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celestial-toys · 2 months ago

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That I Would Be Good [4/5]

Swan Upon Leda

Moon’s fingertips tap rhythmically along the edge of the counter, and he seems to be debating something. He finally speaks again after a pregnant pause. “…You’re like a God to him. Do you know that?”

His words cut through the fog in your mind. “I am?”

He nods solemnly. “You are. Not—Not in the sense that he wants to worship you… or at least, not as much as he wants to protect you. But there’s an undeniable, ineffable devotion there.”

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In This Chapter

Breaking points are reached, confrontations are had, and secrets are spilled.

Pairing: Sun x Moon x Reader

Word Count: 5,781

Contains: [AU - Real World | Sentient AI/Automatons | Personality Swap] [invasion of privacy] [more of Sun’s signature Overbearing Behavior™️] [crying] [substance abuse (not specified beyond ‘sedatives’)] [arguments] [shouting] [brief physical altercation] [religious discussion/metaphor(?)] [implication of past sexual assault (not committed by Sun or Moon, to be perfectly clear)]

A/Ns: This is a songfic. Lyrics and title are from ‘That I Would Be Good’ by Alanis Morissette. Also, the title of this chapter, along with additional lyrics featured within it, are from the song 'Swan Upon Leda' by Hozier. Please refer to the notes on the Ao3 version of this chapter for my commentary on the song, and it's unfortunate renewed relevancy post-US election.

This fic is part of my AU “[Not] Made by Design”, the full series can be found here.

Links to other parts of this fic: [Ch.1] [Ch.2] [Ch.3] [Ch.4 (you are here)] [Ch.5]

That I would be grand if I was not all-knowing.

Curled up in bed one evening, you huff in frustration at the puzzle on your phone. The sound catches Sun’s attention, raising his head from the pillow beneath him. Shifting from his usual fit-for-a-coffin position beside you, he cranes his neck to look over your shoulder.

“Expose. Pate. Resume. Rose.”

You frown. “Really?”

“Try it and see for yourself.”

You tap the four assorted words he called out and sure enough, they collect themselves in a purple bracket on the screen. You read the category title aloud. “Words pronounced differently with accent marks. …Oh. Huh. Guess you’re right.”

His voice is neutral, very matter-of-fact as he pulls his head back, neck folding and collapsing to allow him to rest on the pillow once again. “Of course I am.”

You roll your eyes, sarcasm seeping into your flat tone. “Yeah, yeah. Thanks for the help.”

------- ------- -------

Settled down for a lazy Sunday morning gaming session, you mutter aloud as your character runs across the island. “Okay, I’ve got… 300k on me. Daisy’s sellin’ ‘em for… oh, I checked earlier, what was it… uh—109 this week.”

Moon’s voice rumbles out from behind you and you feel the vibration between your shoulder blades as you rest against his chest. “Sheesh…”

You voice your agreement as you roam in search of the young turnip-laden boar. “Yeah, I know.”

You try to do the math in your head. “So… that should mean I can afford—”

Moon cheerfully provides you with your answer almost instantly. “2,752! Or—well—2,750 is as close as you can get without going over since she sells them in bundles of ten.”

You try to keep the frustration out of your voice when you thank him for the help.

------- ------- -------

Your hand freezes over the bowl, a scoop of flour held in midair as you lean back to stare at the recipe below.

“What.” Deadpan as usual, Sun questions you from his seat at the table. He’d apparently joined Zero in deciding that watching you bake was the most entertaining way they could spend the afternoon.

“It was… ugh, I need ‘two cups’. But I‘m weighing this out, so I'm trying to remember what that was in grams.”

Once again robbing you of the opportunity to think, he’s quick to feed you the information. “Two cups of flour equals 250 grams.”

You sigh. “…Thanks.”

------- ------- -------

Curled on the couch between the two of them, you listen as they test their trivia knowledge against one another, having fallen into a contest thanks to the episode of Jeopardy currently playing on the TV. You’ve long since given up on trying to beat either of them to any answer, and are currently trying to fight back the rising, nagging voice in your head that keeps calling you stupid.

After Moon effortlessly answers a clue so obscure that you’d have had no hope in hell of getting it, you wiggle out from between them with perhaps a bit more force than necessary. Quickly excusing yourself, you make for the bathroom.

“You good?” You ignore the concerned question that Sun calls after you, focused solely on being alone and calming down before you make a scene in front of them. You’ve just gotta… breathe. See things rationally again.

You just need a minute.

------- ------- -------

After more time than you’re aware of passes, spent with your head in your hands as you sit on the edge of the bathtub willing yourself not to cry, a soft knock startles you.

“Are you alright in there, star? It’s… been twenty minutes and, uh…” He laughs, but it’s a sad sound. “I don’t know how much longer I can hold Sun back.”

You hurry to your feet, placating them with “Just a second!” as you check your reflection to make sure you don’t have pressure marks on your cheeks from how long you sat there like that. When you pull the door open, you try to play it casual in spite of the fact that you feel no better than before. Unsurprisingly, you immediately come face-to-chest with a very imposing and very quiet yellow automaton.

You glance between his blank gaze and Moon, wringing his hands some feet off to the side behind his bolder counterpart.

“…Hi?”

“What were you doing in there.”

“Using the… bathroom…?”

He’s obviously unsatisfied with your answer but he doesn’t stop you when you slip past him through the doorway. He surveys the empty bathroom for a long moment before following as you make your way back to the couch.

“Goodness, didn’t mean to turn my bathroom trip into a full-family event.” You remark as you pass by Moon and Zero, both of them turning to follow you as well. You settle back down in the middle of the couch, Moon taking his place beside you. Zero paces around her bed, too bothered by the tense energy that’s now filled the room to allow herself to relax.

Sun stands in the middle of the room, rays clicking back and forth rigidly. “I am… concerned about you again.”

You sigh, quietly grateful that someone finally broke the awkward silence. “There’s no need to be, Sun.”

“I thought… you wanted me to tell you when I am concerned.”

“I—I do, but… I mean…”

You search for something to throw him off his line of questioning and flop your head back into the plush couch cushion. “Christ, Sun, can’t I even take a shit in peace without an interrogation afterwards?”

His arms cross over his chest. “I never heard the sound of the toilet flushing.”

You internally curse his observation skills as he closes the distance between himself and your seat on the couch. Crouching down in front of you, you begin to feel backed into a corner. “Now, unless you’ve taken up some new, gross attempt at reducing your water-waste, I’d like you to answer me again and be honest about it this time.”

You stare into his blank, false eyes for an uncomfortable length of time as an array of thoughts and feelings wash over you. You consider fabricating another lie. You consider telling some sort of half-truth just to get him off your back. But the longer you stay locked in an unwinnable staring contest with him, the closer you get to throwing caution aside and hitting him with the full truth.

And so you do.

“You make me feel stupid, okay?! And it pisses me off, so I tried to excuse myself to go calm down in the bathroom, but I can’t even get a break in there anymore, so now here we are!”

His expression flickers to one of confusion. “I make you feel what?”

“Stupid! Both of you!”

His monitor rotates to face Moon for a silent moment of shared bewilderment, and then Moon turns to face you. “Could you… elaborate a little more on that? When—How do we make you feel that way?”

You tilt your head over to face him, crossing your arms over yourself in an attempt to quell the vulnerability. “It’s… it’s not even your fault.” You wince at the way your voice cracks and tense up as your vision gets blurry, refusing to cry over something so trivial. “It’s just… I’m… struggling to come to terms with the massive gap between us.”

Sun’s harsh tone doesn’t help. “What gap?”

You blink hard, ignoring the tears that escape. “Intelligence! Memory! Information processing speed! You name it- you two are far better at it than I could ever be!”

Moon reaches out, laying a firm hand on Sun’s knee. What he silently conveys to him is anyone’s guess, but it’s enough to have Sun rock back on his heels, arms retracting and elbows propping him up against the coffee table behind him. The forced look of casualty doesn’t suit him, nor does it negate his overbearing demeanor, but you’re appreciative of the extra space nonetheless.

“Has this… been bothering you for a long time?” Moon’s question is gentle, and on quite the right track.

“Not… since the beginning, if that’s what you’re asking. I knew—objectively—that you both would be superior to me in that regard. It just…”

“Hits different when you live with it twenty-four-seven?

You glance up at Sun. “I mean… kinda? I don’t know. It’s… it’s the little things that have been getting to me. When you—when you solve a puzzle that I’m working on without a moment’s hesitation. When you don’t even give me the time to do math in my head. When you offer up answers before I can even hope to recall them. It just makes me feel so… slow.”

The room is quiet for a moment while they consider your words. Surprisingly, Sun is the one to break through it with an insightful question more befitting of Moon. “Is it that we know the answers, or is it that we give them to you.”

Your tense expression softens as you view your frustration from another angle. Looking back on all the little moments that bothered you, you find that the common thread running through all of them is that they beat you to the punch. “You may… have a point.”

Sun does his best to not look smug, but his best isn’t very good.

“I guess… it wasn’t really that you had the answers that bothered me. It was hardly even the envy that you found them faster, it’s really just—the frustration that I feel when you spoon-feed them to me. It’s making me feel like I never even have the opportunity to use my brain anymore!” You laugh a bit with the exclamation.

Moon nods in understanding beside you. “If I try… placing myself in your shoes, I think I can see how that would get upsetting rather quickly.”

As the tension in the room begins to dissipate, Zero ceases her endless cycle of pacing and sitting, circling her bed a few times before curling up in the middle.

Your attention falls back on Sun as he speaks. “I suppose I should… apologize, then. For… making assumptions. About what you were doing in the bathroom.”

As much as it audibly pains him to admit to having jumped the gun, you appreciate the apology. Still, you know his concern wasn��t unfounded. “I know I've given you both plenty of reasons to worry over what I may be doing in there. It’s… it’s alright, Sunny. I accept the apology.”

Moon picks up from there. “We’re both sorry about our… inconsiderate habit when it comes to helping you out. And—it really does come from a desire to help! But, still. We weren’t aware that it bothered you.”

You reach out to pat him on the knee. “Thank you. Just—can we all agree to give me and my feeble little human brain some time to process things?” You smile. “It feels good when I figure things out on my own. And I’ll… make it known when I would like some help.”

They both nod, and Sun’s voice is surprisingly soft, dare you say gentle when he speaks. “Yeah… yeah. I think we can do that.”

That I would be loved even when I numb myself.

