#I want him to be happy. long comfortable evenings-into-nights around the table in the lighthouse dining hall

[vaguely-concerned]

I think rye really likes chocolate, but like... mostly very very dark chocolate. boring bitter barely sweetened adult person chocolate, to the point where most of the others find it borderline inedible. it's a regular occurrence for someone to raid the lighthouse kitchen for snacks and light up like 'ooooh wait we've got chocolate???' and someone else has to go 'yeah but it's only rook chocolate tho sorry :/'. 'oh okay :')'

[nugnthopkns]

gonna keep this love if you let me

word count: 4.0k

warnings: explicit!fem reader, slight innuendo, alcohol consumption, cursing, a lot of wedding talk

recommended listening: burning | maggie rogers

series masterpost: here

a/n: found this during my google docs purge and decided to finish it!! guess that means hiiapl is tentatively back, but updates will most certainly be sporadic. also i know literally nothing about st. louis or the blues so pls don't come for me

Life would be completely different without Colton.

It’s crazy to think so, but it’s true. Had you not met him nearly five years ago at a bar in New York, you’d be in a totally different situation – probably married to the Wall Street douchebag you were with at the time and struggling to find your sense of self. Instead, you’re happy in St. Louis with the best chosen family you could ever dream of. Colton is a lighthouse in your storm, keeping you steady and providing hope.

Marriage has never been off the table, but it hasn’t exactly been on it either. Both you and Colton are young, barely into life itself, and you know he wants to enjoy his youth. Tyler tells you that you’re being ridiculous, that Colton is more than ready to settle down, but you’re scared to broach the topic. You’ve never handled rejection well, and Colton wielding that sword would be too much for you to bear. It doesn’t stop you from fantasizing about what your wedding would be like – you want it to be small, just close family and friends, and maybe on a lake. One day you’ll gather the courage to ask him what he thinks about spending the rest of his life with you.

“Babe, have you RSVPed to Scandella’s wedding yet?” Colton asks you as he slips his dress shoes on. It’s early May, and the Blues are trying desperately to make it out of the first round.

“No,” you draw out, slightly confused. “We didn’t get an invitation.”

“It’s on the fridge, under the grocery list. I put it there like a week ago.”

You roll your eyes and laugh. “How was I supposed to find it, Colt? I’ll do it as soon as you leave. Have fun in Denver.”

He kisses you gently, promising to score you a goal, and pats your dog on the head before wheeling his suitcase out the door and into the trunk of Tyler’s car. You wave to your boyfriend’s teammate and watch as they turn the corner. Once inside, you dig around on the fridge until you find the invitation. It’s a little crumpled, a clear indication Colton shoved it in his pocket after practice and left it there for a while, but it still looks gorgeous. Celeste, Marco’s fiancée, has a timeless style that is perfect for the wedding she’s no doubt deep into planning. Flipping the card over, you see the deadline to RSVP is in two days, so you rush to pull up the website and input your details.

Not even five minutes after saving your seats you get a text from Celeste. Cutting it pretty close to the wire, wouldn’t you say? followed by Please know I’m kidding, and I’m ecstatic you and Colton can make it.

You laugh, typing out a reply that explains your lateness. He never told me about it, just put the invite on the fridge after letting it sit in his jacket for a week. We can’t wait to be a part of the big day :) x

The two of you chat for a while longer, exchanging details about the wedding, before you take Perseus on his long walk and comfortably fall into the routine you keep when Colton isn’t around. Despite trying your best to dream of other things, you spend the night picturing what your boyfriend’s face will look like if you ever walk down the aisle.

☼☼☼☼

It’s chillier than you thought it would be, but with Colton’s suit jacket wrapped around your shoulders the warmth will soon return to your body. Marco and Celeste elected to have an evening wedding, and the setting sun makes the venue even more beautiful. Montreal is a beautiful city, with a wonderfully rich history, and the distant sound of boats on the St. Lawrence provide serene background noise.

The arm that is resting comfortably on the back of your chair shifts slightly to pull you closer to Colton. “When can we start drinking?” he whispers as you wait for the bride to make her entrance. “You look exceptionally good in that dress, and I need an excuse to have my hands all over you.”

“Colton Parayko,” you chide, “We’re in public!”

“When has that ever stopped me?”

Before you can reprimand him the music starts and the crowd rises. You follow suit, peering over Colton’s shoulder to catch a glimpse of Celeste. She looks stunning, all smiles as she makes her way towards her soon-to-be husband. The ceremony leaves you both in tears, with Colton’s teammates laughing hysterically at you. It’s the first time you don’t hear Colton defend himself when chirps are thrown.

The drinks flow freely throughout dinner, and by the time the dance floor opens you’ve consumed one too many gin and tonics. You can’t convince Colton to participate in the silly group dances so you’re with the group of wives, dancing up a storm and having the life of your life. Eventually he makes his way to the floor, stealing you away for a slow dance to some overplayed Ed Sheeran song. You rest your head on his chest as he sways you in small circles, sealing it with a kiss as the music fades into a song he can’t resist bopping along to. Both of you spend the rest of the night dancing with your friends and making memories you hope to duplicate as more of the team gets married.

It’s after midnight when the remaining guests send the newlywed couple on their way in a flurry of applause and bubbles. The hotel you’re staying at is only a short walk from the venue, so you and Colton make your way there at a leisurely pace. Much of it has to do with your inability to walk fast. Despite your boyfriend’s suggestion to wear a comfortable pair of sandals, you wore the highest pair of heels you own, and the pain you feel makes the journey longer than it needs to be.

“Hold up for a sec,” you whine slightly when Colton gets too far ahead of you for your liking, “‘M gonna take my shoes off.”

He looks at you like you’ve grown three heads. “Don’t do that Y/N, you’ll tear your feet to shreds. This isn’t even a real sidewalk.” He has a point – the path you’re on has you walking on a gravel shoulder.

“Don’t care. ’M tired and want to get home faster,” you mumble, bending over to undo the ankle straps.

A deep sigh rumbles from his chest, but Colton backtracks to stand in front of you. “Hop on.”

You do so with little protest and spend the rest of the walk clinging to Colton’s back. The hotel staff don’t bat an eye when the two of you enter the lobby, no doubt having encountered stranger things than a piggyback ride. It takes him a second to open the door but the latch eventually clicks, and Colton tosses you playfully on the bed. The two of you work quickly to complete some sort of nighttime routine, exhaustion hitting both of you hard. You want nothing more than to curl into Colton’s chest and sleep for at least fourteen hours.

Sleep has almost overcome you when Colton whispers a question into your hair. “Do you think we’ll have as much fun at our wedding?”

You try hard not to let your surprise be visible, but your heart is racing. “You want to get married?”

“Of course,” he says. “I knew you were the one a long time ago.”

A smile makes its way onto your features, though he can’t see it due to the position you’ve situated yourselves in. “I’d like to marry you one day,” you whisper back. The hum he emits reverberates in your chest, and you go to bed with your mind made up. You’re going to propose to Colton as soon as possible.

☼☼☼☼

It’s unconventional, you proposing to your boyfriend instead of the other way around, but your relationship has always been like that. Colton’s never been one to do things on other people’s timelines and neither are you, so many moments have been ‘too rushed’ for some family members’ liking. However, you do spend the rest of the summer debating on whether to go through with your plan or not. What if he says no because it’s too weird? The thought plagues you throughout your vacation to Alberta, and when Colton notices how off you are you chalk it up to feeling under the weather. He buys it and never brings it up again. Life has returned to normal, the season is underway, and you’ve finally committed to asking Colton to marry you.

Tyler points out how unorthodox the situation is when you pick him up to go ring shopping.

“In any other relationship I’d be doing this with Colt, not you.”

You laugh as he settles in your passenger seat and buckles up. “Since when has this been any old relationship? I moved across the continent for him.”

“Fair enough,” he shrugs. “Do you know what you’re looking for?”

The two of you spend the ride to the jewellers discussing what you think Colton would like. You argue that he’d want something simple – relatively thin and plain gold. Tyler insists that his friend wants an intricately carved ring that takes up a great deal of space on his hand, but you know he’s only doing so in an effort to make Colton look ridiculous. The bickering only stops when Tyler kindly opens the storefront door for you.

“Hi! Is there anything in particular you’re looking for?” the salesperson asks. He’s charming in the way salespeople usually are, all perfectly placed hair and dazzling smile.

“We’re just looking for rings,” you explain, eyes scanning for the display case that holds rings large enough to fit Colton’s finger.

The employee smiles, undoubtedly glad he’ll be making a nice commission off the sale. “You’re a smart man sir,” he nods to Tyler, “Bringing her in to make sure she likes it. Congratulations.”

The brunette looks at you in confusion for a moment before clueing in. “Oh,” he mutters, “We aren’t together. I’m just here for moral support.”

You nod. “Could you please point us in the direction of the men’s rings?”

Though more than a bit embarrassed, the employee leads to that section of store before leaving you to your own devices. Clearly it isn’t a common request, and Tyler chuckles a little before turning his attention to the elegant rings in front of him. There are a lot more options than you thought there would be and you feel a little lost. You know what Colton likes, so you whittle out anything you know he would hate. Tyler tries to sneak in a few rather garish choices but settles down once he sees how overwhelmed you are.

“Don’t stress so much. Colt’s going to love it regardless because it’s from you, and it means the two of you are getting married,” he insists.

You aren’t convinced. “What if he hates it?”

Tyler scoffs. “That’s going to be damn near impossible. He practically worships that ground you fucking walk on.”

The nerves settle enough for you to actually be productive and eventually you settle on one that looks strikingly similar to what you were describing to your friend in the car. Unsurprisingly they don’t have Colton’s size in store, but let you know when you place the order that it should be in by the end of the week. On the way home you pick up some dinner before dropping Tyler off in front of his house. “Thanks for coming with me today,” you say sincerely to which he just nods his head.

Colton’s back from his physiotherapy session when you slip through the front door. “How was your day with Bozak?” he asks as he takes the bag of takeout from your arms and sets it on the counter.

“It was fine,” you sigh, “But I’m glad to be home.”

“What did he need help with?”

You freeze. Though you assumed Colton would ask about the details of your day, you never actually cobbled together a white lie to tell him. “Uh, he wanted a second opinion of some art he wants to buy,” you stutter, “And I took that art history course in college. He just needed me to tell him it was a replica and that the seller was overcharging him.”

He buys it, and you feel a little bad about lying. It’s one of the few times you’ve ever done it throughout your entire relationship but you really don’t want him figuring out your plans. The rest of the night is spent pressed comfortably against his side on the couch, eating Chinese food and laughing at the contestants on the reality show the two of you are currently obsessed with.

☼☼☼☼

The ring box is burning a hole in your pocket. The jeweller called while you were at work, so on your way home you stopped by to pick it up. It’s perfect, just as beautiful as you remember when you picked it out a few days ago. You don’t have a plan, no elaborate yet endearing way to ask, but you know you won’t be able to keep the secret for long. Every fibre of your being wants to be engaged to Colton.

Your house is empty when you arrive home, save for the large dalmatian that comes bounding towards you at the sound of the door opening.

