep as he was supposed to. Night reigned outside, cloaking the room in darkness, except for the lamp in the hall that Kyrie always made sure was on, in case any of the boys woke up. The youngest supposedly feared the dark, even asked V to check under his bed for monsters once, instead of Kyrie or Nero. V had checked, assured him it was nothing to be afraid of, when Griffon had chimed in with a helpful “The real monsters are outside!” With the bird banned from the children's bedtime stories from now on, it took about 15 more minutes for the child to calm down. Said bird was currently sprawled out over the other pillow, snoozing soundly.

It surely wasn’t the idea of monsters under the bed that kept V awake, he had been tired throughout the day, but now any sense of heaviness in his eyelids was just gone.

Finally, he gave up, letting out a sigh as he lifted his legs over the edge of the bed. The motions sent a feeling of ache through the bruises decorating his body, but the arm sling kept his arm where it should. It didn’t hurt as badly anymore, the red swelling having died down along with most of the pain, but Kyrie insisted he kept taking pain relievers so he could rest easier. Bless her warm soul, V could see why Nero got along well with her.

Shadow moved as V got up from the bed, leaving her spot to join him. Perhaps a cup of tea or simply a change of room would make him more inclined to sleep in a little while.

“Hihi, fry...” Griffon half snickered in his sleep, his master shaking his head with a smirk. What did a nightmare even dream of? Perhaps he should ask in the morning. His feline familiar and his cane supporting his slow steps, V made his way towards the kitchen.

The lamp on the hallway table lit up just enough for him to not step on one of the toys that the kids always seemed to leave loitering about. Shadow grabbed it in her mouth, moving it to the box of toys with her tail standing up straight up. She enjoyed order, he had learned and keeping an eye on the little ones was her forte, whenever V didn’t need her immediate assistance.

A picture was put up on the hallway wall, of a younger Nero and Kyrie, along with the children even younger than they were now. Kyrie was smiling, Nero looking a tad defiant into the camera, as if he’d dare the photographer to lay a hand on Kyrie or any of the kids. V got the feeling the Nero in the photos were much angrier than the one he knew and that said something. With interest, V’s green eyes continued to take in details, spotting the beginnings of a drawing on the wallpaper behind Kyrie’s white dresser.

There were just signs of a living family everywhere he looked and though V had been reluctant to impose upon them like that, they had still allowed him to stay, while he searched for a home of his own. He envisioned himself having a library, just a quiet space to read between missions because sometimes that was severely lacking in this house, with three lively children.

A kitchen such as Kyrie’s, old but cozy with a small walk-in pantry truly didn’t sound so bad, even though his expertise in the kitchen was certainly nothing to brag about. Kyrie had taken it upon herself to show him some of the basics and V found her teachings much more helpful than the occasional recipes he did try to follow.

As he opened up a cupboard, the smell of tea drifted towards him, a selection of flavors on display, perhaps chamomile would allow him to wind down enough for some sleep. Being limited to only one hand was making itself known now, as he had to do every step one at a time. As he moved to start the electric kettle, setting it in the sink to start the water, he was surprised to hear footsteps coming towards the kitchen. Was he not the only one having trouble sleeping? At first, he suspected one of the children as Kyle had a tendency to wake up during the night and head for Nero and Kyrie’s room, but the footsteps were not light enough.

“Oh-hee, I didn’t take you for the nightsnack kinda guy V.” A cheerful voice suddenly said, followed by a yawn as Nico stepped into the kitchen, dressed in a light top and pajama pants. Her black hair was exceptionally wavy, not put up in a ponytail or held back by the plaited hairband for once. It was unusual to see her like that, but V found it to suit her.

“I would not say that I am.” He admitted with a small smirk. “I was just thinking of having some tea. Would you like some?”

“Sure. Trouble sleeping?” Nico wondered, glancing at what he was doing.

“Yes.” V admitted, some stray water droplets hitting his hand as he turned the faucet on. “You as well?”

“Nah, I’ll probably fall asleep in minutes if I lay down again. After a snack that is. Rice crackers?” She grinned, opening another cupboard and grabbing a colorful plastic package, crackling in her hands. Cheese-flavored was printed on the front.

V gave her a little nod, the electric kettle starting to heat up from the flip of a switch, all they had to do now was wait. Nico pulled out cups for them, setting them on the counter as V leaned himself towards said counter, just for a bit. His muscles ached slightly, but it felt more as if it was because he was stiff from the lack of moving the last week, rather than actual pain.

“Are ya hurtin’?” She wondered, standing beside him. “That’s what’s keeping you from sleeping?”

V wondered if he was seeing concern, behind her red-rimmed glasses.

“No, Kyrie handed me a painkiller before bed. I simply feel as if... I have passed a threshold. Earlier, I was tired but I did not act on it. Right now on the other hand, I should be tired but sleep fails to claim me.”

“Whatcha talking about, can happen to anyone really.” Nico pointed out, her hand slipping to where her belt used to be but stopped when she realized no cigarette was available.

V hummed in thought.

“I admit it to be a new experience. I don’t mind the quiet of the night, but I know I should sleep…”

“Maybe ya just need a hug?” Nico said, tone teasing yet sincere. So sincere in fact that V was unsure of what to answer, straight away. Was that… alright to ask for? He had so little experience with human contact of that kind, yet he could not deny an interest in it.

A laugh slipped out of Nico when he realized his answer was overdue, his gaze upon her probably showing more of his inner thoughts than he meant for it to.

But her laughter wasn’t ill willed, in fact there was just a tone of mirth to it that he had come to associate with Nico.

“It’s not rocket science, come here!”

And then, her arms were around him. Just like that. Warm, careful because of his injured arm but oh so… soothing nonetheless. V carefully maneuvered his other arm over her back, holding on. It felt like she didn’t mind and he liked to return the favor. The sense of warmth, spreading in his chest. Her hair smelled lightly of shampoo with a spicy scent along with just a trace of tobacco and oil.