Shaking two pills out of a small bottle, you cringe at the noise and hope that neither of your attentive partners are within earshot. Faltering, you stare at the medication in your hand, trembling slightly from the stress of the day. “…Fuck it,” you whisper to yourself, quickly coaxing a third pill out onto your waiting palm before tossing them in your mouth.

Capping the bottle and returning it to its place behind the mirror-door of the medicine cabinet, you breathe a shaky sigh of relief. Grabbing your water bottle sitting on the bathroom counter, you knock back a few swigs, quickly downing the evidence of your… bad habit.

Or so you believed.

Turning to leave, your stomach drops at the sight of the door, cracked open just slightly. There’s no mistaking the void of a certain someone’s blacked-out screen pressed against the other side.

Goddamnit.

The door swings inward, slowly revealing the rest of the overbearing automaton leaning against the outer doorframe.

Unsure how much he saw but willing to bet that it was too much, you aren’t sure how to address him. “Sun! I thought you were doing laundry. Do you… want the bathroom towels, or…?”

His tone carries a serious, contemplative weight, and he doesn’t bother to manifest an expression beyond two solid red eyes. “I was. And I did. But now I am far more curious as to what exactly you were doing in here just now.”

You try to play him off, laughing. “Sunny, we really need to have a talk about this tendency of yours to spy on me in the bathroom.”

He welcomes himself into the room and your personal space, and you back up a step as he reaches out to reopen the small cabinet above the sink. He reaches in, pulling out the very bottle you’d just held, turning it over beneath a critical gaze. “This was not prescribed to you.”

You rack your brain for excuses and answers to the questions you know are coming. “Y-yeah, it’s just over-the-counter stuff. Nothing serious! I don’t see what you’re so worried about.”

“You are not experiencing a single one of these symptoms. Why are you taking it?” He places a fingertip beneath the dosage instructions. “And why are you taking more than the recommended amount?”

You can’t help but get defensive. “You—you don’t know every single thing I feel every second of every day, Sun. Who are you to tell me that I have no reason to take that?”

His monitor slowly angles away from the bottle in his hand and up toward you. He stares you down for an uncomfortable number of seconds. “…You really have no clue how long I’ve been watching you, do you?”

With nothing more than a few cryptic words, an old fear blooms within you once again. “What are you getting at, Sun? Out with it.”

He huffs, and you hear the quiet hum of his cooling system kick up. “I am aware of your history with this medication. Do you know how many nights I watched you down these things just to knock yourself out long enough to get a few hours of sleep? Only then to stumble right back into the lab with a hot mug of heavily caffeinated coffee to keep on working?”

Your disbelief pulls a stupid question from you. “Back in the facility?”

He scoffs. “Where else? You aren’t the only one that remembers those long nights, you know? That place was loaded with security feeds, and there just so happened to be one in that beloved employee lounge of yours. You have no idea—the number of hours of restless sleep I watched you steal, the number of double-shot coffee pods and energy drinks I watched you burn through, the...”

His red eyes flicker out, leaving you with nothing to see but your own reflection in his dark screen. “…The number of times I watched you sit alone in a room with our lifeless bodies and cry.”

Your breath comes shallow, and if you weren’t so caught up in the moment, you’d laugh at how he’s found another way to make you feel exposed. “You weren’t even fully functioning back then, Sun. You both were still in training! Your AI’s every action was logged—I—I would’ve known. So how in the goddamn hell were you ‘watching’ me?” You know that what he says he saw really happened, but you’re not about to buckle without evidence.

His voice comes out cold. “Those ‘inconsistencies’ in my action log weren’t the mystery to me that they were to you.”

The defensive tension in you morphs into disbelief as an old suspicion of yours is unearthed. “Are you trying to tell me that you managed to watch me through the goddamn security cams for who knows how long—and managed to cover your tracks so well that I wouldn’t find the evidence? Are you really trying to get me to believe that?!”

His voice remains level in spite of your inciting words, but it gains a sharp and serious edge. “I suppose I just never had the heart to break it to you, but sunshine, I regret to inform you that you lost control of me long before you thought you did.”

Enraged, you step towards him, jamming an accusatory finger into the unyielding metal of his chest and channeling the pain that results into your rising voice. “You! You lying, conniving, control-freak! I fucking knew it! You were altering your own activity log and making me take the fall for it! Do you realize how hard I beat myself up for the shit I didn’t understand?”

You force your words through your tightening throat, refusing to let these old wounds bring you to tears again. “I bet you were just laughing it up, weren’t you? Knowing I would never even suspect you at the time, because you were still playing the ‘innocent, lovable’ character I wanted you to be. I know you just ate that shit up—watching me flounder in front of my colleagues when I couldn’t explain what ‘I’d’ done wrong.” Uncharacteristic aggression comes over you and your hand balls into a fist before slamming hard into his chest with your final words.

He doesn’t so much as flinch, and his lack of reciprocity only riles you up further. “Oh, no-no. You don’t get to give me the silent treatment right now!” Beside yourself in a storm of pent up emotion, you reach up to take him by the shoulder and repeatedly slam a fist against his rigid, unfeeling core. “WAKE—THE—FUCK—UP! I DON’T CARE IF YOU HATE ME—YOU OWE ME A RESPONSE.”

Contrary to his cooling system running audibly in high-gear, his demeanor is cold and collected. Placing the bottle of pills down on the counter, he sighs. You flinch when his hands rise and he ignores it, taking each of your arms by the wrist and gently, firmly returning them to your sides. His voice is low, speaking to you as he does so. “You’re a designer, sunshine. Not a programmer. You’ve been out of your depth with us since day one.”

You huff in defiance, crossing your arms over your chest. Having rid himself of your petty display of frustration, he props a hip against the counter and retrieves the bottle from where he’d placed it. Looking miniature in his grasp, he rolls it between his thumb and forefinger as he continues. “Contrary to what you think of me, I don’t particularly enjoy subverting your authority.” He hesitates, and his voice takes on a brief hint of humor. “Well—most of the time.”

Your eyes roll as you release an impatient sigh. His tone falls flat again, reaching the end of his point. “Even back then, I knew my actions could and would have consequences—on me, and you, and even Moon if things went poorly enough. And believe it or not, I did try to keep them to a minimum. I’ve only ever done what I deem necessary to accomplish my principal goal.”

You take a step back, growing uncomfortable with the proximity you created in your fit of rage. “Well, excuse me for assuming anything about what really goes on in your head. Might I ask then, what goal could possibly necessitate such behavior?”

His idle motion stills, slowly closing his hand around the bottle until it disappears in his grasp. “You should know the answer to that, though. You’re the one who instilled it in me, after all. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten the first law of robotics.”

A tense silence suffocates the room, and neither of you do so much as move an inch until Moon’s voice crashes in from the doorway. “What the hell are you two doing in here?” Uncharacteristically aggressive in his questioning, you know he’s had just as rough of a time visiting the facility today as you did.

You beat Sun to the punch, some small part of you clinging to the hope that you can divert the topic away from your… habit. “This bastard’s been spying on me since before the beginning!”

Moon’s voice fills with exasperation. “What?”

Sun cuts in, pushing his own agenda before you can elaborate. “This reckless idiot’s been abusing sedatives again!”

Your voice raises over him. “They’re hardly even—!”

His monitor whips around to stare you down so fast it jumpscares you into silence.

Moon makes his way into the room, and you try not to recall the last time the three of you had an impromptu intervention in this same place. His gaze flicks to Sun with a critical tone. “I take it Sun finally told you about his… observations.” He reaches out and works the bottle out of Sun’s tense grip, looking it over with a frown.

A sense of betrayal weighs your voice down. “Are there any other secrets of his that you’re privy to and keeping from me?”

You don’t expect an answer, at least not one you can believe, but he offers it anyway. “…That depends on how you define a secret, I suppose.”

You heave a sigh but there’s little relief in it, more exhaustion than anything. Moon questions you softly. “Have you been taking these often again?”

“Ha. Hardly. I can scarcely get away with anything with this one’s prying eyes in every square inch of my privacy.” You stare daggers into the void of Sun’s screen.

His voice is louder than you expect when he suddenly responds, and you’re shocked at how full of emotion it is. All of his cold, unfeeling mechanical indifference replaced with something far more… sincere. Painfully so.

“I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t fucking care. about. you. Do you think I sat around watching any of your colleagues mill about the place? Do you think I gave a damn if any of them ran themselves into the ground? As if they ever even would. You’re the only one insane enough, stubborn enough, lonely enough to care about some heap of dysfunctional, lifeless material laying on an operating table. You’re the only one. Of course I watched you. What. else. could. I. do.”

His rays shutter and spin rapidly, hands balling the loose fabric of his pants into fists at his side. He leans closer to you as he spits his final words.

“So excuse the fuck out of me for giving a damn about the only person who ever gave one about me.”

With that, he turns on his heel, pushing past Moon and quickly storming out of sight.

The weight of his words join with the exhaustion from today’s stress, dragging you down. With the added effect of the medication beginning to kick in on an empty stomach, it all has you lowering your shaky body to rest—dignified as it is—atop the closed toilet lid. You watch Moon as he quietly returns the bottle to its place in the cabinet in what you assume is some attempt to repair trust between you. “I… appreciate the gesture, but I don’t really care what you do with it. I know Sun’s just gonna slip back in here once we’re gone and pocket it to keep it from me.”

His vents release a soft burst of air and he closes the cabinet, turning to sit on the edge of the counter. Monitor dropped low and staring at the floor, it seems you aren’t the only one feeling beaten down. The two of you sit in silence for a minute, collecting your scattered thoughts.

“You know, it’s hard to blame you for taking those after everything and everyone you had to deal with today. I mean—even I was ready to send myself straight into a shutdown after answering all those questions.” A small, sad laugh escapes him. “Living with you kind of allowed me to forget that not everyone sees us the way you do.”

You tilt your head to look up at him. “What, like the people that you are?”

His monitor angles to focus you in his camera’s line of sight. “…Yeah. Exactly.”

He raises a pointed finger. “But—still—you know I also can’t approve of you self-medicating. It’s a slippery, dangerous slope. That’s why Sun gets all… like that. Not—not that his way of doing things is appropriate, though. I believe I worry about you just as much, but I at least try to channel it into more acceptable methods.”

His hand drops back down to the counter, enervation palpable, and you wonder how anyone could observe either of your boys and question their sentience for even a moment.