“Hi Perce,” you coo, letting the animal jump a few times in greeting before settling him down. Perseus soon becomes bored of watching you take off your shoes and wanders off, no doubt to find a toy to chew on.

The Blues have a game tonight, and it’s one of the few Friday night home games you can actually attend. Your office has a terrible reputation for scheduling mandatory team dinners on Fridays to ‘improve work flow and connection’. It’s mostly bullshit, but you can never get out of them for fear of getting reprimanded – your bosses take them very seriously. However, more than half the office was away at a professional development conference this weekend, meaning the rest of you were off the hook. You got home with just enough time to eat a quick meal and change into more comfortable clothing, including a much too large Parayko jersey. Perseus follows you to the door and whines as you say goodbye, but stops when you mention Colton returning in a few hours. The dog may have been yours originally but there’s no way anyone would know if you didn’t occasionally bring it up – Perseus is attached at the hip with your boyfriend, possibly soon to be fiancée. They do everything together and Colton is the one he drags out of bed in the morning to go to the bathroom.

By the time you get to the arena the stands are packed. There’s no way you’re getting down to the glass to possibly spare a moment with Colton, so you continue on your way, weaving through people and giving the occasional wave when someone recognizes you enough to call your name. Warmups are finished by the time you make it to the family and friends box and you settle in beside some of the other girls to watch the game unfold. The ring box sitting on the kitchen counter is all you can think about, especially when someone mentions how they recently had a sister get engaged and pass around pictures of the ring. You know you won’t have one, that it will be Colton with something on his left hand, but you don’t care. You just want to spend the rest of your life with him.

The game passes in the blink of an eye. Truthfully you didn’t pay any attention, too focused on imagining a future with Colton. All you know is the Blues won, and that knowledge is in your brain only because everyone else in the box screamed about it. Colton put up four points, meaning he has to speak to the media, and he sends you a text not to wait for him. You drive home listening to a top-forty station tapping absentmindedly at the wheel. Something in your gut tells you that you have to propose tonight. It doesn’t matter that there’s no plan that there’s a chance Colton could say no. You’ve kept it inside long enough and now that you have the ring in your position you’re only going to become more spaced out waiting for the ‘perfect’ time to propose. Life is messy and unconventional, and you’ll be damned if you go through one more moment of it without being engaged to Colton.

Things move in slow motion as you wait for Colton to get home. Perseus is upset when you return sans large blonde man, but perks up when you give him a treat and take him outside to let off some steam. It’s warm enough that you don’t need a jacket, and you perch lazily on a patio chair. Your mind is moving a mile a minute, wondering what you’re going to do if you even do anything at all. Despite your haste to propose, you find yourself wondering if you’ll be able to vocalize those feelings. So many things could go wrong that you’re debating if the whole idea was good in the first place. You’re so caught up in your internal monologue that you don’t hear Colton come home, and only recognize his presence after he lets out a grunt when Perseus runs at him with full force.

“Perce, come on man. You know you’re too big to charge me like that,” Colton laughs, turning to press a kiss to your temple. “How was work today babe?”

You smile at his enthusiasm and give in, detailing the monotonous work you had gotten up to at the office and mentioning how nice it was that everyone was out of town. Colton agrees, saying it was nice to see you at a game without the worry on your face of missing important work-related things. The two of you converse in hushed tones, not wanting to wake the neighbours because it’s well past midnight, until Perseus decides he’s had enough of running around and heads to the door. You follow him inside but stop in the kitchen, Colton nearly running into you because you stop so suddenly.

On the counter, beside the sink and in plain view, is the box housing Colton’s engagement ring. You must have left it there in your rush to get to the game, and forgot it was even out to begin with. How he didn’t see it when he came home is beyond you.

“What’s wrong?” Colton asks, concern lacing his voice. You aren’t one to freeze up and the fact that you did is unnerving for him.

You shake yourself out of it, not wanting to alert him to the presence of the foreign object in the room. “Nothing,” you sigh, “Just tired and sore from the game. You know those seats hurt my back.”

He doesn’t buy it and is quick to let you know. “I call bullshit. The patio chairs bother you more and you were fine. Just talk to me baby, I just want to help.” You’re sheepish, knowing you’ve been found out, and just keep staring at the box in silence because you don’t know what else to do. Colton scans the kitchen to figure out what has you so spooked and eventually lands on the black box that nearly caused you to have a heart attack. “What’s that?”

It’s as if a dam breaks inside of you. “It’s a fucking ring box, with a ring inside it. For you. I want to get married and I know you’re not pressed because we have all the time in the world but I love you and I want to officially spend the rest of my life with you as soon as possible. So I went and bought a ring with Tyler the other day because I decided I was just going to propose to you because fuck tradition you know? I love you so much that it hurts and I want to be with you for as long as you’ll have me. And I was going to think of a cute way to ask but I left the stupid thing on the counter when I got home and here we are.”

Shock, followed by amusement and wonder, take shape on Colton’s face, but he does a good job at recovering for your sake. You can’t believe your emotions came out like that, and want to curl into a ball and never see daylight again. “I’m just gonna go to bed,” you mumble, but Colton stops you from leaving with a gentle hand on your wrist.

“Wait babe, let’s talk about this.” That’s truly the last thing you want to do, but know it’s the adult approach. You sigh and turn back to face the man you love more than life itself.

Colton immediately pulls you into a hug, providing reassurance that what you said and how you feel is valid. You clutch the back of his t-shirt tightly, not wanting to ever let go because it means you have to face the gravity of the situation. Though it’s obvious Colton wants to talk he doesn’t push, which you greatly appreciate. Minutes pass before you pull away, pulling at the hair elastic on your wrist out of nervous habit.

“You want to marry me?” The question tumbles from Colton’s lips in a rushed manner like he can’t believe it. You nod while giggling, finding it funny that he could be so shocked. “Well then,” he smiles, “Let’s see the ring.”

With a bit more encouragement you leave his side and pad around the island, grabbing the box and making your way back to Colton. You hand the sleek black box to him, and cover your eyes while he opens it. If he hates it you’d rather not know, considering you poured your heart and soul into this decision. It’s silent for a few moments and you know Colton has opened the box. Going against yourself, you peek through your hands to see him crying.

“It’s beautiful,” Colton breathes, the words catching in his throat from the tears.

Unsure what to do you reach up to wipe the tiny water droplets from his face. “Don’t cry Colt,” you whisper, but your words are watery because you’re crying too. Before you can speak again he’s filling the silence with the one word you wanted to hear more than anything in the world.

“Yes.”

Tears flow freely from your eyes now, and if someone were to see the two of you through a window they’d be concerned. You know you look a mess but the only thing that matters to you is putting that ring on Colton’s finger and making it official.

“Yeah?” The question barely makes it past your lips before Colton is picking you up and slamming his lips against yours. You return the kiss instantly – giggling and trying your hardest to show him just how much you love him. It’s messy, all teeth as excitement gets the better of you both.

It feels like hours pass while you kiss Colton, legs wrapped around his waist as he supports the two of you. Eventually you pull away, too excited to see the ring on his finger, and jump down. Wordlessly he passes you the box and you slide the gold band onto the fourth finger on his left hand. The sight of it shining takes your breath away and a giddiness fills your soul.

“We’re getting fucking married,” you squeal, wrapping your arms around Colton again because you can’t contain your joy.

He laughs, big and loud and hearty, and meets your gaze with a fondness that is indescribable. “I think it’s the best idea you’ve ever had.”

You couldn’t agree more.

[brywrites]

Blindsided

Reid x Reader. In which Reid is an expert in human behavior, but misses the signs when it comes to the person who matters most. @imagining-in-the-margins had a decliend request a little while ago that was up for grabs in which the Reader has an eating disorder, and I thought I’d give it a try. CW, of course, for descriptions of disordered eating.

-------

There are signs. Small and subtle, often imperceptible to the untrained eye. The trouble is, his eyes are quite trained. He’s spent a lifetime learning how to look carefully, consider all the possibilities, profile the most minute behavior. But Spencer Reid is still somehow blindsided by this.

Maybe it was her strength. She has always seemed so perfectly balanced, never too thrown off by a hard day at work or an unforeseen circumstance. She seems to excel at her job with ease, she makes friends everywhere they go, and she always knows just what to say when he’s having a bad day. Like a lighthouse, she has always shined so bright, a beacon even when his mind is a hurricane. Maybe that’s why he never stopped to question anything, because she was the steadiest thing he knew.

Maybe it was his job. The months went by in a blur, an endless carousel of cases, a carnival wheel of horrors. There are weeks where he’s only home for a few days at a time before he’s calling her to tell her he has to fly somewhere again. Being away from home means being away from her. He doesn’t see her as consistently, and when he does he’s so exhausted that he loses his train of thought far too often for a genius with an eidetic memory.

Maybe because she didn’t want him to see. Maybe because he didn’t want to see what was right in front of him all along.

It starts with dinner dates. Rather than relishing a night out, she starts making plans for coffee shops or walks in the park. He supposes it’s nice to change things up and doesn’t say a word about it. Besides, it’s much easier to kiss her in a park than it is from across a restaurant table. But then she starts to shy away from his touch. She’ll let him kiss her and often reaches for his hand, but she dodges his hugs. Where she used to gently push things forward in their physical relationship, trying to encourage him to feel more comfortable, she’s suddenly become the reluctant one. Her clothes become loose and baggy and he wonders if she simply isn’t attracted to him anymore. He takes comfort in the fact that her words and actions say otherwise. She still looks at him like a sunrise, her smile is still so bright.

But even that begins to dim. She looks tired sometimes – when he isn’t looking right at her, he swears he catches her reflection or a glimpse of her from the corner of his eye frowning at the floor or staring off blankly into space. Every time he adjusts his focus back on her though, she’s looking at him with a smile. She’s more irritable than usual, that’s for sure. A disagreement will cause her to snap at him or withdraw into herself. One day he goes to meet her at her apartment after work at her request. He lets himself in and waits for her to arrive, biding his time by reading a book and eating a snack. To his disappointment, he finds no sweets – she’s never been big on junk food, but her pantries seem a bit more sparse than usual – but settles down with a yogurt cup that will at least stave off his appetite long enough for them to walk around a museum before dinner.

She comes home smiling, already asking him about his day and telling him about this new exhibit she can’t wait to see with him. She just needs to get a snack and then she’ll be ready, she assures him. But when she opens the fridge, her face falls.

The sound of frantic rummaging startles him. “Is everything okay?” he asks.

“There was yogurt in here, I swear I had a strawberry yogurt left,” she says, more so to herself than to him.

“Oh. I’m sorry, Y/N. I just ate it – I didn’t get the chance to eat lunch today.”

Her eyes narrow. “What? Why would you do that?” The sound of her voice is unusually sharp.

“I – I just, I knew we were going to be out for a while and I just – well–” He stumbles over his words. This is what they always do. His apartment may as well be hers, and she has always told him to make himself at home here. They borrow books and grab snacks from each other, coming and going and forgetting a sweater or a pair of shoes here and there.