“Feels nice huh?” She said against him, V didn’t need to see her face to know that she was grinning, her jolly tone said it all.

“Yes. It does.” He spoke softly, holding on for just a little longer. The ache and pain he had faced this time felt so minor, compared to the terrifying feeling of falling apart. And yet this gesture felt like it soothed so much of it. Like the balm Kyrie had helped administer over the healing cracks in his skin, just on a deeper level.

“Thank you… Nico.” A soft vibrating feeling as she let out a light laugh under his hand.

“Anytime, ya hear?” Bubbles assaulted the inside of the electric kettle for a second, until the device shut itself off. “Let’s get that tea ready, we’re moving to the living room.” The mechanic added as she slowly let him go.

“We are…?” V asked, puzzled.

“Yep, I’m gonna show ya a little somethin’.” She told him, grinning from ear to ear. V knew not what she could possibly mean, but the fact that she was willing to spend some more time with him, in the middle of the night when she really could go and sleep some more was very thoughtful. To the point where he didn’t want to ask it of her, but Nico was already moving. She poured hot water into their cups and added the teabags, passing the rice cracker package to V and grabbing the cups herself, leading the way to the living room. V slowly followed, making sure to have his cane make as little noise as possible as he stepped through the hall. Shadow walked beside him, quiet but approving of the fact that Nico had chosen a cup with a black cat on it for V.

Gleaming moonlight touched the wooden surface of the living room table as Nico put down their cups and moved on, crouching by the TV. With a quizzical look, V followed her movements.

“Are you suggesting we watch… TV at this hour?” He asked, puzzled by the idea. Would not the noise wake the rest of the household?

“Uh huh, a Disney movie might just do ya good. Pinocchio sound okay?” Nico looked up, the grin on her face barely visible from the mere amount of light the moon granted them.

“I don’t recognize the title.” He answered truthfully, setting the package on the living room table.

“But ya know Disney?”

“Only that the children seem to enjoy those movies.”

“Hoo boy V, we’ve got something to catch up on here then, whenever ya can’t sleep. Go on, sit!” Nico half ordered him.

Thinking it was probably just for the best to play along for now, V lowered himself onto the couch, moving a toy figure of a… turtle on two legs(?) from one of the cushions, lest he would sit on it.

“Will this not wake the others up?”

“Don’t worry, we’ll keep the sound low!” Nico assured, the TV flaring to life with the push of a button and she came back to the couch, nestling herself down beside him, on his good side and grabbing for the quilts. The warm quilt that Kyrie always used was suddenly put over V, while Nico spread a yellow one over herself, while the movie was starting itself up.

This was certainly not a situation V had imagined himself ending up in, when he had found himself unable to sleep…

“If yer not gonna sleep anyway, might as well do something productive!” Nico stated, tearing a hole in the noisy rice cracker package and offered him a bite.

“Productive might not be the word I would use.” V admitted, but he nevertheless took a cracker.

“Relaxing then. Enjoy yer first look at kids movie history.” Nico said.

And enjoy it V did, sitting alongside a friend in the middle of the night, watching the story of a puppet who wished to be a real boy unfold, between sips of tea and one or two salty crackers and Nico’s commentary. Shadow laid at their feet, keeping them warm.

Slowly, oh so slowly the colorful pictures let his brain relax itself, the narrative turning no less interesting, but the cozy quilt, company and relaxation creeping up on him. Nico’s head rested against his shoulder, a comfortable, anchoring weight. Eyelids finally feeling heavy, V let his head dip, slowly against hers, the sounds of an old animated movie guiding the last of his conscious to a soft sleep.

What awaited Nero and Kyrie when they woke up the next morning was the words of the youngest orphan, being sad he hadn’t been invited to movie night, as well as the sleeping figures of Nico and V, resting against each other and the TV showing the loop of the movie's main menu since hours ago.

#dmcweek #dmcweek2020 #devil may cry fanfiction #devil may cry v #devil may cry nico #fluff #day 5 #my writing #dmc5 v #dmc5 nico

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thiswasinevitableid · 4 years ago

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47 for OT4, SFW or NSFW I love your writing! :))

Thank you! I went SFW for this one.

47: you overhear me complaining to my coworker about your ridiculous daily coffee order, whoops

“Oh christ, here he comes.” Duck mutters to Indrid as he pumps hazelnut syrup into a cup, “the one I was tellin you about.”

Indrid, stationed at the counter, tilts his head as he watches the windows, “would he be the one that looks like a lumberjack or the one who looks like a secret agent?”

“The second one. I dunno what it is, but his order drives me fuckin nuts. It’s super specific; dark roast, single origin only, heavy cream until it turns about that color” he points to the wall, “with a half pump of caramel and a half pump of vanilla. You’re gonna be that specific, just make it at home.” He’s busy putting a lid on the drink and therefore misses Indrid’s hand waving.

“I do, and it’s not that hard.” A deep voice makes him turn; the lumberjack, looking more amused than annoyed.

“And since you know my order so well already” the other man, smile, tight lipped, at him before turning to Indrid, “one of those and one large, black coffee.”

Duck starts the drink, making it as fast as he can so he can slink off into the back room. Shit, if the guy rats on him he could get in trouble, he’s already on thin ice after throwing out some rich kid for harassing the staff.

Indrid takes the drinks, mouths, “go” and heads around the counter while Duck makes a bee-line for the supply closet.

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

Indrid sets the cups down in front of the two men, then slides a plate with a large, hot monster cookie on it between them.

“On the house, as they say.”

“This an apology cookie or a ‘don’t give us a bad review’ cookie?” The lumberjack smirks.

“Both.” Indrid says mildly, smiling and returning to his post.

As he walks away he hears the deep voice whisper, “wouldn’t kick that one outta bed for eating crackers.”

A soft laugh, “Agreed. Pity his friend is an ass.”

When Jake and Hollis arrive a few minutes later to take over for him and Duck, he finds his boyfriend clonking his head into the wall by the break room.