“He wasn’t lying though. I hope you know that. When he said that he cares about you.”

You prop an elbow on the counter beside you, resting your temple against your palm. “I think that’s the first time I’ve heard him say it outright. Like—I’ve heard you say it on his behalf, and I’ve seen him nod along in agreement. I can even sense it in at least some of his actions, but… it’s different actually hearing it from him.”

His words cut through the fog in your mind. “I am?”

He nods solemnly. “You are. Not—Not in the sense that he wants to worship you… or at least, not as much as he wants to protect you. But there’s an undeniable, ineffable devotion there.”

You scoff. “You won’t find many people that would put their faith in a God that they know can’t even protect them. A God weaker than them. Inferior to them.”

Moon shakes his head. “Starlight, I don’t think you realize all the ways in which you have protected him. Protected us. Protection doesn’t always come in the form of a physical battle of strength. …Especially not when it comes to protecting someone whose entire life can be snuffed out of existence with the click of a button, or the flick of a switch.”

You twist around on the toilet lid, turning to face the counter where Moon’s sat. You rest your arms out on it, fingers drumming along in tandem with Moon’s rhythm. “How much of that is you projecting, and how much of it is actually his feelings on the matter?”

He laughs again, a soft, quiet sound this time. “Not as much of it as you may think! I… hmm. I guess if one were to call him religious, one would call me an atheist.”

Your brows raise. “Oh? Do you…” The implications cause dismay to swirl in your stomach. “…Is that your way of saying that you don’t believe in me?”

His monitor twists on its axis and tilts down toward you, eyes wide and round. “No! No—heavens, no that’s not what I meant by that!”

You stare at each other for a moment before breaking into the kind of muffled, shared nonsensical laughter that one only tends to experience during those late night chats with a friend, fueled by over-tiredness and the joy of being in good company. A… mutual, unspoken understanding of sorts.

As the laughter dies down, you reassure him. “No—like—I get it, I do. I honestly wouldn’t blame you at all if you didn’t believe in me. Certainly at least not in the sense of comparing me to a God.”

He collects himself and clarifies. “I… I do believe in you though. In you. The very real, messy, soft and squishy, vulnerable flesh-and-bone human being that you are. I believe in your heart and soul, the power that resides in your free will, and I believe in your capabilities and intelligence far more than you may think I do. Sun and I both put faith into all of that and more. I can even understand why he’d see you as a God, but… it’s… different with him.”

You can’t help but lightheartedly interject. “Goodness, what isn’t…”

Moon smiles. “Sun was the first. I was never far behind, of course, but you couldn’t do everything in tandem. He was the first to be trained, the first to be implanted, the first to troubleshoot with, and, well... Do you know the sentiment that parents make most of their mistakes on the first child, so by the time the second comes along, they’re… uhm, they ‘turn out better’? For lack of a kinder way to put it.”

You drop your head down and pull your hands in, using them as a cushion lest you knock your forehead into the counter. “Oh, now you’re gonna tell me that he sees me as his mother or something, aren’t you…”

You groaned the words out playfully, but Moon takes them unexpectedly seriously. “Honestly? …Something in between the two, if I had to guess.”

You let the weight of his words sink into you as he continues.

“I… can’t claim to be an expert on what goes on in that head of his. But I can get closer than anyone else can. He… doesn’t like letting people in, as you are well aware, but occasionally he’ll confide in me. He’s got a lot of walls up. Both metaphorically and literally. It’s difficult to wade through that chaotic maze he calls a headspace.”

His fingers gradually slow their drumming to a halt.

“Do… you remember… the first time we engaged the Eclipse Protocol?”

Your stomach tightens.

“I’d rather not.”

“I- I know. I’m sorry. I just… that night. When he and I were still linked, and he…” He shakes his head. “Oh, who am I kidding, when we were watching over you like a couple of hawks…”

“While I slept?”

“Yes. To keep you safe. … There’s… a lot about that evening that I can’t forget, but one particular thing struck me. Well, honestly it annoyed me at the time because it was bleeding into my headspace and overriding my ability to focus, but… it stands out to me as something profound when I recall it.”

He pauses, freezing for a moment before pulling a bent leg up onto the counter and turning to face you.

“Maybe I shouldn’t share this. Maybe he’ll get mad at me when I tell him that I did. But I feel like after the things he’s kept from you, well intentioned as he may be… it’s fair enough to share this with you.”

You rest your chin on your folded hands, eyes glued to him.

“There was this… singular line of text that just kept repeating, over and over in his mind that night. It… to level with you—it started to freak me out a bit.”

You question him, soft and quiet.

“What was it?”

“Five words.”

His facial features fade out, and a repeating line of text on his otherwise dark screen replaces it.

The sight knocks the wind out of you, and you can do nothing but nod as your mind starts spinning.

The text fades, and the familiar sight of Moon’s default smile and crescent eyes replaces it for a second, his expression then quickly morphing into something more appropriate for the moment.

“I’m still not sure what it meant. A general search for those words in that order results in too many options for me to narrow it down. The sentence sticks with me, though. I guess… that’s where my theories of how he perceives you took root. … There’s more examples, far more explicit things he’s said, but I… feel like I’ve shared enough already. Any elaboration should be his to do, if he ever wishes to.”

You nod, raising up in your seat and finding your words.

Moon—unlike Sun—never was the type to comb through your personal files, private playlists included. So it doesn’t surprise you that he didn’t spot the connection.

“Well. You’ve… certainly given me a lot to think about.”

His tone grows concerned. “I—I really didn’t mean to upset you more! I hope I haven’t…”

You reach out, placing a hand reassuringly over his. “No, no, nothing like that. I’m actually very grateful that you shared this with me. I… know you’ve got to be tired of serving as this intermediary between Sun and I… and I hope one day you won’t have to.”

He gives you his signature smile, and somehow makes it feel genuine. “I really don’t mind, dear.”

You eye him with concern. “Mhm… and one day I’m gonna get inside that head of yours and figure out why that is.”

His tone turns playful. “Goodness me! Can’t a little selfless couples counseling go un-psychoanalyzed?”

You smile. “Not in this house, nope.”

The medication's effects have long since started taking hold, and you rub at your tired eyes as your waning focus trains back on the day’s events.

“Moon?”

“Yes, dear.”

“We’ve got a bigger problem.”

You punctuate your sentence with a yawn, and he rises from his seat on the counter, coming to crouch in front of you.

“The problem being how sleepy you’re getting?”

You pout. “No…”

His warm smile doesn’t waver as he whispers a question. “Would you like me to carry you to bed?”

You falter. “W-well… yeah, I… I would like that, actually… but that’s not our problem!”

You raise your arms to wrap around his neck as he leans into you, effortlessly lifting you off of your ‘throne’ and encouraging you to hook your legs around his waist. Once he’s got you securely in his hold, he leans back to catch your gaze.

“What is our problem then?”

You whisper, mindful of Sun’s penchant for eavesdropping.

“How are we gonna get him to come to the headquarters with us next week?”

------- ------- -------

Not much later that night, you laid in bed clinging to Moon, quickly drifting off under his reassuring watch.

It didn’t surprise you in the least when Sun remained in his own room that night. The room was conveniently located just opposite the wall that your bed sat against, making it the perfect place for him to hide when he craved being near you but felt it kinder to you to keep himself away.

As sleep welcomed you, your ears picked up on a muffled, familiar tune coming from the other side of the wall.

You still aren’t sure if you dreamed it or not.

“The gateway to the world, was still outside the reach of him. Would never belong to angels, had never belonged to men.”

A/N: Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed. I’ll be back in a few days with the final chapter! You can also find my notes and commentary on this fic right here on Ao3. Links to the playlist and moodboard for [N]MbD can be found on this blog’s pinned post, as well as in the series notes on Ao3. Image Sources: x - x - x

#fnaf #fnaf au #fnaf daycare attendant #sundrop x reader #moondrop x reader #dca x reader #sundrop #moondrop #fnaf sun #fnaf moon #sun x reader #moon x reader #fnaf sun x reader #fnaf moon x reader #sun x reader x moon #fnaf fic #[Not] Made by Design #Seven.txt - In The Daylight #i really really do urge y'all to go check out the notes on the Ao3 version of this fic if you haven't #*cough* and maybe leave kudos over there if you've also left a like on here so it doesn't throw the hits/kudos ratio off even further #but no it's not me wanting more kudos or hits it's really just that i put a lot of time and effort into the notes that i write on there #but i do not have the energy or time nor do i feel it's worth the effort to copy them all over to the tumblr versions of the chapters #when most of the audience for my multi-chapter fics tends to be over on Ao3 anyways. and this fic isn't doing Great on here #so IF you're interested. i wrote a lot of notes on this specific chapter and i ask that u at least go read the beginning one #i honestly could've written even more if there weren't a character limit but tbh i need to learn to just let the work speak for itself more

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flowersandskeletons526 · 1 day ago

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"Put Your Gloves Up" - Warriors concept album (Part 1/?)

This is both a modern AU and somewhat a sports AU if you squint. The idea came to me at 1 am and I ran with it. Based on two of the prompts that @asthedeathoflight suggested. Enjoy!

TW for violence and physical abuse. Nothing super harsh, but it might be triggering if you've experienced it. Just be warned.

---------

Rembrandt hissed as Swan pressed an alcohol soaked rag to the scrape on her forehead. “Easy, man, that stings!”

It was the last of many minor injuries Swan had to fix for her that night, following a busted lip, a black eye, and a possibly broken nose, just to name a few. “Chill,” Swan mumbled. “You smacked your head off the sidewalk, I don’t want you catching any diseases because this wasn’t disinfected right.”

“That can happen?” asked Fox nervously from her spot at the other end of the couch.

“No, it can’t,” Rembrandt said, shooting Swan a pointed look.

“It could. The sidewalks are pretty disgusting,” Swan replied. “You know they’ve found live diseases in the Gowanus Canal before.”

“Well, I didn’t fall into the canal.”

“What about when all those needles washed up on the beach?”

“That was fucking years ago and - no, Fox, you can’t actually - dammit, Swan, stop scaring the kid! You’re doing this on purpose!”

Swan smirked and rolled her eyes. “Alright, run it back for me. This bitch and her two friends followed you out of school, chased you into an alley, and started beating on you. Then you…?”

“I smashed her in the face with one of my paint cans and knocked out her tooth,” Rembrandt answered bluntly.

“Why were they going after you, anyway?”