“You couldn’t have waited for me to get home? Why didn’t you ask me? I can’t believe you did that!”

He stares back at her, utterly confused. “It’s – it’s just yogurt,” he says.

She presses her lips into a fine line and for a moment he fears she might cry. But then she disappears into her bedroom and comes out ten minutes later in clothes more suited for a walk. He reminds her that she was going to get a snack. She says she’s not that hungry. And he’s too flustered to notice the sign staring him in the face.

As though she’s pulling away from the world, she stops making as many plans with friends. She spends more time at home. Her weekend jogs go for hours while he waits with coffee that is almost always cold by the time she arrives at the bakery to have breakfast with him. One day he bumps into Rina, one of her friends from work. She asks him, offhandedly, if he has any good restaurant recommendations since her parents are coming to visit this weekend. Reid responds with puzzled surprise.

“Sorry,” Rina says, “I didn’t mean to put you on the spot. I just figured you must have a few in mind since you and Y/N have been trying all those new places.” He tilts his head and she winces in apology. “I don’t mean to pry! But you know we started doing an office happy hour on Thursdays, and she hasn’t been able to come since you two always have dinner reservations at that time. Of course, based on the places she said you’ve been, it seems well worth it.”

He just smiles through the confusion and offers up the name of a nice Indian place he’s been before. He makes a note to ask Y/N about this, but the BAU gets called away in the middle of the night and all is forgotten in favor of solving the case. It takes five days before they finally do, and Rossi invites everyone and their partners over to his mansion to celebrate. Y/N is delighted to see his team, and for a moment everything feels normal. She’s chatting away with Emily and Morgan, asking Garcia about the community theatre production she’s starring in. It’s all normal. It’s all her.

Then Rossi calls them to the dining room, where there’s more than enough food and libations to go around. Everyone’s plates have already been piled with sautéed zucchini, tortellini alfredo, and garlic bread courtesy of their host, who insists presentation is just as important as taste when it comes to fine dining.

The meal is divine and the company is wonderful and there’s whispers of tiramisu for dessert. Reid doesn’t have a care in the world, all too happy to be eating more than his fill of garlic bread surrounded by his favorite people. But then midway through dinner, Rossi points a fork at Y/N. “You’ve hardly touched the pasta, kid,” he says. “Come on, I slaved over a hot stove for two hours to make that. Do you not like it?”

She looks like a deer caught in the headlights, her eyes wide as everyone turns to look at her and the food that has been artfully rearranged but hardly touched on her plate. “Um,” she says. “No, no it’s great – I’ve just been having such a good time talking to everyone I’m forgetting to eat.” She puts a spoonful of it to her lips, covering her mouth as she chews. “Really, really good,” she insists.

Dinner comes to a close, and he glances over at Y/N, whose plate is now two-thirds empty. Her previously chipper conversation has fallen flat, and she’s staring into space once again. But this time, his gaze on her doesn’t seem to bring her back down to earth. Rossi and Garcia briefly slip into the kitchen and return with a massive sheet of tiramisu. It looks like heaven. He’s beginning to worry that he might have to loosen his belt a notch or two at this rate.

Abruptly, Y/N stands from her seat. “Sorry, I’m not feeling well,” she says, her voice strained. “I’m gonna go get some air.” She flees the room before he can even get up. As fast as his legs will carry him, he runs to the back door to join her outside. She’s sitting on the patio, arms curled around her legs. For just a second he’s afraid the food has made her sick, but then he hears it. Sobbing. She’s crying.

And suddenly it all makes sense.

The weight of the realization nearly knocks him over. How could he not see? How could he have missed this? There were so many cases to keep on top of, so many people to profile, but none of them matter the way this does. The way she does.

Reid walks over and sits down on the ground beside her. When he puts his arm around her shaking shoulders, she doesn’t pull away. “Y/N,” he says softly. She looks up at him, her cheeks wet with tears. “It’s okay. You don’t have to hide this from me. I know.” And then her arms are around him and her face is buried in his chest and he’s holding her as tight as he can. When he feels the sharpness of her shoulderblades, his heart sinks. It’s bad. It’s been bad for a while now, and all this time he couldn’t see it. She was struggling alone with an eating disorder all this time, and he missed the most basic clues. How can he call himself a profiler? How can he call himself her boyfriend?

“I’m sorry,” he tells her. “I’m sorry it took me so long. Please, tell me what’s going on. Tell me how I can help.”

When she finally catches her breath, she has a hard time meeting his eyes. “When I was fourteen, I spent two months in the hospital for anorexia. I was in and out of treatment through high school, but I finally got things under control in college. And they stayed that way for a long time. But five months ago, things starting getting bad again. I don’t really even know what triggered it. Work was getting so stressful, and you had that close call in the field, and my mom visited and spent all this time picking things about my life apart in that passive aggressive way she does and I just… I don’t know. A missed one meal because I was working late. And it was so easy to just miss another. I told myself I should get back in shape, so I tried to eat cleaner and ran more. But then I felt like I was taking up too much space and I didn’t deserve to and I needed to stop. And everything just fell back into place – counting calories, skipping meals, restricting… I knew what I was doing, I knew, but I couldn’t stop.”

“It’s okay,” he says. “I’m not mad. You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s okay.”

“It’s like I can’t turn that voice off telling me that I’m too much or I’m eating too much and… I didn’t want you think I was stupid or shallow and I didn’t want you to see me the way I saw myself.” Her voice breaks and the sound wounds him. She’s been hurting alone all this time because she was afraid of what he’d think of her. He reminds himself that it’s not a reflection of their relationship, it’s the disorder talking – she’s ashamed and afraid.

“I would never think that. And you’re not stupid. I mean, with an eating disorder, it’s not about the food, not really – it’s a coping mechanism, right?” Albeit a deadly one.

She nods, then sighs, “When everything else is out of control I feel like… like if I can just control my weight, if I can be perfect at this, then it’s okay that everything else is a mess. I know that’s stupid.”

“It’s not,” he assures her. “Y/N, I don’t understand everything you’re feeling. But I do know that eating disorders are like an addiction. And I do understand that. And I understand how hard it is to ask for help.”

“Sometimes,” she says, “I’m not sure I want to get help. And maybe I don’t need to. I mean it’s not that bad, I’m not really that sick. I’ve been worse.”

“Sweetheart.” He smooths her hair back. “You’re crying over a plate of pasta. Now I don’t think that’s silly,” he adds quickly. “But it’s serious. Carbohydrates shouldn’t reduce you to tears. Dinner should have to feel like a battle. You don’t deserve to feel that way.”

“What if I do?” she cries. “I’m such a mess anyways. You shouldn’t have to deal with all of this. With me. You have to fight literal monsters and I’m so weak. I hate that I’m this way. I hate myself.”

Reid places a hand under her chin and gently turns her towards him so he can look into her eyes. They’re wide and teary and so afraid. She’s never looked more fragile. “But I love you. I love you so much. And if you can’t, I’ll love you enough for the both of us. I’ll do anything I can to help you through this. But please let me help you through this.”

“I don’t know.”

He sighs. “I’m going to tell you some things you already know, okay? Eating disorders are the deadliest of all mental illnesses. One in five people will die from their disorder. The complications include heart failure, osteoporosis, gastroparesis, fainting, and kidney failure. Many of them can’t be reversed. This illness is deadly, sweetheart. It’s dangerous. Even if you don’t think it’s that bad, I don’t want it to get worse. I can’t lose you, Y/N. I can’t.”

It’s quiet there in the yard, the sun dipping below the trees, Rossi’s garden lights twinkling on. There’s nothing but the sound of her sniffles and his pounding heart.

“I’ll tell Hotch I’m taking two months off. I’ll be home all the time. You can come over any time it’s getting bad. Or I can stay with you. We can cook together. I’ll go with you to therapy. Whatever you need. You won’t have to do this alone.”

“You have work,” she says. “The team needs you. There are cases.”

“They can solve them without me,” he replies, not missing a beat. “They’ve done it before. I have eighty-four vacation days saved up, they can’t stop me. Look, I love my job, and the BAU will always save lives. But the most important life to me is yours. I missed enough because of work. I’m not going to make that same mistake twice. I love you. Everything else can wait. Okay?”

A long moment passes. “Okay,” she says. “Okay.” He pulls her into another hug and her whole body trembles as she cries. He fights back tears because what she needs is for him to be strong. For him to be here. And he isn’t going anywhere.

When she’s regained her composure, slips his suit jacket off and puts it over her shoulders, like a shock blanket. They walk back inside where he quickly explains that she’s not feeling well and they’re going to head out early. Nobody asks any questions, and for that he’s thankful. Garcia wishes for her to feel better and JJ promises they’ll see her soon.

She asks him to stay with her that night, and he does. He holds her close beneath the blankets as she falls asleep, hoping that she can feel just how much he loves her. If that was all it took to help her heal, she would have recovered in that very moment. But it isn’t that simple. True to his word, he takes time off. He sits with her and helps her find a specialist to see. He drives her to and from the clinic for her extensive outpatient therapy, and when she gets to come home he’s there to offer a distraction while helping her stick to her prescribed meal plan.

It isn’t always easy. She takes hours to finish a meal, going bite by bite and pushing the food into patterns on the plate. He prefers that to the times she yells at him or sobs and he knows it’s not her fault. It’s the disorder. It’s the voice of the demon that has such a strong grip on the love of his life. He lets her yell. He lets her cry. And he lets her hold him tight when she needs some way to anchor herself in the moment, to hold on to something other than her own body and her own fears.

The day she comes home from the outpatient program and says, “I’m missing so much, aren’t I?” is the day he knows things are looking up. “I pushed away my friends and work and I stopped going places because I was afraid there would be food and I stopped seeing you so I could run more and that’s not living, and – and I want to live so badly,” she cries. “I don’t want counting calories and weighing myself to be all that there is.”

“And it won’t be,” he promises her. “You’re fighting so hard to live.”

“What if I do this, all the therapy and all the meal plans and all the work, what if I gain back the weight and everything but I’m still miserable?” she asks. “What if it doesn’t get better?”

Reid rubs circles on the back of her hand with his thumb. “It will. You know it will because you’ve done this before. I thought the same thing when I started going to NA, but you know what I realized? I was afraid that nothing would ever feel better but I was more afraid that it would be better. That I’d feel happy and I wouldn’t know what to do because I wasn’t sure who I would be without the dilaudid anymore.” The vicious cycle of getting high and coming down had been familiar at least, and he was afraid to lose anything else, even the habit. “But I was so much better without it. It was hard at first – but after I was so much happier. You’re not this disease. You’re so much more than that, and I will be right here to remind you of that any time you need me to.”

He pulls her into his lap and then lies back against the couch, her head on his chest as he holds her close to him. If only an embrace were enough to keep her safe. If only he could fight off the voices in her head with his own vocal affirmations. It doesn’t hurt to try, so he lists off a litany of things he loves about her. Detailing everything from the easy way she makes friends to the softness of her smile to the way he feels better just seeing her. He praises her generous spirit and her work ethic and the excellent way she kisses him.