“Don’t worry, love, I smoothed things over.”

“Thanks. Just feel like a dipshit. Both for gettin overheard and complainin in the first place.”

“I assumed it was stress from waiting on interview results.”

“Yeah.” Duck pulls on his jacket, “still feel shitty though.”

“Come, let’s go home. I have some ideas for relaxation.” He purrs, kissing Duck’s cheek.

“How may of ‘em are fuckin’-based?”

“Half.”

“Good, gives us some variety just in case.”

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

“We’ve paired you with another duo, if that’s okay?”

“Sure” Duck smiles at the Escape Room employee, takes Indrid’s hand as they follow him down the hall, “Aubrey says these are more fun in a group.”

“I look forward to--oh dear.”

Duck turns to see the pair from the coffee shop last week. The lumberjack looks about the same, but the secret agent is dressed more casually than usual. His black hair is loose rather than slicked back, and he’s in jeans and shirt that reads, “Champ” with a dark outline of sea monster on the front. He almost looks cute.

“You’ve been trapped in the lair of hostile, highly intelligent space aliens. You have an hour to escape. Good luck” The employee shuts the door, leaving the pairs to stare at each other.

“Uh, hi. Again.” Duck waves awkwardly

“Hey.” The lumberjack waves back, “so, uh, this is hella awkward, right?”

“Yes.” The other three respond.

“Cool. Look, I dunno about you but I don’t wanna get dissected by aliens. So, bygones?”

The others nods and he smiles, “I’m Barclay, this is Joseph. My, uh, my boyfriend.” It’s distinctly odd watching such a large man blush like a schoolgirl. Joseph smiles, kisses his cheek, then looks around the room.

“Alright, we need to find the four symbol code to enter onto that pad. Spread out and look for places symbols might be hidden.”

They find the first one easily. Indrid’s eye for color and patterns helps them locate the second, and when a clue points to the third being high up, instead of having to construct a makeshift ladder or step-stool, Barclay simply reaches up and grabs it. It does not escape Duck’s notice that both Indrid and Joseph get appreciative looks on their faces when Barclay then moves a “cloning pod” out of the way all by himself.

“I suspect the last symbol is hidden one something that is in...that hole.” Joseph points to the newly revealed wall lined with several cubbies, one of which has danger signs written all around it.

“Not it. Too close to a garbage disposal, and I have nightmares about putting my hand down that at the wrong time.” Barclay shudders.

“I would also prefer not to be the one to reach in; such elements often have a loud noise gimmick and I do not enjoy that.”

Joseph glances at Duck, blue eyes glinting with a not-entirely-friendly challenge.

“Fuck it, I’ll do it.” Duck steps forward and cautiously slides his hand in. Indrid’s instinct was right, as the whole starts vibrating with a loud, grinding sound. Indrid yelps, grabbing the other two men, who in turn jump and scream in surprise. Duck grits his teeth, fights the urge to pull back, and finds a smooth tile waiting for him. When he removes his hand the noise stops, and he grins, triumphant, as he shows off the last symbol.

“WHOO!” Barclay cheers and high-fives Duck as Joseph punches in the symbols, stopping the timer on the wall, “shit, that was wild man, scared the living hell outta me and I wasn’t even the one doing it.”

“Mmmm, my brave hero.” Indrid drapes his arms over his shoulder, kissing him.

“Sap.” Duck teases, kissing him back.

“You know, we make a pretty good team.” Joseph brushes stray hair off his face.

“Yeah. Would, um, would you guys like to go grab coffee or something?” Barclay looks genuinely hopeful, which is why, ten minutes later, Duck is sitting across from Joseph in a dark-wood coffee shop. Indrid has excused himself to wash his hands and Barclay is outside taking a phone call from someone named Mama.

Duck sips his coffee (black) as he watches Joseph measure cream into his mug.

“That explains it; guys who drink black coffee are always weird about guys who don’t.”

“Don’t Barclay drink his black?”

“Only when we’re out, when we’re at home he’s always making fancy coffee. Trying out new recipes. It works well. Or, um, mostly well. There was a green tea cherry espresso that was not his finest.”

“Eech. Heh, that reminds me of the time ‘Drid was so groggy he poured strawberry syrup into his coffee instead of caramel. Didn’t phase him one bit, but I felt like I was kissin a berry patch the whole day. Swear the man’s half moth or some shit from how much sugar he drinks.”

Joseph snickers, “sorry, imagining Indrid as a mothman is a funny image.”

Duck pictures it and giggles, which makes Joseph laugh harder. When they recover, he scratches the back of his neck, “Look, I’m sorry I was a dick about your coffee order. Just havin one of those weeks where everythin got on my nerves.”

“It’s alright. I’m not all that bothered by it. Not intellectually, anyway. Being particular or precise is something people have been, um, less than kind to me about in the past.”

“Nothin wrong with knowin what you like.”

Joseph glances out the window at Barclay, “No, no there’s not.”

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

It becomes a weekly arrangement; the four of them meet for some kind of activity, then go to lunch or dinner. Duck learns many things over those weeks; that Barclay can figure out how to reverse engineer Indrid’s favorite cupcakes from a local bakery, that Joseph has a worryingly deep yet very endearing knowledge of bad horror movies. That while Joseph is terrifying during a trivia match, Duck can still wipe the floor with everyone when it comes to the science categories. He learns that Joseph is trans, like him, and that Barclay and Indrid actually went to the same high school but were two years apart and thus didn’t know each other.

Right now, he’s learning that he’s not as good at laser tag as he thought he was.

They went during the cheaper hours, mid-afternoon on a Sunday, and while all four of them are on the same team they’ve gotten separated in the neon-tinted darkness.

He can tell the enemy team has spotted him, and is moving as fast as he can out of range, when a hand reaches out of a darkened turret and pulls him in.

“GAHoh, phew, scared the hell outta me Joe.”