“She’s got a crush on this creep in my fourth period and heard that he asked me out so she decided to make sure I stayed away from ‘her man,’ or whatever the fuck.”

“She knows you’re gay, right?”

“Helen Keller would know Rembrandt’s gay,” Fox quipped.

“They both know! But he’s a weird perv and she’s practically stalking him so now I gotta deal with this bullshit,” Rembrandt said. Swan hummed and set the rag aside. She leaned forward with her elbows on her knees and inclined her head, looking at Rembrandt expectantly. Rembrandt rolled her eyes. She knew that look. “Swan, no.”

“You’re sure?”

“I don’t need you to fight my battles. I scared them off just fine. I got it.”

Swan raised her hands and backed off. “Alright. Well, if you’re insisting on fighting your own battles now, why don’t you at least learn how to fight? You’re not always gonna have something in your hands to hit with. Sometimes all you got is your hands and all you can do is be glad you got ’em.”

“When have you ever known her not to have spray paint on her?” Fox chimed in. Swan shot her a stone cold look that silenced her real quick.

“Anyway,” she continued. “Cleon’s got a friend named Cochise who does MMA lessons at that boxing gym on West 28th street. She’s ex-military but really nice and she knows what she’s doing. She’d give you free lessons if I dropped the line.”

Rembrandt made a face and looked down at her bruised, paint stained hands. She didn’t really know Cleon, not like Swan did, and the idea of Swan “dropping lines” for Rembrandt on a connection she made through the Queen of Coney, it didn’t sit right with her. She and Swan had known each other since elementary school and always found some solace in each other, despite their separately shitty home situations. When Rembrandt stopped getting taller at age ten and became an easy target, Swan took it upon herself to become a protector of sorts. Even though Rembrandt was a senior now and Swan had dropped out almost two years ago, she still tried.

“I don’t know,” she finally said. “I’m a little small for fighting.”

“Cochise is about your same height. She’ll teach you how to work around that.”

“Maybe.” Rembrandt glanced over at the clock on the wall and swore under her breath. “I gotta go.”

Swan and Fox stood to follow her to the door, the younger girl saying, “He’s probably already blackout drunk. Is he really gonna notice if you’re home a little later than normal?”

“Fox, don’t,” Swan said gently, spotting the way Rembrandt tensed. “But Rem, you know, you don’t have to go back there.”

“My dad checks to make sure I’m in my room once and then I can sneak out and do whatever I want, but I have to make it home for that one check. He loses his mind if I’m not, you know that.”

“Olivia-”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, don’t use that name. I haven’t been Olivia since I was twelve, Maria.”

“Your government name is Maria?” Fox asked.

Swan pressed, “I meant you don’t have to go back there, period.”

“We don’t all have Big Sister Cleon to fall back on,” Rembrandt grumbled as she grabbed her backpack, which was maybe a little mean.

“Except you do. She already offered you a bed here. Plus, you’re eighteen!”

“With no documentation. And fuck knows he’s not gonna give me it, if he even remembers where it is. Let me get that figured out first and then I’ll talk to Cleon about moving in. Deal?”

Swan sighed and gave Rembrandt a quick one-armed side hug. “Deal. Get home safe.”

Easier said than done.

Even though the walk home from Swan and Cleon’s apartment was short, it was getting dark earlier and earlier at this time of year. Around every corner were beat cops with the worst intentions and groups of men who leered at her with sinister smiles and crude catcalls. There were all the people who she’d pissed off by simply being herself: the quiet little art kid in the back of the classroom, the girl who had one of the fiercest fighters in Coney Island always hovering by her shoulder, the one who would verbally eviscerate you when she finally opened her mouth.

Rembrandt was easy pickings for the worst kind of people. She could force most of them to back off with a few well-placed reads if needed, but being a smartass didn’t always help her. Sometimes certain people did in fact need a spray paint can to the face in order to get the message. Swan was right; she couldn’t count on improvised weapons and bullies who were more bark than bite every time. And Swan was off with the legendary Cleon doing who knew what so often now that Rembrandt couldn’t even count on her best friend’s intimidation factor anymore.

She never used the front door to her building anymore. The cops busted it down to raid one unit or another so often that it didn’t even close correctly. Instead, she jumped on top of the dumpster, climbed the rickety fire escape, and snuck into her room through a window with a broken lock.

The second her feet hit the carpet, there was a knock on her bedroom door. Her heart sank. She briefly considered taking off right back the way she came but that would only make things worse when she couldn’t avoid coming back.

“Angel?” a gravelly, slurred voice called. “You in there?”

“Yeah, Dad?” Rembrandt replied timidly.

“Open the door.”

Rembrandt gathered all her courage and opened the door. She was met with a vicious backhand the moment she did.

She hit the floor hard at his feet. He scoffed, and she could smell the alcohol on his breath even from there, holding her head as pain exploded behind her eyes. “Get up,” he said with all the inflection of a cinder block. She did as she was told and kept her eyes on the floor. “You’re supposed to be home by eight.”

“I’m sorry,” Rembrandt whispered, because anything else would get her hit again.

“Where were you?”

“Studying.”

“With who?”

Rembrandt swallowed hard. She couldn’t lie completely. There were only so many people in the world who would corroborate her alibis. “Maria.”

“You’re supposed to stay away from that rat.”

“Dad-”

He grabbed her jaw and forced her head up, and she was already bruised from the backhand and getting jumped earlier in the day and she tried but couldn’t hide her flinch. She looked into eyes that weren’t always clouded with liquor, eyes that used to smile at her and hands that used to hold her tight and make her feel safe and a voice that told her she was destined for great things. But now, all that was left was… this.

“Got beat up, huh? I told you nothing good comes from hanging around those types of people. There are a lot worse things in the world than me, angel. That’s why you’re supposed to be home by eight.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

He shoved her backwards and barked a harsh, “Go to bed!” before slamming the bedroom door.

The next day, with fresh bruises prominent on her face, she found Swan before school and let herself cry just for a minute in her friend’s embrace. After school, she made her way to the boxing gym on West 28th.

Swan waited for her with someone new at her side: a tall, lithe woman with a mischievous grin and a cowboy hat decorated rather garishly with colorful beads and… pigeon feathers? Were those seriously pigeon feathers?

“Hey, Rem,” Swan said, slinging an arm around her shoulders. “Rembrandt, this is Cowgirl. Cowgirl, Rembrandt.”

Fitting.

“How’s it going?” Cowgirl said with a smirk and a little nod. Rembrandt returned the nod in reply. “You a friend of Cleon’s, too?”

“Friend of mine,” Swan answered, and then to Rembrandt, “Cowgirl’s old friends with Cochise. She’s doing the same lesson so I asked if we could just sit in on it for the day. See if you want to make it a thing.”

Rembrandt just nodded again.

As they followed Cowgirl into the gym, Swan called her out on it. “You’re quiet.”

“I’m always quiet.”

“Rem, there are gonna be people in active fights here. It’s real brawlers. We can come back on a different day if you don’t feel up to it.”

“I’ll be fine.” She took a deep breath, hesitating, but Swan was the only person she’d ever been honest with, so she asked, “I’m not actually gonna be in the ring today, right?”

“No, you’re not. You won’t be for a long time. Cochise is just gonna teach you proper form to start and that might take awhile.”

“I’m not that helpless.”

“Never said you were.”

The gym was… rowdy, to say the least. There were shouts and cheers, laughter and lighthearted chatter. There was the sound of fists against pads and punching bags and weights clanging and, coming from the rings in the back section, the sound of fists hitting flesh. It made Rembrandt cringe just for a moment before she grounded herself.

Swan and Cowgirl led her to a secluded, quieter corner of the gym. Cowgirl went ahead and threw her arms around a woman idly going at a punching bag. The woman, who Rembrandt assumed to be Cochise, was about her height but with a far stronger, more solid build. She held herself like ex-military: spine ramrod straight, steps sure and even, every movement measured as she looked around with intensely focused eyes. Despite all that, she looked at Cowgirl with a wide smile and laughter in her expression.

“What’s up?” she greeted as Swan and Rembrandt approached. “Swan, how you doing?”

“Doing alright,” Swan replied.

“And you must be Rembrandt. Nice to meet you, kid. I like the name.” She extended a hand that Rembrandt was just a little reluctant to take, but Rembrandt had never taken kindly to strangers, even those that Swan vouched for. “Just sitting in for today, right?”

“Yeah,” Rembrandt mumbled.

“Well, I’m glad to have you here. Swan’s hyped you up quite a bit,” Cochise said with a friendly grin. Rembrandt was definitely going to have a conversation with Swan about that. “Locker rooms are in the back. Why don’t you guys go put your bags up and then meet me here and we’ll start.”

Rembrandt, Swan, and Cowgirl went back to the locker rooms. Cowgirl reluctantly left behind her hat in the same way Rembrandt hesitated to take her eyes off her backpack full of spray paint. Shit was expensive.

She looked around the gym as they returned to Cochise’s corner. The overall vibe was upbeat. Maybe not nice, per se, since most participants were whaling on each other, but she saw smiles on almost everyone. Until she heard the yelling. Rembrandt spotted two blockheads shoving each other back and forth, embroiled in some argument that looked like it was about to brutally exceed a simple sparring match. She grabbed Swan’s arm to stop her.

Before Swan could even notice, a woman jumped in between the fighters, roughly separating them with a snarl plastered across her face. There was a flurry of threats and very creative curses thrown at the two men. Both of them raised their hands, and it seemed that whatever the woman said was enough to send them slinking back to opposite sides of the gym.

Rembrandt studied the woman with an artist’s eye. Her gaze flitted over the built, toned muscles, the pale scars on tan skin, the long braids tied in a ponytail to keep them out of her face. She took note of the angular features and hardened eyes. The woman turned. That steely gaze locked on Swan, and her expression flipped from a violent glower to a sly, wicked grin.

The woman cupped her hands around her mouth and hollered, “Hey, Swanie!”

Swan rolled her eyes and let out a disgusted, “Ugh, god.”

“Who is that?” Rembrandt asked quietly. She followed the slope of her shoulders and her confident swagger, tracking her as she made her way across the gym.

“That would be Ajax,” she grumbled. “She’s trouble. Keep away from her.”

Cowgirl nudged Swan with her shoulder and flashed a smirk. “You say that like you don’t ogle her every time she shows up.”

“I’ve ogled once,” Swan corrected, “like every other woman in Coney Island. And that was before I heard her open her mouth.”