“You’re the bravest person I know,” he tells her. “And you always make me feel so brave. Maybe that’s why I missed it. You’ve always been so strong. But you don’t have to be, okay? I know my job is hard, but I can be strong too. I know I can’t break down a door like Morgan,” Reid jokes, earning a half-laugh from her. “And I couldn’t bench press ten pounds to save my life, but you can lean on me. I’m not going to break. Nothing you need is ever going to be too much.” He places a kiss on the top of her head. “Never. Not when you’re everything to me.”

As the final month of his vacation time draws to a close, her smile comes a little easier. She graduates from the intensive outpatient program into regular therapy. And when she comes home that day, he sees it. That smile of hers his back. The light has returned to her eyes, and he can feel how much brighter the world is. His lighthouse his back, but he knows know that she needs him to guide her safe to shore sometimes, too. He’ll be the one to make sure her light doesn’t burn out.

There are signs, small and subtle as she comes back to him. Nearly imperceptible to the untrained eye. But her clothes aren’t quite so baggy. She doesn’t bury herself under sweaters three sizes too big. Her kitchen becomes more than vegetables and protein bars. She goes out with her friends from work. He kisses her on a park bench and she pulls him in deeper.

And Reid knows it’s not over yet, that recovery is long and it is not linear, but his heart lifts when she asks to get dinner with him and he wants to cry when she steals some of the dessert he orders, smiling at him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Thank you,” she tells him. “For loving me even when I couldn’t.”

“You did all the hard work,” he says. “Loving you is the easiest thing in the world. And I’m never going to stop.” It’s a promise he intends to keep. Because he knows it isn’t true what they say – you don’t have to love yourself before you can love somebody else. For the longest time he couldn’t stand himself – but her loved her so much. And in loving her, he found himself. He never liked himself quite so much as when he could love her right. He would love her in all the moments she couldn’t love herself, just as she had for him. And until the end of his days, if she’d let him.  

[midnghtcities]

cherry flavoured / chapter 3

Christmas. A time of celebration, joy, and cookie-induced food comas. Hazel Shaw needs this holiday season to be the best one yet, but a neighbour by the name of Harry Styles could completely destroy that ideal.

An enemies-to-lovers Christmas mini-fic about old mistakes, new prospects, and those cherry flavoured conversations you wish could be forgotten. 

Written for the 1DFF discord server fic challenge.

read on wattpad / story page

(A/N: yes i know christmas was almost a month ago but i am terrible at keeping schedules!! anywho, just a short epilogue after this part!)

! TW: brief description of a seizure !

Friday, 25 December

Alcohol the night before Christmas is never a good idea if you want to have a good night sleep. Pair that with a boy who you once upon a time thought you could be in love with admitting to something relatively shocking, then you’re definitely not in for a good night sleep.

My alarm chirped happily at seven and I unhappily dragged myself out of my cocoon of comfort. I don’t think I had roused myself this early on Christmas morning since I was 10 years old, but I wanted today to be perfect. Normally, mum would take on the duties of preparing Christmas Day but I had insisted on her taking as much rest as she needed. It was my turn to take charge. I promptly forced all lingering thoughts about last night to the back of my mind and began to get on with the day. 

Once downstairs I busied myself with arranging our presents under the tree, switching on the Christmas lights, and setting the table for our traditional Christmas breakfast. I grabbed the supplies I had stashed in the cupboard earlier and got to work on our breakfast gingerbread house. 

I knew to many it would seem pretty silly that we indulge on something so sweet for breakfast, but it was our tradition. As a kid, I was always half excited to see the presents under the tree and half excited to see what gingerbread monstrosity my mum had created. Some notable mentions include the 30cm lighthouse she had somehow erected in 2005 and her infamous attempt at the Buckingham Palace in 2011. This year, we would have to do with a simple house though. Time constraints meant I had to use a simple store-bought kit.

It was just past half nine when I put the finishing touches on the gingerbread house and I finally called up to mum, telling her she was permitted to come downstairs to begin our festivities.

“Happy Christmas, mum!”

“Happy Christmas, Hazel.”

I immediately wrapped mum up in a hug once she had fully descended the stairs. Both of us held on a little longer than we normally would.

“This looks fantastic!” Mum beamed.

It was nothing compared to what mum used to do back in the day but I appreciated the sentiment. I pulled mum over to the sofa and we began exchanging gifts, both of us laughing at how we seemingly got all the gifts so perfect for once. After the wrapping paper had been stashed away, I proudly brought out my gingerbread creation. The roof was barely hanging on and I had to make extra icing in order to hold the walls up, but all in all it was a decent effort. Mum had the honours of smashing the whole thing apart and we both dug in, a full pot of tea accompanying our sweet escapade.

It was almost midday. We had packed the remains of the gingerbread house away before we made ourselves sick and we had both donned our garish Christmas jumpers. I had set mum up with some corny Christmas movie that was on Netflix whilst I busied myself with preparing our lunch. A typical roast dinner, but for lunch obviously.

“Are you feeling hungry yet? I think the food is pretty much ready,” I peered into the oven, the golden skin of the chicken confirming my suspicions. I gave the mashed potatoes on the stove another stir, making sure it wasn’t getting gluggy at the bottom.

“Mum?” I called over my shoulder again.

I turned around, finding her lack of response strange.

She was standing rigidly near the dining table, her right hand clasped over her mouth. Her gaze was fixed on the wall.

“Mum…” I felt my heart leap into my throat. I had seen this before. I dropped the wooden spoon I was holding and immediately walked over to her.

In the six steps it took for me to get to her, it all happened. The glass I didn’t even realise she was holding fell from her left hand and shattered. She crumpled and fell, knees collapsing beneath her. That guttural groan I had hoped I would never have to hear again. Eyes rolling. Jaw locked. Shaking. Jerking. She was having a seizure.

I dropped to my knees beside her, rolling her onto her side as best as I could. I checked her airway like the paramedic had shown me last time. It was clear thankfully. With surprisingly steady hands, I grabbed my phone from my back pocket and dialled 999.

It didn’t even feel like it was me speaking. A voice so even and calm couldn’t possibly be coming out of my mouth right now. I relayed the personal details with ease, told the lady on the other end of mum’s condition without a stutter over the big medical words. Who am I?

“Paramedics are on their way to you now. You’re doing a great job, love.”

I blinked. Mum had stopped shaking, but her eyes were still closed.

“They should be right outside love,” the call takers voice interjected. 

I thanked her and hung up, mystified at how they had arrived in seconds. When I looked down at my phone screen I realised that the phone call had been going for more than five minutes. I blinked again. Blue flashing lights slicing through the living room blinds. A firm knock at the door.

I was walking underwater. My legs were not moving fast enough. I held my arms out as though I was about to lose balance. I made it to the door, let the paramedics in. 

Now I was sitting on the sofa. Look at me. Take a breath. Tell me what happened. How long was she out? You did a great job. She’s going to be okay. 

“Hazel?!”

I was pulled out of the water. My senses ignited, the scene before me truly unfolding. Two paramedics, one assessing mum and one crouched before me. I could hear a steady beeping, mum’s heart on the monitor I’m assuming. And Harry. He was standing in the doorway, eyes wide with horror. Anne and Gemma were behind him, with similar looks of panic. They were all wearing those crappy paper Christmas hats.

And it was as if that’s what tipped the scale. It was Christmas day. My mum just had a seizure. I burst into tears.

I launched myself off the sofa and towards Harry. He had already begun moving towards me so he caught me immediately. I sobbed horribly into his jumper, my chest heaving and throat almost instantly becoming raw as I let it out. I cried for Christmas Day being ruined. I cried for the pain my mum has had to endure. I cried for the fact that mum would most likely not be here this time next year. I cried for my mum being diagnosed with glioblastoma at the age of 52.

“You’re okay…” Harry continually whispered into the top of my head, his hand rubbing circles on my back. I clinged to him like he was the only thing to keep me afloat right now.

I wasn’t sure how long we had been embracing, but I eventually calmed down. I carefully pulled my head back from his chest, bringing my arms away from his waist to rub my eyes clear. He kept his arms locked around me though, like he wasn’t sure if I was ready to be let go. I was glad he kept them there.

“You’re bleeding,” he said worriedly.

“Oh…” I looked at my hands and realised he was right. I must’ve leant on the glass when I was beside mum. As soon as I realised the cuts were there, I felt the throb of pain. “I think… I might’ve gotten blood on your jumper…”

“Wha--” Harry spluttered, like he was lost for words. “I-- I do not give a fuck about that! Come here.” He pulled me back over to the sofa.

I took the moment to glance around the room. Anne was talking to the paramedic. Gemma was distributing glasses of water. And then there was Mum, sitting up on one of the dining table chairs. She looked so tired, but despite that, when I met her gaze she sent me a smile. It was the same look she gives me after every medical episode she’s had in the last year. It was her way of saying all was fine, no need to worry. What she didn’t realise was that all I had been for the past year was a pit of worry.

“Is it alright if you check to make sure there’s no glass in the cuts?” Harry’s gruff voice pulled me back in the moment.

“Of course,” the paramedic bobbed down in front of me and asked to see my hands.

Harry immediately took up the space beside me, his arm snaking around my waist once more. I leant into him almost automatically. I didn’t care that it felt so right to be like this with him. I didn’t care that he pressed his lips to the top of my head when the disinfectant the paramedic applied caused me to wince. I especially didn’t care that he kept me entwined with him even after the paramedic had finished tending to the cuts.

“We’re gonna take her upstairs,” the other paramedic addressed me a few minutes later. “Her vitals are good and we’ve given some pain relief for the headache she's sporting. Seeing as this isn’t her first seizure we don’t need to bring her in. But if anything changes in her condition, ring and we’ll come straight back.”

I nodded mutely and despite my protesting heart, I pulled myself up and out of Harry’s arms.

“It’s alright Hazel,” Anne jumped in quickly, “you stay there and I’ll show them where your mum’s room is.”

“No, it’s okay,” I finally found my voice. “You’ve done so much already, I don’t need to spoil your Christmas anymore.”

“Hazel… Don’t say that…”

“Please, go back to your Christmas lunch. I promise we’re okay now.”

I could tell Anne wanted to fight me on this but Gemma grabbed her mum’s hand and began leading her towards the door.

“Thank you…” I said quietly as they passed. Anne pulled me into a hug, whispering that I could call if I needed anything.

Harry stood from the sofa, his expression somewhat unreadable. As suddenly as I had felt at ease with him, it all slipped away and I felt the frostiness of our current relationship seep back in. I had broken down in front of and clutched onto the man that I had promised myself five years early that I would have nothing to do with anymore. How do you move past that?

“I… Uh-- Thank you, as well,” I said lamely.

It looked like he was about to say something in response, but instead he swallowed thickly. Clearly, the moments we had shared earlier have officially passed.

I motioned to the paramedics to assist bringing mum upstairs. I knew the Styles’ would be able to show themselves out. I tried not to wince each time mum took a laborious breath as she came up the stairs. However, I felt a strange lightness when they finally settled her in the bed.

I thanked the paramedics profusely, which they accepted graciously. They promised to close the front door behind them, urging me to stay with mum for a bit to make sure she’s comfortable.