“Sorry, it was safer than calling out.” The space is small, built for kids rather than two twenty-six year olds, and so Joe is pressed right up against him as he watches the door. He might be the only guy Duck knows who wears honest to god cologne, clean and minty smelling, and the scent wraps around him when Joe pulls him back against his chest to hide them from passing opponents.

“Fuck, that was close.” He whispers.

“Don’t worry” Joe murmurs in his ear, voice huskier than normal, “you’ve got me to look out for you.” He breaks away as if nothing happened, pulls Duck’s body out into the glowing chaos, while his mind stays in the little room, wondering what the fuck that was.

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

“Can’t believe we got our asses handed to us by a bunch of eleven year olds.” Duck groans as they sit, licking their wounds along with soft-serve from a tiny shack that Barclay swears by.

“That one blonde girl is gonna grow up to be a sniper.” Barclay offers his cone (chocolate and sour cherry) to Joseph, who takes a prim bite.

“It may run in the family; I think her dad was the one with the ‘Go Army’ shirt.”

“Oh, were we not supposed to be going easy on them?” Indrid cocks his head. The others stare at him in mute shock.

“I’m kidding; I was utterly outmatched in there.” He grins before dragging his tongue up his cone (pineapple and marshmallow). When he reaches the tip he opens his mouth wider, taking it all in with a satisfied moan. He pulls off, stray ice cream dribbling down his chin until Joe hands him a napkin. Indrid thanks him, then proceeds to do the exact same thing, over and over, and Duck realizes neither of the other men have looked away from his boyfriend. Barclay’s legs are now crossed, and Joe’s cheeks are pink. Duck can’t really blame them--he knows exactly what Indrid can do with that mouth--but what’s stranger is he doesn’t feel jealous or annoyed. He knows Indrid sometimes struggles with looking, in his own words, “offputting.” It’s nice to see two other people catch on to just how hot he is.

Then again, he kind of wishes Joe would stop staring and eat his own cone; he wants to see what his tongue can do, too.

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

“Watcha drawin’?” Duck slides onto the couch next to Indrid.

“Just random images.”

“That us with Joe and Barclay?”

“I, ah, yes it is.”

“Like it a lot. Christ you’re talented, it’s like how much you like us is comin’ right off the page.”

“Is, ah, is that so? I hadn’t noticed, ah, oh dear, I just remembered I need to go call Jake about covering my shift.”

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

Duck: That new barcade is finally open, wanna come with us on Saturday?

Barclay: Wish we could, but we got a friends birthday that night.

Duck: No big, let us know if you want to catch a flick on Sunday

Barclay sets the phone down, not remembering it’s a group text until Joe pokes his head out of the bedroom.

“Shit, whose birthday is on Saturday? We need to get a gift.”

“Oh, uh, no, no one. Just, uh, didn’t feel like going out but didn’t want them to think I was, like, angry or something. Sorry, shoulda asked if you wanted to go without me, shit, that was rude.”

“It’s alright, I don’t mind time that’s just for us.” He crosses the living room, fiddles with Barclays hair, “but let me know if you want to see a movie Sunday, I’m happy either way.”

“Uhuh, will do.” Barclay nods, not really paying attention, as he imagines silvery hair in the dark theater and holding slender, cool fingers in his own.

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

“Why do I get the feeling you don’t actually have that DVD to loan me?”

“I do” Duck shuts the apartment door behind Joe, “but we got some things to discuss first.” He waits until Joe is sitting next to Barclay (lured here by the promise of cookies) and across from Indrid (lives here, not that hard to lure).

“Look, I don’t think I really gotta point out how weird it is that we went from hangin out every week to not seein’ each other for near a month. But what I do gotta point out is why it’s happenin’.”

“We’ve all been busy?” Joe hazards.

“Yeah, but we all were busy before and we made time for each other. Now we, myself included, are cancelin shit.” He takes a deep breath, “Barclay, Joe, you both got a thing for ‘Drid, don’t you?”

Joe nods while Barclay blushes and mutters, “yeah.”

“And ‘Drid, you got a thing for both of them?”

His boyfriend shifts nervously in his seat, but nods all the same. Barclay looks genuinely surprised.

“Well, you three ain’t the only ones realizin’ you want more than you got. Joe, I, uh, I really like you. As in wanna date you. So, uh, that’s where we’re at.” He sits down next to Indrid, who instantly takes his hand.

“That’s...wait, don’t we all want the same thing?” Joe looks between them, puzzled.

“You’d really be okay with me dating Indrid?” Barclay asks softly.

“We’d both be dating him. And I’d be dating Duck as well as you two. Assuming that was alright with Indrid?”

“....You know, I think it is.” Indrid squeezes Duck’s hand, “I was afraid to admit how I felt; I didn’t want to come between you and Barclay, because you clearly love each other, and I couldn’t bear the thought of losing Duck. But I’ve also seen how happy he is around you, Joseph; there is no reason we could not all work things out to be happy as a, ah, polycule? Is that the term?”

“Think so.” Barclay relaxes, “fuck, I felt so bad thinking that wanting Indrid would fuck everything up, don’t know what to do with my self now that I’m not stressing about it.”

“I propose we order dinner and just...talk.” Indrid rests his head on Duck’s shoulder, “I think that will help us sort out where to go from here.”

Duck orders takeout from the Chinese place down the block as Indrid and Joe arrange the living room into a place where they can all sit together comfortably and Barclay grab drinks. Soon they’re gathered on the floor, working out logistics and boundaries and hopes and fears between bites of fried rice and chow mein. Joe keeps notes, curling closer to Duck as the evening goes on.

There’s a part of him that wants to jump straight to sex, to pin Joe to floor and fuck him while his other boyfriends do what they want to him, to Duck, to each other. But this thing between them is a new leaf in spring, vulnerable and just beginning to grow.

So, after dinner, they cuddle up on the couch and floor to watch the midnight movie on local T.V, hands tentatively finding each other and bodies gradually resting closer together in new configurations.