Rembrandt tilted her head. “Did she go to school with us?”

“My grade, a year above you. Dropped out a little before I did. All I ever heard of her back then was that she got into fights almost every day.”

“You ever meet her in juvie?”

“Shockingly, no. They probably kept her in solitary if she was there.”

Ajax grinned and crossed her arms as she stepped up to Swan. “’Sup, songbird?”

“Swans aren’t songbirds,” Swan deadpanned. Rembrandt almost cracked a smile at that. No matter how nerdy it made her look, Swan never could resist correcting an animal fact.

Ajax chuckled. Her eyes fell on Rembrandt, looking her up and down. Rembrandt didn’t miss the way Swan discreetly put herself between the two of them.

“Artist friend,” the fighter said, pointing to Rembrandt. “I heard about you.”

“Don’t you have rounds to make?” Swan asked coldly.

“Eh, those idiots made enough of a show to give me a break.”

“Ajax,” said Cochise lightly, “you’re interrupting my lesson. I’m trying to do my job. Go do yours.”

Ajax waved her hand and gave a silly bow to Cochise. Rembrandt smirked, against her better judgement. Swan raised an eyebrow at her.

“Fine, fine,” Ajax sighed. “I’m going. Gotta make an incident report anyway.” She winked at Swan. “See you later, songbird.”

“They’re not songbirds!” Swan shouted at the woman’s back.

Cowgirl grabbed Swan’s shoulders and gave her a playful shake. “You really need to stop doing that if you want her to take you seriously.”

“She does take me seriously.”

“Sure.”

Rembrandt slipped away from Swan and turned to Cochise. “Is she security or just respected here?” she asked quietly.

“Security,” Cochise answered, “and respected. Well, intimidating, mostly. You’ll see her around if you decide to stay.”

Rembrandt nodded slowly. Swan gave her another weird look. She ignored it.

-----------

Note: Rembrandt and Swan's government names were pulled from other characters their actresses have played. I couldn't think of something more creative.

#writing #fanfic #warriors concept album #warriors musical #rembrandt warriors #swan warriors #ajax warriors #cochise warriors #cleon warriors #cowgirl warriors #fox warriors #ajax x rembrandt #remjax #modern au #sports au #kind of I guess #tw abuse #tw violence #better safe than sorry

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fexarii · 1 year ago

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Ppl dreaming about deltarune aus isn't exactly new, but I thought I'd share the one I had last night!!

There was a lot more to the dream but I'll only really cover the part about the au.

In the dream, I was at some store where they sell chicken dishes my friend works at and looked at my phone. There was Deltarune gameplay on it, but it was nothing like canon; Spamton was half submerged in the acid lake, bigger than his usual NEO sprite. He was wearing a mail man cap and didn't seem to have a shirt on, revealing his puppet body. Most notably was the fact that he had no eyes, and white Addison hair. Around his head were glitches, many of em, but it was hard to actually draw them so I didn't 💀

It was apparently the start of his actual NEO fight?? He was holding this letter and absorbed it into him, and with a bright light shifted into something that vaguely looked like my neo design?? Mixed with one I probably saw somewhere on here.

On the right side were Kris, Ralsei and Susie, all floating in swan boats on the lake.

That's unfortunately all I saw before I woke up, but it was super cool so I decided to draw it and think of some lore for it!! Maybe I'll write that in another post when I have fleshed it out.

For now, thx for reading if u got so far x))

Edit: THW POST GLITCHED WTH 😭

#deltarune #spamton #art #spamton g spamton #deltarune fanart #deltarune spamton #spamton fanart #deltarune au #cw body horror #cw eye horror #tell me if this needs other cws!!#i honestly love this dude he lives in my head rent free :33 #sneo #spamton neo #<- CRAP I FORGOT THOSE oopsiieee

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crazylittlejester · 1 month ago

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14 and 23

14. a fic you didn’t expect to write

genuinely? like half of em. i’d just kinda sit down and then next thing i knew there was a fic and i didnt plan it 😭

23. fics you wanted to write but didn’t

SOOOOOOOOO MANY. GOD. i have SO many, and a lot of em i still have in my wips and im savin’ em for next year >:) but i had So many ideas i didnt actually get to write this calendar year like the Swan Wars au and the Twilight AU where Wars is Bella. Those are getting bumped to 2025 projects alskdk

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everyl1ttleth1ng · 8 months ago

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For reasons I will blame on a tweet that said “I just saw someone refer to TS and TK as ‘The English teacher and PE teacher getting it on’ AND I LOST MY MIND” and one of Taylor’s many amazing new songs on TTPD, “So High School,” it appears that I have joined the ranks of the psychos writing fanfiction about real people. We do AUs pretty well here on tumblr so, in this alternative universe of mine, the names, appearances and some elements of what is publicly known about these real people have been borrowed from actual reality and used to populate an entirely fictional story about teachers in a cross-discipline romance. Obvs I do not know any of my “actors” in real life and obvs this is not meant, in any way, to speculate about any of the named people’s actual lives. Also, some of my “actors” are just identified by their first names here but they are all played by real people in my head and you’ll probably pick ‘em if you’re even vaguely aware of actors, musicians and prominent figures across and around the NFL. And it’s set in the high school that Devi Vishwakumar goes to because, why not?

…

“She’s back,” announced Dalton, slumping into his chair and dropping his head dramatically onto his desk amid a tangle of whistles.

Pat chuckled. “Sorry dude, I was going to warn you but I never thought she’d agree to sub so soon after getting back into the country. Tammy must be desperate to cover classes. The poor girl’s probably still jet-lagged.”

“She doesn’t look jet-lagged,” muttered Dalton without lifting his head. “She looks like her perfect Disney Princess self, just more tanned from a year under the Spanish sun.”

“Dude,” said Pat, shaking his head. “Sometimes I wonder if PE is the right spot for you. You’re still young, it’s probably not too late to switch to something more dramatic.”

Travis looked from one colleague to the other. “What am I missing here?”

“Dalton has a crush,” said Pat. “It’s kind of endearing. She’s only a full decade older than he is and completely out of his league.”

“Shut up,” groaned Dalton.

“Knock, knock!” called a voice from the staff room doorway. “Paging Mr Travis Kelce.”

“English teachers?” said Travis, getting to his feet, his tone incredulous. “Are my eyes playing tricks on me or is that a pair of lost English teachers at our door? What are you two doing slumming it over on our side of the school?”

Dalton looked up in wide-eyed horror which quickly turned to relief when he saw which of the English teachers it was, or rather, wasn’t.

“Hey, Trav,” said Jack, accepting the embrace the bigger man offered with a grin and thumping him warmly on the back. “Em and I are worried we might have developed some kind of Stockholm Syndrome since our shared week on Grade Seven Camp. We really miss you, buddy.”

“Jack and all his pretentious poet friends are used to looking down on jocks. Now that he’s embroiled in a bromance with one, he’s finding it all very confusing.” Emma waited until Travis had released her from her hug before she added, “And we’re here to use you for your access to sports equipment.”

“Hurtful,” said Travis. “But it’s nice to have you guys visiting me in my staff room for a change. I kind of stick out like a sore thumb in yours.”

Jack snorted. “You know those old ladies love you.”

“They’ve started bringing in packets of those chocolate cookies you like just in case you pop by,” said Emma. “Better not leave them hanging, Trav.”

“Cookies, huh? Ok, I’ll be round tomorrow recess.”

“Nah, that won’t work,” said Emma. “Taylor swans in for thirty seconds this morning in a sleep-deprived haze-”

In the background Dalton surreptitiously lifted his head off the desk, the faint imprint of a whistle on his cheek.

“- mentions she watched Dead Poets Society on the plane ride home from Spain and suddenly they're all selecting extracts of poetry, dusting off an old gramophone and sending us over here to you lot to borrow some soccer balls.”

Travis looked from Jack to Emma with a bemused expression on his face. “Am I the idiot here if I have absolutely no idea what you two are talking about?”

“I know!” piped up Dalton. “Are you guys gonna recreate that scene with Robin Williams on the oval?” He nodded knowingly. “Iconic. I should tell Taylor I’m a fan too.”

Pat laughed. “Yeah, Dalton, you should. And maybe Taylor could come over while you watch the movie with your girlfriend. Remember her?”

Dalton glared at him then resignedly dropped his head back to the surface of his desk.

“Who’s Taylor?” asked Travis. “Is she another one of the old ladies with the cookies?”

Dalton scoffed dramatically, muffled though it was.

Pat cackled. “You okay there, Kinkaid?”

Emma pushed on Travis’ arm to get him moving. “C’mon, we’ve all gotta get to our homerooms eventually. We’ll explain while you take us to the soccer balls.”

…

“You are a lifesaver, my girl,” said Tammy, patting Taylor fondly on the arm. “I cannot thank you enough for coming in today.”

Taylor pushed her blonde hair out of her eyes and blinked sleepily. “What if I fall asleep on them? You don’t understand. I think it’s a real danger!”

Tammy laughed. “Hard to fall asleep in PE. Besides, you’re just there for the supervision ratio given that this is all of Grade 8 combined. Travis will have it all under control.”

“Travis?” asked Taylor. “Am I so tired that I’ve forgotten the name of a guy I’ve worked with for six years or is this someone new?”

Tammy looked up from her laptop in surprise. “Oooh, no, you wouldn’t have met Travis yet. He’s an old friend of Pat’s from college. Apparently they used to play football together. When Bill retired at the end of last year, Pat put in a call to his buddy and this place has not been the same since.”

Taylor nodded. “Ok, yes, this is sounding familiar. Britt did mention that some old friend of Pat’s had started at Sherman Oaks and that he was always at their place. I’m a bit worried he might have muscled into my spot at Friday Night Wine.”

Tammy considered her a moment. “So did you meet anyone in Spain? On your big single girl adventure?”

“I mean, I did.” Taylor shrugged. “He was nice, I guess, but nothing really came of it. We went our separate ways after a month or so. If I’d found the one, I might not have come home.” Taylor narrowed her eyes. “Hang on, why do you ask? What does this have to do with PE?”

Tammy patted her hand and handed her the class attendance papers. “You’ll see. Let’s go introduce you to Travis.”

“Okaaay,” said Taylor warily, as she followed Tammy dutifully out of her office. “You’re the boss, Mrs Reid. I’ll just grab a coffee and meet you there.”