“I’m so sorry Hazel,” mum spoke as soon as they left.

I went and sat beside her. “Please don’t apologise, you can’t control these things.”

“Yes, but I know how much effort you had put into today. You deserve to have a special day.” A soft but sad smile graced her features. I knew she was skirting around the big issue that we always tried to avoid. The impending end that her diagnosis was going to bring. 

“We have lots of time for a special day,” I said quietly, bringing her hands into my own. “And even if we don’t… I am so thankful for the countless ones we’ve already had. Never feel guilty that you’re taking something away from me.”

Mum’s eyes turned glassy with emotion. She tugged on my hands, signalling that she needed a hug. 

“Get some rest,” I spoke after pulling away a few seconds later. “Maybe we can still have some Christmas dinner if I can salvage the chicken.”

She laughed but agreed. I wanted to stay and watch her fall asleep - to be sure - but she assured me that she felt fine and told me to go. I begrudgingly agreed.

 Carefully, I closed her bedroom door and walked gingerly back downstairs. I knew I needed to clean up the mess. And try and rustle up something edible for us.

“Is she alright?”

“Jesus Christ!” My heart almost leapt out of my chest at the unexpected sounding of a voice. Harry was standing in my kitchen, arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed in what looked like concern. “You scared the shit out of me. What are you still doing here?”

“I wanted to make sure you were okay… And your mum. Is she?”

I was shocked that Harry hadn’t left. After what had happened earlier I was sure he would’ve wanted to put as much distance between us as possible. “Uh… yeah. She seems to be,” I managed to get out, “she’s just resting at the moment.”

“Good, good,” he said softly. I kept forgetting what it was like to have him talk to me like this, like we were before.

“You cleaned up,” I noticed that the shards of glass had been surreptitiously swept away and the floor wiped clean of any evidence of what had happened. I suddenly felt my throat tighten and that telltale pinch behind my eyes. Harry had literally held me together a mere hour earlier and yet this small act of kindness was sending me over the edge again. I didn’t want Harry to see me like this once more. I quickly walked over to the cupboard to grab a glass and filled it with water from the sink.

“Least I could do,” he replied, seemingly not noticing my change in demeanor. “Unfortunately, I couldn’t save your chicken. Mum made you both a plate though from our leftovers, I put them in the fridge. I can heat it up for you if you’re hungry now…”

He was being so nice. It felt so jarring. One day he was all eye rolls and words filled with venom, and the next he was offering to get me food. With the absence of my earlier heightened emotions, his sudden concern felt like he was trying to portray some act.

“I’m alright for now,” I finally spoke after a few beats of silence. I turned from the sink to face him again. His eyes held that look of pity - poor girl with a sick mum. I hated it.

“Okay then… Do you wanna just watch a movie then? Get your mind off things?”

It was like a switch had flipped in my mind. I had enough of fake niceties and acts of kindness formed out of pity. I slammed my glass down onto the counter, water sloshing out the side. “God, why are you here?” I said sourly.

“What? I told you, to make--”

“To make sure I’m okay, yeah, I heard that. But why do you even care?”

I watched Harry’s gaze harden. “You… Seriously? What is your problem? I’m trying to do the right thing.”

I clenched my hands into fists, my nails pressing deep into the palms of my hands. I was desperately trying to prevent myself from exploding at him. “Why? Cause you feel sorry for me?”

“No, of course not!”

“Then why do the right thing now? After all these years?”

Harry shook his head in disbelief and began to pace across the floor. He ran his hands through his hair. “You know, a thank you would be nice,” he spat after a few moments.

“A thank you? A thank you?” I could feel my face heating up, not in embarrassment but in anger. It was getting harder and harder to keep it together. “You should be thanking me!”

“What the fuck are you on about?”

“For helping you to get back with your girlfriend.”

Harry stopped in his tracks and faced me, eyes wide in bewilderment. “Hazel, I have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about.” His frustration was palpable as he threw his hands up in the air. “I thought this was about your mum!? Or me apparently helping you too much today.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose and squeezed my eyes shut. I forced myself to take three deep breaths. I reopened my eyes to see Harry staring at me expectantly. 

“It’s about the fact that we have barely spoken to each other for the past five years and now you expect us to sit on the sofa and watch some bloody movie?” I said in a surprisingly even tone.

“It’s not my fault we haven’t spoken in the last five years,” he replied icily.

“Excuse me…”

“I’m sure you remember the last summer before uni?” Harry crossed his arms across his chest, an eyebrow raised expectantly.

“How could I forget,” I said darkly. I could feel that my hands were shaking ever so slightly.

“So you remember that--” he swallowed thickly, “--that last night.”

I nodded mutely. This was the first time we had ever spoken of that night.

“So then you definitely must remember how you moved across the country the next day without saying goodbye to me and have ignored me since.”

My mouth fell open. That is not what happened. My body flushed as I tried to process what Harry was telling me. Memories of that night flooded back, it had been so long since I had allowed myself to think of them. 

I remember the heat - we had been suffering through a heat wave all week. Someone from our form was having a final hurrah before we all went off to uni. Harry and I went together - as we always did - and we drank. A lot. Those god damn cherry vodka sours. As we stumbled home, he kissed me. I’ll never forget the look that clouded his eyes when he pulled away. And next thing I knew we were in his bed, all fervent mouths and quiet moans.

“You slept with me,” I spoke as I finally pulled out of my reverie, “and the very next day run right back into the arms of Lucy, who you told me you had ended things with…”

I watched as Harry’s eyebrows knitted together in what looked like confusion.

“All I was to you was a quick fuck to help sort out your feelings,” I said quietly. It had taken me a long time to accept the truth of Harry’s actions but admitting it outloud was almost harder. A tear suddenly slipped down my face. I hadn’t even felt myself well up.

“So yes,” I continued on when I realised Harry was just going to keep staring at me with a look of dumbfoundedness, “I did leave for London without saying goodbye. But I think I had a pretty good reason to.”

Harry continued to stare at me, his eyes wide. I waited a further few seconds, expectant of a response, but nothing came.

“I think you should leave,” I finally spoke.

He didn’t move.

“Fine then,” I stormed past him not even taking care when my shoulder careened into his own. Just as I was about to climb the stairs, I felt his hand around my wrist. He pulled me to a stop.

“I wasn’t talking to Lucy to get back with her. I was telling her… that she was right.” His voice was raspier than earlier.

I begrudgingly turned to face him, “Right about what?”

“She was the one who actually ended things…”

“What? You told me you did.”

“I know, I didn’t want you to know the real reason why she broke up with me.”

I raised an eyebrow, “And what was the real reason?”

Harry drew in a shuddering breath, “She thought… Well she insisted on the fact that I was actually in love with you.”

It felt like someone had sucked all the air out of lungs. My vision swam for a moment. I placed my left hand on the wall as though my legs were going to give way. “And… You went to tell her that she was right…”

“I thought maybe you felt the same, especially after… But with you leaving so suddenly, it made it pretty clear that I had come to the wrong conclusion.” Harry’s gaze shifted away from my own, he clearly was feeling uncomfortable.

His admission made me view the last five years in a new light. His actions did match those of a scorned lover. In fact, it matched my own.

“You weren’t wrong,” I breathed out. I reached forward, my hand landing on his chest. Even through his jumper I could feel his heart beating erratically. 

He met my gaze once more and all I could see was that look - the one he held all those years ago. 

Without another second of hesitation, our lips crashed together. My hands immediately found their way into Harry’s hair, fingers curling around the tendrils as though to keep us locked in this place for eternity. I felt Harry’s own hands dig into my waist, pulling me flush against his chest. Heart to heart as we should be - something I never thought would happen again. Something that I hadn’t realised I had been longing for all this time.

Against my better judgment, I pulled away. Harry gave a small noise of protest which I smiled at. “Wait…” I said whilst trying to catch my breath. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions so easily when I saw you--”

“Don’t you dare apologise. We were both arses. I should’ve reached out, found out what was wrong.”

I captured his lips with my own again. “Agree to both be sorry then?” I spoke after pulling away.

He laughed softly, “Alright then.”

I rested my head against his chest, glad to have Harry’s arms around me. “I can’t believe we wasted five years…”

“Might’ve been for the better, you would not have enjoyed my long-haired phase in my second last year of uni.”

I looked up at him, both of our eyes crinkled with laughter. “And I suppose you wouldn’t have enjoyed me in my last year where I was determined to hit up every bar in London.”

I watched his expression drop ever so slightly. “Right, London.” He loosened his grip on me, pulling away. “I suppose you’re heading back there tomorrow?”

The reality of real life crashed down like a bucket of water had been tipped over me. How could I forget that Harry and I have crafted full lives in completely different cities.

“It’ll be hard to say goodbye to you knowing how we both feel now,” he said quietly.

I chewed my lip, “You know… I could extend my leave. Maybe until after New Years. I’m sure I could get some special considerations.”

Harry raised his eyebrows, “Are you sure?”

“We’re not fucking this up a second time.”

He grinned and wrapped me in his embrace once more, his lips making quick work to find my own.

“You know,” I pulled away.

His groan cut me off, “Stop bloody doing that.”

I shushed him with a laugh, “I was just going to say that in case my leave doesn’t get approved that we should make the most of the time we have left.” I looked fixedly over to the sofa.

“Fuck, I love the way you think.”

Without a second thought we tumbled over to the sofa, our legs becoming entangled, clothes discarded, and hands roaming - eager to find what had changed in the last five years. And as Harry peppered kisses down my torso and brought forth feelings so intense I hadn’t thought possible - I knew I wouldn’t be leaving any time soon. Even if that meant quitting my job or moving halfway across a country. 

Harry and I. This was it.

[snarwor]

Happy holidays @anarchycox! I’m your secret santa! It was so hard keeping it secret for two months straight lolol. Have some SOFT Geralt/Lambert!! Thanks @thewitchersecretsanta for setting this up! More under the cut, or click the link to read on AO3!

Lambert always left Kaer Morhen first. The pass was still entrenched with snow, but he had his bombs, and if worse came to worst, Igni would light his way like it always had. He went on foot, drawling out his distaste of having someone to rely on and to rely on him in return, even if it would save his tired legs at the end of the day. He’d bought - actually bought - enchanted boots that never wore thin like the others, and he was determined to get his money’s worth. He always tried to set out before the sun rose, to watch the grasp of night slowly weaken through the trees as the day dawned, and him within it.

His attempts at disappearing in the night were never unobserved, however. Three pairs of golden eyes watched his descent down the main road from the keep, before two of those pairs turned away at the first turn that concealed his journey, the morning still too chilly to be considered merely brisk. One silent watcher kept his post, however, catching glimpses of the man’s trek down the clearly-defined, decades-trodden trail from the keep. It usually took three days down the mountain for even a Witcher’s eyesight to fail at tracking its quarry.

And Geralt’s eyes never once left him.

There were moments where Geralt doubted winters had even happened at Kaer Morhen, that the affection and touches and kind, soft words were just his imagination dealing with the aloof nature Lambert always put on at the beginning of spring. Imagine a better life, because you’re not going to get one, and all that horseshit.