He falls asleep on the floor, Indrid spooning him and Joe resting his head on his belly. Wakes up with Joe curled around him and Barclay cuddled up to Indrid, snoring softly.

Duck slips out of the configuration, pads into the kitchen to start coffee. When Joe sneaks up behind him he gasps, snickers as the taller man kisses him good morning. Then he grabs two mugs, smiling to himself at his luck as he opens the fridge. After all, he already knows just how his new boyfriend likes his coffee.

#meet ugly #OT4: Government Men and Their Cryptid Boyfriends #agent stern/barclay/indrid cold/Duck newton #agent stern/barclay #indrid cold/duck newton #indruck #sternclay #prompt fills #agent stern/duck newton

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bananaofswifts · 5 years ago

Link

IT’S A SUNDAY AFTERNOON in Tribeca, and I’m in Taylor Swift’s loft, inside a former printing house that she has restored and fortified into a sanctuary of brick, velvet, and mahogany. The space is warm and cozy and vaguely literary—later, when we pass through her bedroom en route to her garden, 10 percent of my brain will believe her wardrobe might open up to Narnia. Barefoot in a wine-colored floral top and matching flowy pants, Swift is typing passwords into a laptop to show me the video for “You Need to Calm Down,” eight days before she unleashes it on the world. I have a sliver of an idea what to expect. A few weeks earlier, I spent a day at the video shoot, in a dusty field-slash-junkyard north of Los Angeles. Swift had made it a sort of Big Gay Candy Mountain trailer park, a Technicolor happy place. The cast and crew wore heart-shaped sunglasses—living, breathing lovey-eyes emoji—and a mailbox warned, LOVE LETTERS ONLY. Swift and a stream of costars filmed six scenes over about a dozen hours. The singer-songwriter Hayley Kiyoko, known to her fans as “Lesbian Jesus,” shot arrows at a bull’s-eye. The YouTube comedian-chef Hannah Hart danced alongside Dexter Mayfield, the plus-size male model and self-described “big boy in heels.” The Olympic figure skater Adam Rippon served up icy red snow cones. Swift and her close friend Todrick Hall, of Kinky Boots and RuPaul’s Drag Race, sipped tea with the cast of Queer Eye. The mood was joyous and laid-back. But by the end of the day, I wasn’t sure what the vignettes would add up to. There were shoot days and cameos I wouldn’t observe. For security reasons, the song was never played aloud. (The cast wore ear buds.) Even the hero shot, in which Swift and Hall sauntered arm in arm through the dreamscape at golden hour, was filmed in near-total silence. For weeks afterward, I tried to sleuth out a theory. I started casually. There was a “5” on the bull’s-eye, so I did a quick search to figure out what that number might mean. Immediately I was in over my head. Swift has a thing for symbols. I knew she had been embedding secret messages in liner notes and deploying metaphors as refrains since her self-titled debut in 2006—long before her megafame made her into a symbol of pop supremacy. But I hadn’t understood how coded and byzantine her body of work has become; I hadn’t learned, as Swift’s fans have, to see hidden meanings everywhere. For instance: In the 2017 video for “Look What You Made Me Do,” a headstone in a graveyard scene reads NILS SJOBERG, the pseudonym Swift used as her writing credit on Rihanna’s hit “This Is What You Came For,” a Swedish-sounding nod to that country’s pop wizards. After an excessive amount of ad hoc scholarship—a friend joked that I could have learned Mandarin in the time I spent trying to unpack Swift’s oeuvre—I was no closer to a theory. Pop music has become so layered and meta, but the Taylor Swift Universe stands apart. Apprehending it is like grasping quantum physics. My first indication of what her new album, Lover, would be about came just after midnight on June 1, the beginning of Pride Month, when Swift introduced a petition in support of the federal Equality Act. This legislation would amend the Civil Rights Act to outlaw discrimination based on gender identity and sexual orientation. (It has passed the House, but prospects in Mitch McConnell’s Senate are unclear.) Swift also posted a letter to Senator Lamar Alexander, Republican of Tennessee, asking him to vote yes. The request, on her personal letterhead (born in 1989. LOVES CATS.), denounced President Trump for not supporting the Equality Act. “I personally reject the president’s stance,” Swift wrote. Back in the kitchen, Swift hits play. “The first verse is about trolls and cancel culture,” she says. “The second verse is about homophobes and the people picketing outside our concerts. The third verse is about successful women being pitted against each other.” The video is, for erudite Swifties, a rich text. I had followed enough clues to correctly guess some of the other cameos—Ellen DeGeneres, RuPaul, Katy Perry. I felt the satisfaction of a gamer who successfully levels up—achievement unlocked! The video’s final frame sends viewers to Swift’s change.org petition in support of the Equality Act, which has acquired more than 400,000 signatures—including those of Cory Booker, Elizabeth Warren, Beto O’Rourke, and Kirsten Gillibrand—or four times the number required to elicit an official response from the White House. “Maybe a year or two ago, Todrick and I are in the car, and he asked me, What would you do if your son was gay?” We are upstairs in Swift’s secret garden, comfortably ensconced in a human-scale basket that is sort of shaped like a cocoon. Swift has brought up an ornate charcuterie board and is happily slathering triple-cream Brie onto sea-salt crackers. “The fact that he had to ask me … shocked me and made me realize that I had not made my position clear enough or loud enough,” she says. “If my son was gay, he’d be gay. I don’t understand the question.” I have pressed Swift on this topic, and her answers have been direct, not performative or scripted. I do sense that she enjoys talking to me about as much as she’d enjoy a root canal—but she’s unfailingly polite, and when we turn to music, her face will light up and she will add little melodic phrases to her speech, clearly her preferred language. “If he was thinking that, I can’t imagine what my fans in the LGBTQ community might be thinking,” she goes on. “It was kind of devastating to realize that I hadn’t been publicly clear about that.” I understand why she was surprised; she has been sending pro-LGBTQ signals since at least 2011. Many have been subtle, but none insignificant—especially for a young country star coming out of Nashville. In the video for her single “Mean” (from 2010’s Speak Now), we see a boy in a school locker room wearing a lavender sweater and bow tie, surrounded by football players. In “Welcome to New York,” the