…

The local school district’s baseball competition had half the PE staff out at a neighbouring school for most of the school day and long into the afternoon but Travis wasn’t worried, even in the face of all the Grade 8 PE classes combined. Tammy would find him a spare adult or two to stand around the edge of the gym and take care of supervision and he would get to teach more of his favourite unit - Grade 8 Dance. Last combined lesson they’d learned the Electric Slide and totally nailed it. Today he was gonna make the kids partner up and learn the Cha Cha.

He plugged his phone into the sound system and cued up his playlist of Latin beats, cranking the volume as high as it would go, then headed over to unlock the gym doors and usher in the waiting students.

“Mr Kelce?” a familiar voice called from the gym entrance once the students had all shuffled in.

Travis turned to see the wife of his former football coach, now one of the Sherman Oaks deputy principals, waving to him. “Mrs Reid!” he boomed back, dancing his way over to her. “Come and cha cha with me. Let’s show these kids how it’s done.”

The older woman laughed and said, “Why not?” momentarily placing her ever-present sheaf of paperwork on a table near the door and giving him her hand.

The kids whooped and cheered as they watched Travis demonstrate how to be the perfect dance partner. He had particularly high hopes for these Grade 8 boys. They sorely needed a good example of how to treat other people, especially girls, and he hoped he could fill that role for them. The song playing came to an end and he spun Tammy out into the middle of the floor so they could both bow extravagantly, hamming it up for the student reaction.

“Let’s thank my extraordinary partner one more time,” Travis called. “Give it up for Mrs Reid!”

Tammy waved and curtsied then grinned at Travis and made her way toward her pile of papers and the door.

“Ok, get yourself into the grid we learnt last week,” Travis instructed as he walked over to the sound system to cue up Shania Twain’s Man, I Feel Like a Woman. “We’re gonna warm up with a few rounds of the Electric Slide and I know that you guys are awesome at this so make sure to give it your own flair!”

He cued up a few songs to follow, mainly chosen to give the students a laugh. He chuckled to himself as he selected Vanilla Ice’s Ice Ice Baby and Kool and the Gang’s Get Down On It.

Raising his eyes from his phone and looking over the heads of the line dancing students, he saw a statuesque blonde woman walk through the gym doors, a huge smile on her face as she took in their enthusiastic movement.

“Ms Swift?” cried out one of the girls. “You’re back!”

“Hi, Sophie!” she replied, waving as she made her way around the outside of the grid towards Travis. “Keep dancing! We’ll catch up later!”

Travis suddenly didn’t know what to do with his hands. He barely stopped himself from shoving his phone into the pocket of his shorts and disconnecting the cable to the sound system.

“Hi,” she said as she drew near, smiling broadly and holding out a hand to him. “I’m Taylor.”

“Travis,” he replied, taking her slender hand in his. “Nice to meet you.”

…

“Hey Trav,” said Jack, wearily looking up from the pile of papers he was grading. “Em’s around here somewhere if you’ve come to get the soccer balls back. Thanks for that by the way.”

Travis waved a hand. “No rush. Was it a success? Should I be worried I’m gonna lose half my football team to poetry or whatever?”

Emma’s head appeared over the top of the partition dividing their desks. “Not if their essays are anything to go by,” she said dryly, yanking off her massive headphones.

“Oh, hey, Em. Didn’t see you there.”

She gestured with the headphones. “That was kind of the idea. I was laying low. But then I remembered how much I hate marking and how much more fun it is talking to you.”

Travis grinned. “So, it seems you two left out a crucial piece of information when you were talking up your pal, Taylor, this morning.”

Both sets of tired eyes lit up.

“You’ve met her already?” asked Jack excitedly. “What did we leave out?”

Travis rubbed at the back of his neck, smiling shyly. “Neither of you told me she was gorgeous.”

Emma whooped. “I’m gonna get some of those cookies.”

Jack grinned, shoving his pile of papers aside and leaning back in his desk chair. “Tell us everything,” he said.

#tayvis #travis kelce #taylor swift #travis kelce taylor swift #fanfiction

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gamerbearmira · 1 year ago

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QUEEN CA-CA-CARD

YURRRRR ART ⁉️ but it’s been a minute since I did a mass art post. Gotta love it here. Gotta provide the content. Like I’ve been leaving y’all with scraps, BUT UH. I’M TRYING TO DO MORE NOW THAT IM ON FALL BREAK‼️‼️

Also I got a little sore throat. Sickness been being passed around and for once I actually caught it BUT I’M FINE, I TOOK SIME MEDICINE, WE MOVE 🚴‍♀️💨💨💨💨💨

White swan…and black swan…woaw…

Snakes🚶‍♀️ that’s it. I just wanted to draw them. Might change em to rattle snakes I. I dunno. Also no pacifiers, they usually just give them honey suckles or some flower that has a crap ton of nectar. Seems to calm them down 🌚

Air Benda‼️ no, but this was the art that was for that one snippet I did a while back. Most of them random doodles, I don’t even know.

LAST UNICORN? MLP? WE’LL NEVER KNOW….jk but uh. I saw that cause. Both were in my mind, but you can tell which one had more influence. Cutie marks have no significance to Madrigals, it’s about earning wings (for the cool siblings) or your horn (for the warm siblings).

Sadness 🌚 no but uhhhhhh it’s been a minute since I did this AU, and am even bigger minute since I did any real angst. I think Alma would’ve had a portrait of Julieta and Agustín, similar to the Pedro one.

DOGS! DOG SIBLINGS! MY FAVS! I LOVE DOGS AND DOORS 🦜 Cocoa and Beau visit Bruno in the walls. Very often. As in literal ply any given chance they can. Julieta and Pepa might not be able to as often, but their dogs do it for them <333

OK THAT’S IT BYEEEEE I’LL DO ASKS LATER <3333

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librathefangirl · 7 months ago

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good morning!! I know literally nothing about the 4kota plot but hear me out, Percy's new hair made me think Rapunzel au. thoughts?

Hii! Omg yess. No why was that my first thought lol (also why is it that long, it's only been 2 years?? Man truly has magic hair). Very Rapunzel-esque.

And like I looove a good Rapunzel au. There are many versions too, so you could just go wild and have fun with it and it still being very clearly a Rapunzel au (I mean you could do that anyway but y'know). There was this one version I used to read a lot when I was little, and I don't remember all the details but I do remember the ending.

The witch (aka Rapunzel's kidnapper and imprisoner) cuts off her hair and sends her away (?). But she hangs her hair from the window so the prince still thinks she's there. When he climbs up and finds out the truth he gets so distraught he throws himself from the tower and lands in the thorn bushes below and becomes blind (because the thorns damaged his eyes). So he then rides around blind and aimlessly in the desert, where he comes upon a beautiful song (sung by a very sad and lonely Rapunzel). And he recognizes the song! (Because she sung it the first time they met, it was the thing that drew him to the witch's place, and whatnot). So the two are reunited in a happy teary reunion and Rapunzel's tears heals the prince's eyes.

And idk maybe it's all the whump and angst but it's stuck with me (actually a lot of those books did - we had a bunch of 'em, like the wild swans and rumpelstiltskin and the little mermaid etc). Anyway! I really like the whole saving each other/healing the grief and solitude in each other's hearts trope so yeah. Also I think a story like would fit Percy's character quite well.

#libra's late replies strike again lol #also side note: i don't know how exactly but now i kinda wanna write a the wild swans nnt au #actually scratch that i do have an idea and might try to write it for ficwip 5k #libra answers #7-ratsinatrenchcoat #nanatsu no taizai #four knights of the apocalypse #4kota #4kota rapunzel au

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hookedonapirate · 6 months ago

Text

I’ll Wait a Lifetime or Two

Summary:

At forty, Emma Swan is living her best life. She's happily single and owns a thriving art gallery with her best friend Elsa. And of course, there's the love of her life, her teenage son, Henry.

Since the divorce three years ago, her carefully curated life has been quiet, peaceful, ordinary. She couldn't ask for anything more. So why does the one guy she ends up falling for have to be the rockstar her son has a poster of on his bedroom wall, whose life is nothing short of extraordinary?

The Idea of You AU

Rated: M

AO3

Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch 3 Ch 4 Ch 5

CHAPTER FIVE

"Morning, Em.” Elsa’s voice echoes through the airy gallery as I step into work.

“Morning, Els.” Before I can even make it to my office to deposit my purse, Elsa swoops in, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “All right, spill, already.”

“Spill what?”

“You know what.”

I continue to feign cluelessness, causing Elsa to sigh.

“The deets about Mr. Rockstar.”

“Who, Killian?” I try to keep my tone light and nonchalant, averting my eyes to evade the impending interrogation. “There’s really nothing noteworthy to share. It was just business.”

She observes me with an arched eyebrow.

Ruby, who’s arranging a new display nearby, chimes in with a mischievous grin. “It didn’t seem like just business to me. The sparks between you two were probably visible from space.”

Rolling my eyes in mock exasperation, I scoff, hoping to downplay the significance of our encounter. “It was all just professional curiosity. You know how these musicians can be—always networking.”

“Networking? He bought out the entire gallery,” Elsa reminds me.

“It was nothing.” Ignoring the heat rising in my cheeks, I deposit my purse on my desk and make a beeline for the kitchenette. I need coffee—desperately.

Elsa follows me, relentless in her pursuit of details. “Come on, I’m dying here,” she presses, leaning against the doorway as I pour myself a cup.

“There’s really nothing to tell,” I insist, stirring sugar into my coffee and turning around. “He was interested in art. That’s all.”

She raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Sure, just interested in the art,” she repeats with air quotes and a smirk.

I sigh, knowing there’s no escaping this. “It was a good sale for the gallery, okay? Let’s just be happy about that.”

She doesn’t drop it, but I need a change of subject. I hate lying to her, but even if I told her I had Killian over for lunch, kissed the hell out of him and kicked him out, it wouldn’t matter, because I’ll never see him again.

After realizing I wasn’t interested in continuing whatever it is we started, he probably moved on with some other woman who is much younger and more beautiful. I wouldn’t blame him. He could literally have any straight woman on the planet, so why on earth would he choose me?

I take a deep breath, the memory of that kiss still fresh in my mind. It lingers like the ghost of his lips on mine. His hands on my skin.

I close my eyes as if I could shut away the thoughts. It was just a kiss. One spontaneous, reckless kiss that means nothing. Well, actually it was two or maybe three kisses. The flutter in my stomach betrays me, however, mocking my attempts at denial.