Geralt made himself wait until Lambert had very definitely made his way off the mountain before packing up his own things, if the weather permitted. He wasn’t following him, of course, but the castle was just that much colder without the smirk-lipped man there to keep him warm while the wind howled and the snow snarled. Once again, there were two sets of eyes watching him, until he made the turn, and they turned away. Geralt spared one more look at the old keep, some pile of stones that didn’t mean home, but was where he had home.

And then he’d go. It became easier and easier for him to slot picking up Jaskier into his schedule, as he gathered start-of-season supplies. Enchantments and rations in Novigrad, his bard in Oxenfurt, some healing supplies from one particular hut along the Pontar.

Days passed too slowly without Lambert making fun of something. Jaskier was too polite, too refined to actually say the crass joke they were both thinking. Even Eskel, when he ran into the man, was as unchanging as a mountain, and just as unshakeable. It was no wonder he prowled the keep like an antsy panther before Lambert showed up. He was missing a part of him.

It was in the southern tip of Kaedwen where Geralt found Lambert. Jaskier was luckily away for some festival or another, and with summer in full swing, Geralt found himself grateful for the warmth, but it wasn’t a fire in a hearth he knew each crack of by heart. It was enough, though. Geralt wasn’t following Lambert, but when he’d heard “witcher” and “crazy” and “probably dead” in an old tavern, he knew the signs as well as if he’d been tracking a wyvern.

Lambert was, coincidentally, fighting a wyvern, and losing, when Geralt came upon him. He unsheathed his silver sword and prowled forward. The two were too wrapped in battle, too close, for Geralt to afford Lambert a distraction. When he found his in, he fired a crossbow bolt at the beast’s head, at least stunning it while Lambert found his bearings.

From just the cursory glance, Geralt could tell he hadn’t been eating well, and that the wyvern had injured his hand in the skirmish. On top of the other reckless Lambertisms he adhered to on the Path, like the sleepless circles around his eyes, the drawn tension in his shoulders speaking of desperation for victory, the worn look to his clothes telling of no time to waste on himself.

The younger witcher let out a snort. “Of course you’re here.”

“Good to see you too,” Geralt said with a roll of his eyes.

“Go ahead and step back, I’ve got this under control,” Lambert insisted, though he was obviously favoring his left hand.

“Sure. And when you lose that hand, you’ll have it half under control.”

“Oh, fine. Stay alert. I think there’s a mate.”

“You think there’s a—!?”

Just then, a second screech joined the first, the stunned wyvern having recovered. Geralt thought quickly, but Lambert had the advantage of already being in battle. He cast out with his left hand, pushing the wyvern back with an Aard, before charging the off-balance creature. Geralt did the same on the other wyvern, grounding it with a few crossbow bolts to its wings.

Fuck, I need to get better at aiming this thing.

The battle was difficult, but decisive when, after Geralt had taken the head of the second wyvern, Lambert had dropped a delayed-fuse bomb into the mouth of the first. They ran, but within a few seconds, were covered with wyvern innards. They spent several minutes heaving at the smell, but they were safe, and neither had sustained more injuries than a few bruises.

“See?” Lambert panted, a beautiful smile on his face, cutting through the gore across it. “Under control.”

In awe of him, as always, Geralt shook his head and wiped the mess off his face. “Come kiss me, you bastard.”

Lambert’s ears went a shade of red that had nothing to do with the flesh and blood on his face. He drifted over to Geralt as if pulled by a string, and they shared a quick, chaste kiss, blessedly free of gore. That longing and ache in his chest dissipated just a little. “Let’s go back to the inn. They promised a room. This is still just my contract.”

“Would’ve been just your grave, too,” Geralt said, receiving a smack to the arm for his troubles. “I’ll buy dinner. And a bath.”

Geralt didn’t want to acknowledge how hard the Path was on Lambert, not outside of Kaer Morhen when they could be free about it for as long as they wanted, but the many bowls of stew and bread he pressed on the man were enough. Geralt knew Lambert was the one who brought back the most supplies every winter, but it wore him to the bone each year. It frustrated Geralt each day, until he couldn’t count the other Witcher’s ribs with his eyes.

“Where’d you learn that trick with the gag reflex on the wyvern?”

“Same place I learned it on me,” Lambert said airily, making Geralt nearly inhale his beer. “Maybe I can show you later.”

“Fuck’s sake, Lambert,” Geralt laughed.

“‘Scuse me, are you the White Wolf?” a timid voice asked from the side. A boy, too young to be eating here, probably the innkeep’s son, stood almost behind a nearby column.

“My name is Geralt,” he answered, keeping his voice calm and even, a little higher than he usually did. Lambert had seen how Geralt changed when talking to children. It was sweet and kind and all the things people didn’t believe a Witcher could be. Lambert was happy to be able to see it this time. The boy’s eyes sparkled in awe, and he took a little step out from the side. “What’s your name?”

“Mardi,” the child said. “Can I see the silver sword?”

“It’s a little dirty right now, I’ve got this dagger, though.” Geralt shot Lambert an apologetic look, but still looked secretly pleased that the child had approached him without fear. Perhaps that bard is doing some good, Lambert thought to himself. Geralt pointed out the runes on the hilt, and showed off how they glowed when he spoke an incantation over them. “A sorceress I saved gave this to me as a gift.”

“If you saved me, I’d give you the butcher knife in the kitchen!” the boy declared. Geralt gave a closed-lip smile. His fangs were a little scary, even for eager children who play at slaying monsters with their friends.

“I would appreciate that very much, Mardi. I’m sure I’d just be happy if you stayed out of any situation that would warrant a Witcher’s saving from.”

Lambert saw reverence shine from the boy’s face, and his own ragged heart warmed at the sight. Geralt deserved love and affection, more than most, and had been only given scorn, more than most in that as well.

“This is my friend Lambert. I’ve known him since he was your age,” Geralt said, swinging his smile back over the table to an unprepared Lambert. He hid his face in his mug.

“Geralt…” Lambert protested.

“He killed the wyverns that were in the forest today,” Geralt told Mardi, a little conspiratorially. As standoffish as Geralt liked to think of himself, he was really quite good at stepping in and fulfilling social niceties. Maybe it was just dealing with pompous nobles that made him all stony and cold.

“Wow,” Mardi said, his adoration turning like a beam from a lighthouse. Lambert ducked his head a little, but acknowledged it.

“I am competent sometimes, you know.”

“I do,” Geralt said. “I do.”

The room they got was significantly better than the one Lambert would have gotten alone. Geralt had become a bit better of a negotiator since walking the Path with Jaskier, and knew that crossing his arms and glaring went a long way with the right person. Lambert whistled when he dropped his things to the floor, looking around at the swept floors, the comfortable carpet, the large tub behind a screen…

The one bed.

“He almost pissed himself when I pressed the issue. It’s the nicest room, but it’s also the one-beddiest room,” Geralt explained, dropping his saddlebags next to Lambert’s.

“Well, if it’s comfortable and you don’t snore, I think I’ll be able to get a few hours’ rest.”

“Hey,” Geralt said gently. Lambert looked at him, and was pulled into another kiss, this time with an embrace that made his knees weak.

“Hey,” Lambert said, when Geralt pulled back.

“Relax a bit for me? You should patch up your hand.” Geralt took a step backwards toward the door, like he didn’t want to look away from Lambert, though his mind had priorities elsewhere.

“Don’t have to tell me twice. ‘Sides. It’s a scratch.” Geralt didn’t argue with him. He didn’t want to waste the time they had together on harsh words and empty nastiness. He turned away to return down to the tavern floor, and left Lambert to patch himself up. He ordered a bath and two small trays of snacks, things they could pack away and ration for later easily, like cheeses and cured meats. Though he didn’t order any, they both came with two large, if weak, tankards of ale. It’d do. Geralt amused himself with keeping his face neutral to the peace offering from the tavern owner, but he shared a wink with Mardi as he passed by. He smirked to himself when he was finally back up in their room, balancing the food in his hands while knocking with his foot.

When Lambert opened the door, he’d taken off his shirt and jacket, revealing a poorly-bound chest and an even shittier-bandaged hand. “You planning on eating all of that? We just had dinner,” Lambert said, drawing Geralt’s attention away.

It didn’t work. “We are. Some’s for later. Let me rebandage those for you.”

“Fine.”

When Geralt sat down and pulled the chest wrappings away, it showed an almost-healed gash that must have given Lambert trouble on every hunt since he got it. “What did this?”

“Fearsome creature. Almost unkillable. It’s called a Lambert.”

Geralt shook his head with a smile. “You know, it’s always amazed me that you can be so competent, but only when you’re not thinking about it.”

“I’m competent all the time, but my bad luck is also pretty consistent.” They met each other’s rolling eyes. They didn’t really believe in luck. It’d been something of a joke they shared through all the years together. “I tripped.”

“On what?”

“Thin air.”

“Then what did this?”

“I was carrying a knife in my arms, trying to get something out of my pockets at the same time.”

“There it is.”

A knock at the door sounded, and for the next fifteen minutes, hot water was brought in to fill the bath. Geralt tipped the terrified inn workers and locked the door. “You need it more than I do. Get in.”

“Play doctor with me after?” Lambert smirked.

“Only if you’re good.” Geralt’s hand ghosted a little over the side of Lambert’s face, fond and still disbelieving that they’d ran into one another on the Path.

“You know, I’m not a toddler, you don’t have to follow me to the bath to make sure I scrub behind my ears.” Lambert stripped out of the rest of his clothes so he had an excuse to hide his reddening ears.

“You never scrub behind your ears.”

“Alright, that’s fair.” They gathered near the tub, their toiletries stacked on the low bench beside it. When Lambert’s back touched the hot water, he groaned. “Almost like home, when I close my eyes.”

Geralt said nothing about it, knowing the sentiment well. He washed Lambert’s hair, taking care to tickle behind his ears, and worked out the muscles in his shoulders. He took care washing Lambert’s wounds, and checked over the injury in his hand. It was an annoying sprain at most, and would be fine by morning.

“How’s your season going, then?” Lambert asked. He kept his eyes shut, for this all felt too much like a dream to accept as reality.

“It’s been dull. Lotta cold nights lately.” Geralt spoke of the last hunt he’d been on, just north of where they were now.

“Well it looks like I’ll have to change direction, with you clearing out all the contracts in my way.”

“Maybe we could walk together, til they get a bit more popular. End of summer means lots of monster babies.” Geralt stood, and readied a bit of medical supplies for after Lambert got out of the bath. The bastard seemed to be keen on taking his time soaking, however, so Geralt brought over the cheese and bread and meat. “Open up.”

“Wha—!” Lambert got a mouth full of bread, and had to chew to not choke. “You asshole.”

“Quiet, it’s romantic.”

“Choking a man in a bath is romantic?”

“Yes,” Geralt deadpanned. He fed Lambert his share of the food, until he wanted his turn in the bath. Lambert lay on the bed, completely nude and drying off in the sheets like a bastard. “There’s more food and ale on the table,” Geralt said, not indulging as he’d do if he were alone. He washed himself well, and stood, remaining naked like Lambert.