first track on 1989, she sings, “And you can want who you want. Boys and boys and girls and girls.” Two years later, she donated to a fund for the newly created Stonewall National Monument and presented Ruby Rose with a GLAAD Media Award. Every night of last year’s Reputation tour, she dedicated the song “Dress” to Loie Fuller, the openly gay pioneer of modern dance and theatrical lighting who captured the imagination of fin-de-siècle Paris. Swift, who has been criticized for keeping her politics to herself, first took an explicit stance a month before the 2018 midterms. On Instagram, she endorsed Democrats for the Tennessee Legislature and called out the Republican running for Senate, Marsha Blackburn. “She believes businesses have a right to refuse service to gay couples,” Swift wrote. “She also believes they should not have the right to marry. These are not MY Tennessee values.” Swift says the post was partly to help young fans understand that if they wanted to vote, they had to register. To tell them, as she puts it, “Hey, just so you know, you can’t just roll up.” Some 65,000 new voters registered in the first 24 hours after her post, according to Vote.org. Trump came to Blackburn’s defense the following day. “She’s a tremendous woman,” he told reporters. “I’m sure Taylor Swift doesn’t know anything about her. Let’s say I like Taylor’s music about 25 percent less now, OK?” In April, spurred by a raft of anti-LGBTQ bills in Tennessee, Swift donated $113,000 to the Tennessee Equality Project, which advocates for LGBTQ rights. “Horrendous,” she says of the legislation. “They don’t call it ‘Slate of Hate’ for nothing.” Swift especially liked that the Tennessee Equality Project had organized a petition of faith leaders in opposition. “I loved how smart it was to come at it from a religious perspective.” Meanwhile, the “Calm Down” video provoked a Colorado pastor to call Swift “a sinner in desperate need of a savior” and warn that “God will cut her down.” It also revived heated debate within LGBTQ communities about the politics of allyship and corporatization of Pride. Some critics argued Swift’s pro-LGBTQ imagery and lyrics were overdue and out of the blue—a reaction the new Swift scholar in me found bewildering. Had they not been paying attention? Nor did it strike me as out of character for Swift to leverage her power for a cause. She pulled her catalog from Spotify in 2014 over questions of artist compensation. She stared down Apple in 2015, when the company said it would not pay artists during the launch of its music service. (Apple reversed itself immediately.) As a condition of her record deal with Universal Music Group last year, the company promised that it would distribute proceeds from any sale of its Spotify shares to all of its artists. And this summer, Swift furiously called out Scott Borchetta, founder of Big Machine Label Group, for selling her master recordings to the music manager Scooter Braun. (When I ask Swift if she tried to get her masters from Big Machine, her whole body slumps with a palpable heaviness. “It was either investing in my past or my and other artists’ future, and I chose the future,” she says of the deal she struck with Universal.) Swift’s blunt testimony during her 2017 sexual-assault case against a radio DJ—months before the #MeToo reckoning blew open—felt deeply political to me and, I imagine, many other women. Swift accused the DJ, David Mueller, of groping her under her skirt at a photo session in 2013. Her camp reported the incident to his employer, who fired him. Mueller denied the allegation, sued Swift for $3 million, and his case was thrown out. Swift countersued for a symbolic $1 and won. In a Colorado courtroom, Swift described the incident: “He stayed latched onto my bare ass cheek” as photos were being snapped. Asked why photos of the front of her skirt didn’t show this, she said, “Because my ass is located at the back of my body.” Asked if she felt bad about the DJ’s losing his job, she said, “I’m not going to let you or your client make me feel in any way that this is my fault. Here we are years later, and I’m being blamed for the unfortunate events of his life that are the product of his decisions—not mine.” When Time included Swift on the cover of its “Silence Breakers” issue that year, the magazine asked how she felt during the testimony. “I was angry,” she said. “In that moment, I decided to forgo any courtroom formalities and just answer the questions the way it happened…I’m told it was the most amount of times the word ass has ever been said in Colorado Federal Court.” Mueller has since paid Swift the dollar—with a Sacagawea coin. “He was trolling me, implying that I was self-righteous and hell-bent on angry, vengeful feminism. That’s what I’m inferring from him giving me a Sacagawea coin,” Swift says. “Hey, maybe he was trying to do it in honor of a powerful Native American woman. I didn’t ask.” Where is the coin now? “My lawyer has it.” I ask her, why get louder about LGBTQ rights now? “Rights are being stripped from basically everyone who isn’t a straight white cisgender male,” she says. “I didn’t realize until recently that I could advocate for a community that I’m not a part of. It’s hard to know how to do that without being so fearful of making a mistake that you just freeze. Because my mistakes are very loud. When I make a mistake, it echoes through the canyons of the world. It’s clickbait, and it’s a part of my life story, and it’s a part of my career arc.” I’d argue that no heterosexual woman can listen to “You Need to Calm Down” and hear only a gay anthem. “Calm down” is what controlling men tell women who are angry, contrary, or “hysterical,” or, let’s say, fearing for their physical safety. It is what Panic! at the Disco singer Brendon Urie says to Swift in the beginning of the “ME!” music video, prompting her to scream, “Je suis calme!” I cannot believe it is a coincidence that Swift, a numbers geek with an affinity for dates, dropped the single—whose slow, incessant bass is likely to be bumping in stadiums across the world in 2020 if she goes on tour—on June 14, a certain president’s birthday. It’s enlightening to read 13 years of Taylor Swift coverage—all the big reviews, all the big profiles—in one sitting. You notice things. How quickly Swift went from a “prodigy” (The New Yorker) and a “songwriting savant” (Rolling Stone) to a tabloid fixture, for instance. Or how suspect her ambition is made to seem once she acquires real power. Other plot points simply look different in the light of #MeToo. It is hard to imagine that Swift’s songs about her exes would be reviewed as sensationally today. I wonder if, in 2019, any man would dare grab the microphone out of a young woman’s hands at an awards show. I stared into space for a good long