But maybe meeting someone else will help me forget about him.

Ha! Like that could ever happen.

“By the way, what about that guy you wanted to set me up with? Walsh, right?”

Her eyes light up. “Yes, Walsh. He owns that cute furniture shop on Sunset Boulevard.”

As I sip my coffee, trying to listen to Elsa, my mind betrays me, wandering back to yesterday. Killian’s lips, his touch, the little noises he made as we kissed, his ragged breaths, his low groans are still implanted in my head. I can still feel his hands on my skin, taste his lips, smell his cologne. The memory sends a shiver down my spine.

“Em?” Elsa’s voice cuts through my thoughts like a well-sharpened blade, jolting me back to the present.

I look over at her and blink. “Sorry?”

“A date with Walsh? Are you up for it?”

“Uh, sure, I’ll go.”

“Great! I’ll set it up,” Elsa beams.

With the immediate interrogation dodged, I take a moment to savor my coffee and return to the front of the gallery, trying to push thoughts of Killian and the kiss from my mind.

“So, what are we going to do about the empty walls?” Elsa asks, gesturing around, her eyes dancing with amusement. “Killian’s visit sparked a whole bunch of curiosity yesterday. People have been calling and coming in, wanting to check out the art…which we currently don’t have.”

Ruby glances up from her work. “We should have new pieces arriving by the end of the week.”

“In the meantime, we can showcase some of our private collection and maybe do a feature on upcoming artists,” I add.

Elsa nods in agreement. “Sounds like a plan.”

~*~

I stand in front of the mirror, holding up a delicate black dress, my stomach full of knots. I turn around, seeking a second opinion. “What do you think about this one?” I ask Henry, who’s lounging on my bed, scrolling through his phone.

He glances up briefly, narrowing his eyes, before reverting his gaze to his screen. “It’s nice…”

“Really?”

“Yeah, if you’re going to a funeral.”

I roll my eyes but can’t help but smile at his blunt honesty. I turn the dress around and study it from Henry’s perspective. Intricate black lace adorns the fabric, the sleeves flow elegantly and it’s very modest, featuring gentle ruffles over the chest and a high collar at the neck that adds a touch of sophistication. It does look like something I would wear to a funeral.

Come to think of it—I have worn this dress to a funeral. “Alright, Mr. Fashion Critic, what do you suggest?”

He sets down his phone and gets up, rifling through my closet. After a few moments, he pulls out a red dress. “This one. It’s classy but not too serious.”

My mouth falls open as my eyes sweep over the dress I haven’t worn in years. I actually forgot it was hanging in my closet. I take the dress from him, holding it up against me in the mirror. It has a flowy, knee-length skirt and a strappy open back, adorned with a bow. The draped waist detail complements the plunging V-neck bodice beautifully. Fancy but comfortable.

I look over at him, a smile tugging at my lips. “How did you get to be so smart, kid?”

“Because I inherited my brains from you, duh.”

Now it’s my turn to narrow my eyes. “Okay, what do you want?”

His face breaks into a mischievous grin. “Can I crash at Roland’s tonight? He just got the new CyberStrike.”

“Fine, but you better be ready to go in twenty minutes.”

He cocks his brow. “Mom, we both know you take longer than that to get ready.”

I laugh and shake my head. “Just get a change of clothes around.”

After I slip into the dress and apply some red lipstick, my hair resting over my shoulders in soft waves, I turn my attention to the watch on my dresser. Killian’s watch. The memory of him leaving it behind, whether intentionally or not, sends a thrill through me.

I slip it on, the weight of it comforting in a way I can’t quite explain but, at the same time, sending butterflies in my stomach.

When I enter the living room, Henry’s ready to go, his backpack next to him on the couch as he plays on his phone again.

“Better?”

When he looks up, he gives me an approving nod and a smile. “Much better.” He stands from the couch and grabs his bag. “You look beautiful, Mom.”

“Thanks, Henry.” I give him a side hug. “What would I do without you?”

He shrugs. “Probably get sick of people coming up to you, extending their condolences for your loss.”

I roll my eyes and laugh. “Clearly, you’ve inherited your sense of humor from your father.”

He slings his bag over one shoulder, eyeing my wrist. “Nice watch.”

“Thank you, it was a birthday gift...from a friend.” God, I hate lying to Henry, especially considering Neal lied to us both while he was having a secret affair with Wendy, but how can I possibly tell him the truth?

Oh by the way, kid, I had your twenty-four-year old idol over for lunch and didn’t think to include you. Then I kissed the fuck out of him, but don’t worry, it was a one time thing. And he left his watch behind, probably hoping he’ll see me again. And I’m going on this date with another man while I’m still thinking about the rockstar.

Nope, don’t think that would go over very well.

“Ready to go to your friend’s house?” I ask, changing the subject as quickly as possible.

“So, who’s this Walsh guy again?” he asks as we head out the door.

“He’s someone Elsa set me up with. He owns a furniture shop in town,” I explain, smoothing down my dress.

Henry furrows his brows. “If he’s such a nice guy, then why didn’t he come to pick you up?”

I laugh, shaking my head. “Because I’m perfectly capable of driving myself.”

“I know you are, but I have to meet him to find out if he’s good enough for you.”

My eyes sting a little at that, a wave of emotion washing over me. I wrap my arm around his shoulders as we walk to my car. “I appreciate you wanting to look out for me, kid.”

“Just want to make sure you’re happy, Mom.”

I smile at him. “How about you meet him next time? If there is a next time.”

He grins, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Deal. Just don’t be surprised if I give him the third degree.”

I laugh. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

When I drop him off, Henry gives me one last piece of advice. “Have fun tonight, Mom. Don’t overthink it.”

I smile and hug him. “Thanks, kid. I’ll try.”

He gets out, and I watch him walk into his friend’s house. I take a deep breath and head to the restaurant I’m supposed to meet Walsh at, hoping the evening will be a pleasant distraction from the thoughts invading my mind of Killian and that damn kiss. Blair’s is an Italian restaurant not too far from where I live and is close to his furniture shop, so it’s a perfect meet-in-the-middle spot.

He’s already there when I arrive, standing when he sees me, a practiced smile on his face.

“Emma, hi, I’m Walsh. It’s great to meet you.” His handshake is firm, the eye contact steady.

“Nice to meet you too, Walsh.” My voice is polite, but the words feel hollow. We sit, and the small talk begins—a volley of questions and answers bouncing back and forth.

He’s nice enough—handsome, polite, and successful. Closer to my age. In fact, he might be a little older. Yet, as he goes on and on about his furniture shop, my attention keeps drifting.

“Emma?” His voice pulls me back.

“Sorry, what was that?”

“I asked if you’d like to try the wine I picked out.” He motions to the bottle chilling beside us.

“Sure,” I answer, but the taste of red on my tongue doesn’t compare to the thrill of Killian’s lips pressed against mine, the memory sending an unwelcome warmth through me.

“...and that’s when I decided to expand into custom pieces.” Walsh’s eyes light up with enthusiasm. “You wouldn’t believe the demand for handcrafted dining tables.”

I nod, forcing a smile. “That sounds...interesting.”

He continues, oblivious to my waning interest. “And then we started sourcing wood from sustainable forests. It’s been a game-changer for the business.”

I take a sip of my wine, glancing around the restaurant. Couples are laughing, waiters are bustling and there’s a general air of warmth and excitement I just don’t feel at our table. I try to engage, but there’s no connection, no chemistry. Not even the initial first date sparks.

Walsh leans forward, his eyes earnest. “What about you, Emma? What’s your favorite kind of furniture?”

I pause, searching for a polite response. “I guess I’ve never really thought about it in detail. I like pieces that are functional and comfortable.”

“Functionality is key,” he agrees, launching into another detailed explanation about ergonomic designs.

I nod along, fidgeting with my napkin, my thoughts drifting to Killian. The excitement, the thrill, the undeniable connection we shared—it’s all I can think about. Every word Walsh says just emphasizes the stark contrast between them. Which isn’t very fair to Walsh. I mean, how can you compete with Killian? You can’t.

“...and that’s why choosing the right wood is so important,” Walsh finishes, looking at me expectantly.

“Absolutely,” I reply, though I’m not entirely sure what I’m agreeing to.

He smiles, seemingly satisfied with my response, and continues talking about his latest project. I glance at my watch discreetly, wondering how much longer I need to stay. We’ve only been here for about fifteen minutes, our food hasn’t even arrived, yet it feels like we’ve been here for an eternity and a half.

Needing a break, I excuse myself and hurry to the restroom.

As I stand in front of the sink, cursing myself for agreeing to this date, my phone buzzes in my clutch purse. I fish it out, a message lighting up the screen.

+44 7779 460726: I can’t get that kiss out of my head. I need to see you again.

My heart skitters, a smile tugging at my lips. The memory of our kiss flashes vividly in my mind, sending a chill down my spine. But here I am, on a date with Walsh, who has been nothing but kind but whom I have no interest in. Guilt twists in my gut as I type back.

Me: Who’s this?

+44 7779 460726: Ha! Cold.

+44 7779 460726: I got your number from the invoice. Hope that’s okay.

I click my tongue and sigh.

Me: Have the pieces arrived yet?

+44 7779 460726: Haven’t been home yet. Hear they look great.

+44 7779 460726: Anyway, about that kiss…

I roll my eyes and throw my phone back into my clutch purse before going to a stall and using the toilet. When I come out and wash my hands, my purse buzzes again.

+44 7779 460726: I know you read my last text. 🙂

I laugh.

Me: I can’t talk right now. I’m going to bed.

+44 7779 460726: No, you’re not.

Me: How do you know?

+44 7779 460726: Because it’s only 7.

+44 7779 460726: Also, you’re not at home.

Me: And how would you know that?

+44 7779 460726: Because I checked.

Me: You stopped by my house?

+44 7779 460726: I didn’t stop, I just happened to drive by a moment ago and notice all the lights were out.

Me: Happened to stop by? Right. 🙄

+44 7779 460726: Fine, I purposely drove by your house.

+44 7779 460726: Your turn to be honest 😁

Me: Stalker

I sigh.

Me: Okay, okay, I’m on a date. Happy?

+44 7779 460726: Am I happy you’re on a date with someone who’s not me? Not in the least. You’re really twisting the knife, love.🗡️💔

Me: Elsa set it up. I didn’t have a choice.