Geralt wrapped Lambert’s hand, running the tips of his fingers over where it was most sensitive and ticklish. Lambert flicked him in the forehead, but allowed himself to be patched up. It was hard to do it himself, especially on his hand, since he only had one other to work with.

“Oh. I remembered. I got you something.” Lambert stood after the gash on his side was patched up, and bent over his bags. He knew he was putting on a good show for Geralt, who gave a hum of appreciation, as if on cue.

Lambert stood again, and brought the item over. “Saw this in a stall in a town not too south of here. They were making them for practically nothing, painted right over another one for a few crowns.”

It was a Gwent card, the backing showing it was part of a Monsters pack, one that Lambert typically favored. Geralt usually ran with a Northern Kingdoms pack, but had been growing quite a little collection to impress Lambert with, and offer as bets when the coin ran out in wintertime. On the other side of the card, there was a fierce, but incredibly detailed drawing of Geralt. “The artist said he’d seen you once or twice, always running through the woods, eyes black as night, hair white as snow, that’s what he said.”

Geralt looked closer at it. The miniature portrait had been sealed in a thin lacquer, leaving the surface shiny and smooth. “Damn, Lambert,” Geralt said with a grin. “This is incredible.”

“Don’t start cryin’ on me,” Lambert drawled, blushing around the ears just a little bit. “Was happy to get it. Even if you didn’t want it, at least it’d keep your ugly mug on my mind from time to time.”

“Aw, my mug’s on your mind?” Geralt smirked, setting the gift down carefully, to be put with his other precious cards, the kinds he kept for tournaments.

“Well, now it’s not.” Lambert was turned in the circle of Geralt’s arms and pulled close. “Cuz you just—”

Geralt cut him off with a kiss. He knew it was unfair, in a way, but he also knew Lambert liked when he was demanding and sure of what he wanted. Geralt cupped his face, holding him there so he could see him. “I miss you too, you know. Out on the Path.”

“You’ve got that bard—”

“He’s not you. Is it so hard to believe that I enjoy your company?”

“Everyone else seems to tolerate it.” Lambert shrugged.

“When have I ever been like everyone else?”

“Alright, Mr. Ego,” Lambert finally laughed, bringing his gaze up to look at Geralt’s again. “Save it for winter, eh?”

“It’s pretty cold tonight. Could always pretend it’s winter, that the walls are stone instead of wood, that the rain isn’t rain, it’s snow. That this,” Geralt pushed him back onto the bed, gentle enough that Lambert could have stopped himself if he wanted. “Is my bed, and you’re still just as stubborn getting into it as you are getting out of it.”

Lambert watched him with a new look in his eyes, something having worked itself out in his brilliant mind. “Okay,” he said in a whisper. “We can pretend.”

After, Geralt rolled off and they both caught their breath, panting up at the ceiling, long after the candles had been snuffed out. Several minutes passed in silence, and Lambert thought Geralt had merely gone to sleep, until he spoke.

“Monsters, though?”

“My monster.”

In the morning, they walked together.

[nitewrighter]

Could we get some Gency hurt/comfort? Prompt: Genji experiences a nightmare after getting back from an exhausting mission a few hours earlier. As in, he-broke-into-a-cold-sweat-and-started-hyperventilating type or nightmare. Mercy is next to him, still awake, and sees him writhing and muttering in his sleep. She tries to wake him up or ease him to a calmer sleep after noticing this. (I just finished 2 month-long projects and am craving angst with a happy ending :D)

Hey thanks! And congrats on your project!!

I’m still pretty proud of the “Storm” fic I wrote back during Gency week... It would be nice to have some fluffy follow-up.

-----

When they got back to the watchpoint, the first priority was getting a shower. They let Mei handle the brunt of the debriefing while Symmetra was quickly trundled off to the infirmary, Pharah quick at her side. Orisa, meanwhile, was brought to Torbjorn’s workshop for a deep sanitizing. In the ride back, Genji had been able to mentally pass off the ghostly residual sensations of being pushed and pulled by the water to the rockings of the dropship, but as he set foot on the solid ground of the watchpoint, he knew this mission would stick with him more than most. He wasn’t sure why. Perhaps it was the helplessness of facing down the very environment as an enemy... perhaps it was the odd combination of being seen as an enemy omnic by that old woman, then having to actually fight Null Sector, but as he and Mercy scrubbed themselves pink and raw in the shower, he tried to lose himself in the heat and sensation. He tried to focus on Mercy’s fingers raking up through his hair from the base of his skull as she worked in shampoo, tried to focus on the feel of her own hair between his fingers, the visual of her shoulders bunching up, and the sound of her breath as he returned the favor, but still, the mission lurked at the back of his mind.

You could have done better, he thought, Should have worked faster.

The first night was thankfully swift and dreamless. And the next day they had a proper debriefing and a quick rundown of how the authorities were handling the situation without their intervention. Overwatch had been enough to scare Null Sector off, it seemed, and as disturbing as the depth of the hurricane’s damage had been, Winston and Mei had agreed that the authorities had more relief efforts handled from there and that Overwatch would only intervene again if there was another Null Sector attack. Not a clean ending to the mission, but then again, hardly any mission did end cleanly. What was Overwatch now if not a desperate stopgap against the worst?

“Genji?” Mercy’s voice managed to snap him out of a fixating train of thoughts as they got ready for bed.

“Mm?” He was setting components of his armor on their frame in the cleaning and cooling compartment embedded in the wall of their bedroom.

“You haven’t been talking much since the debriefing,” said Mercy, “Are you doing all right?”

A short breath huffed out of him. “...we’re always asking each other that,” he said quietly, setting the last armor component on its frame and stepping backwards to sit on the edge of the bed as the compartment closed.

“It’s a worthwhile question,” she said, her weight sinking into the mattress behind him.

“I’m fine,” said Genji, rubbing at his temple, “Just... need some sleep, that’s all.”

Mercy had already wiggled under the comforter behind him and she gave him a slight smile as he looked over his shoulder at her. He half-crawled half-collapsed against the bed and managed to slink under the sheets next to her. There was a few seconds where they were both staring at each other, their heads against their respective pillows. He could feel her gray-blue eyes searching him, that worried scan that tried not to pry too deeply, but still sank into him all the same. He reached a hand forward and tucked a lock of hair back from her face.

“I’m fine,” he said, “Really.”

Her lips thinned but she just leaned forward and kissed him on the eyebrow.

He didn’t want to think about how much he still felt the push and pull of the water even against the stillness of their mattress. He didn’t want to think about what fears flooded into his mind as he looked at her slowly closing eyes. It’s sleep, he thought, surrendering his body to that residual exhaustion and trying to will his mind into silence, Just sleep.

And there were a few hours of quiet, comforting darkness. But sinking deeper into that darkness, his mind, ever dissatisfied, was poking around the mission. What could have been done better? They already had the setback of having the storm cut into their comms. And that Omnic... Null Sector wasn’t generally in the habit of going full Gwishin like that. Why get bolder in a little town like Terrapin? And then there were the visuals. Unbidden, distorted. Mercy, shoving Mei out of the way before being seized herself. The shock of his own body hitting the water after her. The way her face looked ghost-white in that murky green-brown water. The way lack of oxygen was just starting to make her eyes go out of focus. He wasn’t swimming fast enough. A few seconds more--

“And you would be dead,” air sucked back into his lungs and he remembered the image of his own hands pushing up from a tatami mat. His father’s voice. He glanced up to see Sojiro and Hanzo kneeling on their cushions at the edge of the tatami, his own trainer, giving him a derisive look. How old was Genji then--10? 11? “Thank you, Fukuda-Sensei,” Sojiro had said, “I think we’ve seen enough.”

“I can do it,” Genji was insisting, still breathless, “I can do it! Let me try again!”

“No, this isn’t going anywhere,” said Sojiro. He glanced to Hanzo. “Hanzo, you will spar with Genji until he is up to par with Fukuda-Sensei’s standards.”

“What?” Hanzo protested, “But I was supposed to have archery lessons with Mom!”

“Hanzo, Genji will be your right hand when you take over the clan, we can get him all the trainers we can, but in the end, he is your responsibility.” 

He remembered Hanzo’s glare burning into him, then. He remembered the impact of Hanzo’s punches and kicks when they sparred.

“You ruin everything!”  Genji remembered Hanzo taking him by the shoulder and slamming him into the floor, “I can’t be a ninja if I’m always babysitting you!” 

“I’m going to be a ninja too!” Genji had fired back, scrambling to get back to his feet before a kick sent him rolling across the tatami.

“You’re not going to be anything,” Hanzo’s voice was furious and dark before the memory spiraled into red and pain.

“Hanzo--” it was over 10 years ago. Genji was looking at the bloody stump of his own arm before his eyes trailed up to his brother, blue light whirling around Hanzo’s arm. “Don’t---”

The dragon roared and surged around him and suddenly its impact was the impact of water.

And he was swimming toward her again. Not fast enough. Not strong enough. And he hesitated on cutting the wings. Stupid! His lungs were burning. The water was roiling around him. His arm was breaking apart, disassembling itself as he reached toward her in the water, the metal of the omnic in the depths shifting and cracking, brittle cracks turning to dragon scales, the violet turning to blue, those indifferent orange eyes coming apart into a great toothy maw rushing up to devour. But still he was swimming even though he didn’t seem to be moving forward in the water.

Stupid. Weak. Not strong enough. Not fast enough. You can’t save yourself so how could you ever hope to save--

“Genji--!” 

That voice. That same voice that acted as his lighthouse in his days of unconsciousness following Hanzo’s attack. He felt a touch on his shoulder and flinched awake, panting.

“Genji...” he could make out the pale blue of the holo-clock on their bedside table reading 3:21 AM, and and he became very conscious of the cool dampness of his own sweat making the sheets stick to him. His eyes flicked up. Mercy was sitting up in the darkness, looking still somewhat ghostly in the glow of their holo-clock, but her hand on his shoulder was steady, warm.

“What--?” he said, his breath still short.

“You were--just breathe--You were having another nightmare,” she said, brushing some sweaty strands of hair away from his forehead.

“Oh...I--I’m sorry--” he said, readjusting himself, trying to ease out of the tangle of bedsheets, his breath steadying as he pushed himself up in bed to better face her. 

“It’s nothing to apologize for,” she said, gently touching his cybernetic jaw.

He huffed a breath through his teeth, “I know, I just...” he sighed and looked down, “You’d think after everything I’ve gone through with you and Zenyatta, this wouldn’t...” 

“It was a rough mission,” said Mercy with a shrug, “Rougher than usual.” 

“I know,” Genji said again, “But--I mean--between the two of us--if anyone should be having nightmares after that...” 

She gave his shoulder a slight squeeze and smiled wearily, “Oh don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll have plenty of nightmares in the future.”

“I didn’t mean--I don’t want---” Genji’s mind was a scramble of sleepiness and coming down from a panic.

“I know,” her knuckles trailed at his temple.

He closed his eyes, leaning the side of his face into her hand. Slowly, gently, she let her weight sink back against her own pillow, but her hand glided down from his face to his shoulder to motion him to lie down with her. He did so, but lying on his back rather than facing her, staring at the ceiling.