while when I was reminded that Pitchfork did not review Taylor Swift’s 1989 but did review Ryan Adams’s cover album of Taylor Swift’s 1989. I ask Swift if she had always been aware of sexism. “I think about this a lot,” she says. “When I was a teenager, I would hear people talk about sexism in the music industry, and I’d be like, I don’t see it. I don’t understand. Then I realized that was because I was a kid. Men in the industry saw me as a kid. I was a lanky, scrawny, overexcited young girl who reminded them more of their little niece or their daughter than a successful woman in business or a colleague. The second I became a woman, in people’s perception, was when I started seeing it. “It’s fine to infantilize a girl’s success and say, How cute that she’s having some hit songs,” she goes on. “How cute that she’s writing songs. But the second it becomes formidable? As soon as I started playing stadiums—when I started to look like a woman—that wasn’t as cool anymore. It was when I started to have songs from Red come out and cross over, like ‘I Knew You Were Trouble’ and ‘We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together.’ ” Those songs are also more assertive than the ones that came before, I say. “Yeah, the angle was different when I started saying, I knew you were trouble when you walked in. Basically, you emotionally manipulated me and I didn’t love it. That wasn’t fun for me.” I have to wonder if having her songwriting overlooked as her hits were picked apart and scrutinized wasn’t the biggest bummer of all. Swift: “I wanted to say to people, You realize writing songs is an art and a craft and not, like, an easy thing to do? Or to do well? People would act like it was a weapon I was using. Like a cheap dirty trick. Be careful, bro, she’ll write a song about you. Don’t stand near her. First of all, that’s not how it works. Second of all, find me a time when they say that about a male artist: Be careful, girl, he’ll use his experience with you to get—God forbid—inspiration to make art.” Without question the tenor of the Taylor Swift Narrative changed most dramatically in July 2016, when Kim Kardashian West called her a “snake” on Twitter, and released video clips of Swift and Kanye West discussing the lyrics to his song “Famous.” (No need to rehash the details here. Suffice it to say that Swift’s version of events hasn’t changed: She knew about some of the lyrics but not others; specifically, the words that bitch.) The posts sparked several hashtags, including #TaylorSwiftIsASnake and #TaylorSwiftIsCanceled, which quickly escalated into a months-long campaign to “cancel” Swift. To this day Swift doesn’t think people grasp the repercussions of that term. “A mass public shaming, with millions of people saying you are quote-unquote canceled, is a very isolating experience,” she says. “I don’t think there are that many people who can actually understand what it’s like to have millions of people hate you very loudly.” She adds: “When you say someone is canceled, it’s not a TV show. It’s a human being. You’re sending mass amounts of messaging to this person to either shut up, disappear, or it could also be perceived as, Kill yourself.” I get a sense of the whiplash Swift experienced when I notice that, a few months into this ordeal, while she was writing the songs that an interpolation of a ’90s camp classic, Right Said Fred’s “I’m Too Sexy.”) Nonetheless, most critics read it as a grenade lobbed in the general direction of Calabasas. One longtime Nashville critic, Brian Mansfield, had a more plausible take: She was writing sarcastically as the “Taylor Swift” portrayed in the media in a bid for privacy. “Yeah, this is the character you created for me, let me just hide behind it,” she says now of the persona she created. “I always used this metaphor when I was younger. I’d say that with every reinvention, I never wanted to tear down my house. ’Cause I built this house. This house being, metaphorically, my body of work, my songwriting, my music, my catalog, my library. I just wanted to redecorate. I think a lot of people, with Reputation, would have perceived that I had torn down the house. Actually, I just built a bunker around it.” In March, the snakes started to morph into butterflies, the vampire color palette into Easter pastels. When a superbloom of wildflowers lured a mesmerizing deluge of Painted Lady butterflies to Los Angeles, Swift marked it with an Instagram post. She attended the iHeartRadio Music Awards that night in a sequin romper and stilettos with shimmery wings attached. Swift announced the single “ME!” a month later, with a large butterfly mural in Nashville. In the music video for the (conspicuously) bubblegum song, a hissing pastel-pink snake explodes into a kaleidoscope of butterflies. One flutters by the window of an apartment, where Swift is arguing in French with Urie. A record player is playing in the background. “It’s an old-timey, 1940s-sounding instrumental version of ‘You Need to Calm Down,’ ’’ Swift says. Later, in the “Calm Down” video, Swift wears a (fake) back tattoo of a snake swarmed by butterflies. We are only two songs in, people. Lover, to be released on August 23, will have a total of 18 songs. “I was compiling ideas for a very long time,” Swift says. “When I started writing, I couldn’t stop.” (We can assume the British actor Joe Alwyn, with whom Swift has been in a relationship for nearly three years, provided some of the inspiration.) Swift thinks Lover might be her favorite album yet. “There are so many ways in which this album feels like a new beginning,” she says. “This album is really a love letter to love, in all of its maddening, passionate, exciting, enchanting, horrific, tragic, wonderful glory.” I have to ask Swift, given how genuinely at peace she seems, if part of her isn’t thankful, if not for the Great Cancellation of 2016, then for the person she now is—knowing who her friends are, knowing what’s what. “When you’re going through loss or embarrassment or shame, it’s a grieving process with so many micro emotions in a day. One of the reasons why I didn’t do interviews for Reputation was that I couldn’t figure out how I felt hour to hour. Sometimes I felt like: All these things taught me something that I never could have learned in a way that didn’t hurt as much. Five minutes later, I’d feel like: That was horrible. Why did that have to happen? What am I supposed to take from this other than mass amounts of humiliation? And then five minutes later I’d think: I think I might be happier than I’ve ever been.” She goes on: “It’s so strange trying to be self-aware when you’ve been cast as this always smiling, always happy ‘America’s sweetheart’ thing, and then having that taken away and realizing that it’s actually a great thing that it was taken