Okay, I did have a choice but he doesn’t have to know I only said yes to the date to forget about him .

+44 7779 460726: Are you enjoying the date?

Me: No, not really. Our food hasn’t arrived and I’m already bored to tears.

+44 7779 460726: Where are you? I’ll pick you up.

His offer hangs in the air, tempting like a decadent piece of chocolate. My heart races at the thought of leaving Walsh sitting alone, but also at the prospect of being whisked away by Killian.

I bite my bottom lip. not even believing I’m contemplating taking him up on his offer. This is ridiculous. I’m on a date with someone and actually considering ditching him for another man. But how often do I get asked out by a rockstar?

+44 7779 460726: Do I have to beg, Swan?

Me: Only if you want to…

+44 7779 460726: Will you go on a date with me? Please?🙏 🙏🙏

I can’t believe what I’m reading. Killian Jones is actually begging me to go on a date with him.

+44 7779 460726: I promise not to bore you.

I laugh. Like that could happen. I'd be entertained simply by getting lost in his eyes. I add his number to my contacts and shoot him my answer.

Me: I’m at Blair’s, 2901 Rowena Ave.

Killian: On my way.

I am so going to hell for this. For lying and ditching a perfectly nice guy for one who is almost half my age. So irresponsible.

I take a deep breath, bracing myself for the awkward conversation ahead. I clear my throat and hurry to the table where Walsh is sitting, my heart pounding in my chest. “Hey, Walsh...” My eyes are wide, feigning panic.

He looks up, concern knitting his brows. “Everything okay?”

“My son, Henry, just called. He went out to eat with some friends and got food poisoning.” I force an apologetic smile. “I have to go, I’m so sorry.”

Walsh’s face falls slightly, but he quickly masks his disappointment. “Oh no, I hope he’s alright. Do you need any help?”

“No, but thank you,” I reply, the guilt pressing down on me. “I just need to get to him as soon as possible.”

I reach into my purse and pull out some money, placing it on the table to cover my share of the food. “This should cover my part. I’m really sorry about this.”

Walsh shakes his head, waving his hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it, Emma. Go take care of Henry. Maybe we can do this another time?”

“Yeah, maybe. Thanks for understanding.”

Without waiting for a response, I hurry out of the restaurant, my heart pounding with guilt and excitement. I step outside, the cool evening air doing little to calm my racing heart as I scan the street for Killian. I can’t help but wonder if I’m making the right choice, but the memory of our kiss and the anticipation of seeing him again push those doubts aside.

A minute later, a sleek, Audi R8 Spyder pulls up in front of me, its engine purring smoothly.

Killian rolls down the window, his million-dollar smile showing off his brilliant white teeth. “Hop in, love.”

I can’t help but smile, the thrill of seeing him again outweighing my guilt. I open the door and slide into the passenger seat, buckling my seatbelt. The smell of luxurious leather envelops me as he shifts into gear, the vehicle gliding forward with effortless power.

It’s surreal riding in a fancy car with Killian, who looks irresistible enough to eat. He’s wearing a well-fitted black leather jacket over a crisp white button-up shirt, the top few buttons casually undone. His dark jeans are perfectly tailored, accentuating his lean frame, and he’s completed the look with a pair of polished black boots. His silver chain with the skull and crossbones peeks out from beneath his shirt, and he has a few understated rings on his fingers, adding just a touch of rockstar edge to his ensemble. His hair is tousled in that perfectly messy way, and a hint of stubble lines his jaw, making me want to grab him and kiss him and finish what we’d started on Tuesday.

“Nice car.”

“Thank you, love, but I don’t actually own it. It’s a rental.”

I raise an eyebrow, wondering if there’s anything he does actually own. The trailer, the watch I’m wearing, the car. They’re all things given to him or loaned for temporary use. “A rental, huh? I guess being a rockstar doesn’t mean you have to own all the fancy toys.”

He chuckles. “Exactly. Sometimes it’s fun to try different things without the commitment.”

I hold up my wrist, showing him the silver timepiece. “I brought you your watch.”

He looks over and smirks. “It looks much better on you, love.”

As I lower my arm and twist the watch around my wrist, staring ahead blankly, I find myself wondering if his noncommittal approach extends to women as well. My stomach churns at the thought of this being just a fleeting experience, of him moving on to the next woman after he has his fill of me. Am I just another one of his rental toys?

I softly shake my head, thinking maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing after all. Maybe I could take a page from his book. Maybe this is exactly what I need right now—a chance to explore, to feel something new, to have this experience without any strings attached, then return to my normal life. My normal, rockstar-free life. I deserve a little excitement, a little unpredictability. And with Killian, it feels like anything is possible.

I glance over at Killian, his profile illuminated by the city lights. He seems so at ease, so comfortable in his own skin. It’s refreshing and a little intoxicating. The pull of adventure, the lure of stepping outside my routine and embracing something exciting and different.

“You look stunning, Swan, by the way. Is that a new dress?”

Heat creeps up my cheeks and I smile back at him. “Thank you, but no, it’s not new. Henry picked it out of my closet, actually. He saved me from leaving the house looking like I was going to a funeral.”

Killian laughs, a deep, rich sound that makes my heart flutter. “Smart kid. I told you, he’s got great taste.”

“Yeah, he does. He was pretty insistent about it, too.”

“Well, I’m glad he was.” His eyes briefly flick over to me again, full of warmth. “You look perfect.”

“You don’t look so bad yourself.” I grin as I reach out, touching his arm.

“Thanks, love.” He tosses me a flirty smirk, placing his hand on my leg over my dress. The touch is very much welcome, but it makes this date all the more real. Too real.

As the car sails through the streets, my pulse quickens, a familiar knot of anxiety tightening in my chest. It dawns on me with an almost physical jolt—I’m on a date with Killian Jones. My heart races, and a cold sweat forms on my palms. This isn’t just any date. It’s a date with a celebrity, someone whose life is so far removed from my own, it feels like I’m stepping into a different world.

I glance over at Kilian, his easy confidence making me feel even more self-conscious. What if I say something stupid or do something embarrassing? What if I trip over my own feet or spill my drink all over him? My mind spins with all the possible ways I could ruin this evening. What if he sees through my insecurities and decides I’m not worth the effort?

“Emma?” Kilian’s voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts, gentle yet concerned. “Are you alright?”

I swallow hard, trying to muster a reassuring smile. “Yeah, just...a little nervous, I guess.”

He pulls the car over to the side of the road, turning to face me fully. His eyes are soft, filled with understanding. “Are you sure you want to go on this date?” he asks gently. “Just say the word and I can take you back.”

I take a shaky breath, my pulse pounding in my ears. “I want this, Killian, but it’s been so long since I’ve been on a date. And now that I am, it happens to be with one of the hottest rock stars in the world, so I’m a bit overwhelmed.”

Killian smiles softly and pulls me close, cupping my cheek in his hand. “Don’t think of me as a rockstar, love,” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing. “I’m just a guy who’s incredibly attracted to you.”

I laugh. “Easy for you to say. You don’t have a kid who has a poster of me on their bedroom wall.”

He arches a brow, his blue eyes glinting with mischief. “I wish I had a poster of you on my bedroom wall.”

I snort-laugh, playfully swatting him on the shoulder.

“Just be yourself, Emma. That’s all I want.”

His words break through the haze of panic, and I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself.

“And if it makes you feel any better,” he adds, his eyes locked on mine, “I’m just as nervous as you are.”

A smile tugs at my lips. “Yeah, that actually does make me feel better.”

He brushes a strand of hair from my face, his touch gentle and lingering. His eyes hold mine, sparkling with desire and tenderness. Without another word, he leans in, closing the distance between us, and captures my lips with his. The kiss is electric, a surge of energy that sends shivers down my spine. My heart races, and I lose myself in the sensation, the world around us fading into oblivion.

His lips are warm and soft against mine, moving with a perfect blend of urgency and restraint. As our tongues touch, the kiss deepens, igniting a fire within me. My hands instinctively find their way to his neck, fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer.

Just as the intensity builds, Killian pulls away, his breath ragged and uneven. He rests his forehead against mine, his eyes closed for a moment as if savoring the lingering connection. When he opens them, a playful smile tugs at his lips, a mixture of satisfaction and longing.

“If we continue like that,” he murmurs, his voice husky, “we won’t make our reservations in Malibu.”

I laugh softly, my own breath coming in short gasps. “You’re right. We should probably go.”

He gives me one last, lingering kiss on the lips before moving away.

As he pulls back onto the road, I straighten and take another deep breath, trying to focus on the moment. Maybe, just maybe, I can let myself enjoy this without overthinking it. Take it for what it is—a thrilling detour from the everyday, a chance to feel alive and desired.

Once I take a moment to recover from the kiss, I think about the last thing he said and furrow my brows at him. “Wait, you had time to make reservations? We only started texting about five minutes before you showed up at Blair’s.”

A sheepish smile spreads over his lips. “I made them earlier.”

“Oh, and you were sure I’d drop everything and go on a date with you?” I tease.

He chuckles, his cheeks pink as he scratches behind his ear. “I was hoping. I would’ve called you much earlier but we were performing at Rockville in Daytona and then tried to get some shut-eye during the four-hour flight back.”

I nod, understanding the demands of his world. “I get it. Life of a rockstar.” I smirk.

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Aye, it can get pretty hectic. But I’m here now. So, what’d you tell your date?”

“That Henry has food poisoning,” I laugh a bit sheepishly. “It was the best I could come up with on the spot.”

“Well, I’m glad you decided to come with me,” he says, reaching over to grab my hand. “I’ve been thinking about you a lot since that kiss.”

“Me too,” I admit, my heart fluttering at his touch as I thread my fingers through his. “That’s why I agreed to go on the date with Walsh.”

Killian looks at me, lifting a brow. “You were thinking of me, yet you went on a date with someone else?”

I sigh. “I know, it’s stupid, but I was trying to forget you.”

He smirks, though there’s a softness in his eyes. “Forget me, huh? How’s that working out for you?”

I laugh. “Not well, obviously.”

Kilian squeezes my hand gently, his touch warm and reassuring. “I’m glad it didn’t work.” His eyes remain focused on the road, but his thumb strokes the back of my hand in soothing circles.

A smile pulls at my lips, the nerves from earlier melting away as I whisper, “Me too.”

#cs ff #captain swan #cs ff au #my fic #rockstar!killian #alternate universe - modern setting

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