away, because that’s extremely limiting.” Swift leans back in the cocoon and smiles: “We’re not going to go straight to gratitude with it. Ever. But we’re going to find positive aspects to it. We’re never going to write a thank-you note.” Though people will take the Perry-Swift burger-and-fries embrace in the “You Need to Calm Down” video as a press release that the two have mended fences, Swift says it’s actually a comment on how the media pits female pop stars against one another. After Perry sent Swift an (actual) olive branch last year, Swift asked her to be in the video: “She wrote back, This makes me so emotional. I’m so up for this. I want us to be that example. But let’s spend some time together. Because I want it to be real. So she came over and we talked for hours. “We decided the metaphor for what happens in the media,” Swift explains, “is they pick two people and it’s like they’re pouring gasoline all over the floor. All that needs to happen is one false move, one false word, one misunderstanding, and a match is lit and dropped. That’s what happened with us. It was: Who’s better? Katy or Taylor? Katy or Taylor? Katy or Taylor? Katy or Taylor? The tension is so high that it becomes impossible for you to not think that the other person has something against you.“ Meanwhile, the protesters in the video reference a real-life religious group that pickets outside Swift’s concerts, not the white working class in general, as some have assumed. “So many artists have them at their shows, and it’s such a confounding, confusing, infuriating thing to have outside of joyful concerts,” she tells me. “Obviously I don’t want to mention the actual entity, because they would get excited about that. Giving them press is not on my list of priorities.” At one point, Swift asks if I would like to hear two other songs off the new album. (Duh.) First she plays “Lover,” the title track, coproduced by Jack Antonoff. “This has one of my favorite bridges,” she says. “I love a bridge, and I was really able to go to Bridge City.” It’s a romantic, haunting, waltzy, singer-songwritery nugget: classic Swift. “My heart’s been borrowed and yours has been blue,” she sings. “All’s well that ends well to end up with you.” Next, Swift cues up a track that “plays with the idea of perception.” She has often wondered how she would be written and spoken about if she were a man, “so I wrote a song called ‘The Man.’ ” It’s a thought experiment of sorts: “If I had made all the same choices, all the same mistakes, all the same accomplishments, how would it read?” Seconds later, Swift’s earpods are pumping a synth-pop earworm into my head: “I’d be a fearless leader. I’d be an alpha type. When everyone believes ya: What’s that like?” Swift wrote the first two singles with Joel Little, best known as one of Lorde’s go-to producers. (“From a pop-songwriting point of view, she’s the pinnacle,” Little says of Swift.) The album is likely to include more marquee names. A portrait of the Dixie Chicks in the background of the “ME!” video almost certainly portends a collaboration. If fans are correctly reading a button affixed to her denim jacket in a recent magazine cover, we can expect one with Drake, too. Lover. “We met at one of her shows,” says McCartney, “and then we had a girls’ night and kind of jumped straight in. In London we’ll go on walks and talk about everything—life and love.” (Swift has no further fashion ambitions at the moment. “I really love my job right now,” she tells me. “My focus is on music.”) Oh, and that “5” on the bullseye? Track five is called “The Archer.” Yet something tells me the most illuminating clue for reading both Lover and Reputationmay be Loie Fuller, the dancer to whom Swift paid homage on tour. As Swift noted on a Jumbotron, Fuller “fought for artists to own their work.” Fuller also used swirling fabric and colored lights to metamorphose onstage, playing a “hide-and-seek illusionist game” with her audience, as one writer has put it. She became a muse to the Symbolists in Paris, where Jean Cocteau wrote that she created “the phantom of an era.” The effect, said the poet Stéphane Mallarmé, was a “dizziness of soul made visible by an artifice.” Fuller’s most famous piece was “Serpentine Dance.” Another was “Butterfly Dance.” Swift has had almost no downtime since late 2017, but what little she does have is divided among New York, Nashville, Los Angeles, and Rhode Island, where she keeps homes—plus London. In an essay earlier this year, she revealed that her mother, Andrea Swift, is fighting cancer for a second time. “There was a relapse that happened,” Swift says, declining to go into detail. “It’s something that my family is going through.” Later this year, she will star in a film adaptation of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s Cats as Bombalurina, the flirtatious red cat. “They made us the size of cats by making the furniture bigger,” she says. “You’d be standing there and you could barely reach the seat of a chair. It was phenomenal. It made you feel like a little kid.” But first, she will spend much of the summer holding “secret sessions”—a tradition wherein Swift invites hundreds of fans to her various homes to preview her new music. “They’ve never given me a reason to stop doing it,” she says. “Not a single one.” Speaking of: Inquiring fans will want to know if Swift dropped any more clues about how to decode Lover during this interview. For you I reviewed the audio again, and there were a few things that made my newly acquired Swifty sense tingle. At one point she compared superstardom in the digital age to life in a dollhouse, one where voyeurs “can ‘ship’ you with who they want to ‘ship’ you with, and they can ‘favorite’ friends that you have, and they can know where you are all the time.” The metaphor was precise and vivid and, well, a little too intricately rendered to be off the cuff. (Also, the “ME!” lyric: “Baby doll, when it comes to a lover. I promise that you’ll never find another like me.”) Then there was the balloon—a giant gold balloon in the shape of a numeral seven that happened to float by while we were on her roof, on this, the occasion of her seventh album. “Is it an L’?” I say. “No, because look, the string is hanging from the bottom,” she says. It might seem an obvious symbolic gesture, deployed for this interview, except for how impossible that seems. Swift let me control the timing of nearly everything. Moreover, the gold seven wasn’t floating up from the sidewalk below. It was already high in the sky, drifting slowly toward us from down the street. She would have had to control the wind, or at least to have studied it. Would Taylor Swift really go to such elaborate lengths for her fans? This much I know: Yes, she would.

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