“I dreamt of Hanzo, again,” he said quietly, and the slight shff of the pillow next to him told him a new alertness had flooded into her.

“He can’t hurt you here--” Mercy started.

“It’s... not about him hurting me... well it is, but...” Genji sighed, “I don’t know if I want him back in my life because I really want to help him, or if it’s because I don’t want.... that... to be all the memories I have of my blood family. Or maybe...” his voice dropped a little, “Maybe I still feel like I have to prove myself to him.”

“But you beat him back in Hanamura,” said Mercy.

“I know,” Genji pressed the fingertips of his prosthetic hand to his forehead, “But that was--it was complicated. I knew it would not be as simple as sitting down at a table with him and saying ‘Yo, not dead’ and Zenyatta said the clan didn’t exactly give us the means to communicate in a healthy--” he caught himself and huffed, “I’m sorry. I’m rambling. You’re sleep deprived enough without dealing with me.”

“Genji, I’m not ‘dealing with you,’ I love you,” said Mercy, curling herself around him.

“Mm,” Genji conformed to her shape as well, tucking his head against that slope between her collarbone and breast.

“You looked after me back in that storm and I’m looking after you now. It’s what we do,” she said softly as she stroked a hand down his back, “And if I wake up screaming and crying about Zurich or my parents, you’ll be here for me. And if you need to be rescued on a mission, I’ll be there for you... and there’s the team, too,” Her voice was trailing off with sleepiness, but hands tensed against his back slightly, “And... if Hanzo comes... We’ll figure something out. We’ve faced scarier things than him.”

“...I’d put ‘giant amphibious Null Sector crab mech’ about on par with Hanzo,” said Genji with a slight chuckle.

A “hm,” that was a bit too sleepy to be a chuckle fell out of her and a few beats of silence passed.

“Angela?” 

“Mm?”

“Thank you.”

She kissed the top of his head. “I’m here if you need anything,” she said quietly.

“Mm-hm,�� he said quietly, but as he listened to her breath and heartbeat, those physical sensations of the water seemed to go from turbulent dizziness to a gentle push and pull, like a wave on the shore. This, he thought, listening to her breath as he drifted off to sleep, I just need this.

[cutieodonoghue]

dark gray (11/?)

summary: Killian Jones operates a lighthouse in the middle of nowhere, preferring a life of isolation, until one day a woman and a baby wash up on his little island and change his life forever.

read it on: ao3, ff.net

and also catch up on tumblr!

///

Eleven

Henry is happy when she finds him in the bright of the new morning, cooing and kicking his little feet.

She laughs softly, then lifts him up to hold him while she pads into the kitchen. The house is relatively cold, thanks to the winter weather, and Killian hasn't gotten up yet to put a fire on.

"Maybe when Killian smells breakfast he'll get up."

In response, Henry just grins happily, little creases by his eyes. He holds a fist in his mouth and sucks on it as if it's a lifeline.

Emma settles Henry down on the floor with his blanket and his repurposed shirt of a toy while she works, humming a little to herself.

Last night, things had changed. For the better.

She’s glad that dancing around Killian day after day is seemingly an activity of the past, but she can’t help but wonder just how things will be different.

To be perfectly honest, she still isn't sure what he wants. She isn't sure if he's going to stay with her no matter what his head says, or if he'll stay out of fear.

There’s still plenty of time for things to change, but she’s okay breathing in the new day with hope for the future for now.

As if hearing her thoughts, Killian comes into the room at that very moment.

His bare feet click against the flooring to alert her to his presence and she looks over at him with a soft smile that he mirrors. He's wearing sweats that hang low on his hips and his hair is jutting upward. He winces a little at the light.

Killian wraps his arm around her from behind and spins her around, pulling her into his arms with ease. Butterflies swirl in her belly at his touch, both possessive and kind.

She stares up at him, biting at her lip while he smiles at her, and for a short, delirious second, she dreams of a future where this is a natural part of the day.

Emma laughs. "What are you doing?"

Killian continues to grin at her sleepily. "Good morning, love."

Breathless, she replies, "Good morning.”

He smirks at her, then glances at the oven as she slides her hands down his arms.

"I see you found the last of the pre-packaged scramble." He wriggles his brows at her.

Emma hums.

“A personal favorite.”

She gives him an annoyed look for the sarcastic drip in his voice. “I know, it’s gross, we’re tired of it… but I figure it’s better than day seven in a row with oatmeal.”

Smirking, Killian presses a kiss to her cheek that burns from his beard scruff pleasantly afterwards.

He slips away and she watches him crouch down on the floor with Henry, her heart squeezing as he pokes him in the belly and makes him giggle.

Killian sits down at the table with Henry in his lap, talking to him about something in a sweet, low tone, and she swears it's more like home than anything has ever felt in her entire life.

When Emma dishes up two plates of pre-packaged scrambled eggs, she takes them to the table and has a seat by Killian while he tickles and teases Henry.

Killian stares at her after a few moments, his smile still happy and warm. "Would you like a tour?"

Emma gives Killian a confused look. "I'm pretty sure I know this place better than you do."

Killian laughs. "No, no." He tilts his head back just a little. "The lighthouse."

Emma's heart skips a beat at the prospect. She hasn't ever been out to the lighthouse. She just knows he spends full days out there, doing who knows what. Killing time, she suspects.

"Oh," she says. She manages a smile. "Yeah. If you want to. I know you like to do things out there."

"What do you think I do?"

Emma shrugs. "I don't know. You just… disappear."

Killian shakes his head. "Well, we'll head out after breakfast and put your mind at ease."

/

Emma holds Henry in her arms while Killian guides them out to the lighthouse. He keeps an eye on them, eager to see their expressions when they enter.

Emma's dressed in one of his coats, his hat snug on her head. She's adorable like this, cold but bundled up warm.

Meanwhile, Henry's been secured in everything they could manage to wrap around him.

"When we go back, I think he'll be really happy to know clothes aren't all oversized men's shirts." Emma had muttered to Killian's responding laughter.

As they approach the lighthouse, Killian turns to Emma, finding himself feeling more nervous than he had been when he’d first offered the tour.

"Now, I want to apologize ahead of time for the look of it," Killian says. "It could be better."

Emma hums playfully. "I'll be reporting you to the proper authorities as soon as I'm out of here."

Killian laughs. He's glad they're able to engage one another like this. Glad they're able to be friends as much as partners in this situation they've found themselves bound to.

He shakes his head and sets his hand on the door handle. "Just give me grace."

Emma's smile is soft. She nods her head. "Of course."

Nerves pinch at his belly as he opens the door. They step inside and Killian clears his throat, the sound echoing against the walls slightly.

"Alright. Emma, Henry," he smiles. "Welcome to the lighthouse."

Emma looks around, awe in her expression, and she scans the room he uses as his office and workshop. "Wow. So this is where you hide out all day."

Killian rolls his eyes. "It's just an extension of the house. Not really that big of a deal."

"Hm," Emma keeps a neutral expression. She goes to the desk he has set up on the ground level and leans against it, craning her head back so she can look upwards. "Can we go up?"

"Aye. Of course."

And they do. Emma doesn't speak, something that curiously makes him even more anxious. When they stand on the landing with the light, Emma immediately goes to look out at the water.

"Wow." she breathes.

He stares out at the water with her, trying to do it with fresh eyes, as Emma might be seeing it. It's vast and empty. It's lonely.

Killian turns to look at Emma after a few moments of silence. She has tears in her eyes and she swallows, turning away from the view to instead look at the light.

"So is this the light?" she asks, clearly trying to ignore the fact that her emotions had the best of her.

Killian frowns. "Are you alright, love?"

Emma shakes her head. "I'm fine."

Killian gives Emma a look, lifting his eyebrows. "Tell me the truth. No use keeping secrets."

For a moment, she hesitates, worry in her eyes as she turns away from him.

"I just miss home," she tells him finally. "Nothing I can fix right now."

It makes him feel bloody awful, but there isn't anything that can be done. She's here with him until help comes.

The best thing he can do is help make the waiting period a good one so that when she leaves, she’s leaving with good memories.

Killian takes a deep breath and glances out at the water. It's terrifying- the prospect of leaving, of having to set sail for the first time in years.

Fear tightens in his throat and he blinks a few times, forcing himself to face Emma and Henry again. Oddly enough, they provide him enough peace to feel as if his world isn't spinning anymore.

/

In the evening, Emma sits on the floor of the living room listening to a record play on low. Her head rests gently against Killian’s shoulder and his arm is settled around her waist. He allows her to trace lines against his palm lazily, no words necessary in the intimacy of the quiet of the night.

It's late. Her eyelids have started to droop and she's not sure what's keeping her up, if not the warmth of the comfort of Killian.

Emma drags her teeth over her lower lip as she studies his hand in hers and then settles both of their them over her middle.

"Will you tell me something?" he asks softly.

She looks up at him, eyes gentle and lips quirked slightly. "What is it you'd like to know?"

Killian pauses thoughtfully. "Tell me about your adoption."

She's honestly surprised. Of all of the conversation topics, this is one she never would have guessed he'd bring up.

He chuckles softly, turning his hand upright to tangle their fingers so he’s holding her hand.

"Come on, love. I've told you all about my miserable past. I'd love to know about your beginnings."

She smiles, because no one ever really cares this much, and takes a moment to consider what telling him about her past could do. She knows this is new and fresh, and it's completely different, for all that it is.

They are alone on an island in the middle of nowhere, with no other human contact but with each other and a baby. There isn't anyone he could go run off and tell, not that he would, and not that she worries he would.

There is just the constant worry at the back of her mind that when she has to leave, she'll never see him again, that telling him about herself is pointless chatter to fill the time. It's the biggest fear she has about being with him.

But he is a friend and an equal. She feels like she can talk to Killian and he will listen, because that’s the kind of man he is. He is patient and kind, when he isn't angry or alone in his wallowing. With her, he's been relatively good.

"I was found on the side of a freeway in Maine," she tells him with a sigh. "My parents had wrapped me in a blanket with my name on it and that was all they apparently wanted from me, because I haven't been able to find them."

She closes her eyes briefly as she continues. "I lived from home to home for a long time, until I was fifteen. I met my adoptive parents after I got out of an abusive home and I've lived with them since." Emma takes a shaky breath. "No one really wanted me before them. I had a family until I was three but they had their own baby and gave me up."

Emma feels her eyes burning hot like they do when she thinks back on the childhood that she had to live through.

When Emma leans back, away from Killian, she finds him sympathetic, his brow dipped and his frown sorrowful. He wipes at the tears that have slipped free from her eyes and she smiles in thanks.

"You deserve so much better than what you've been given."

She hears genuineness in his tone and she nods, because she's heard it before from Mary Margaret and David, a lot from them, and she knows it in her heart that her parents didn't abandon her because they hated her. They wouldn't have made a blanket with her name on it if that were the case.

"Thank you,"

He searches her eyes and leans forward to kiss her forehead, making her close her eyes and breathe him in deep.

When he slides back, Emma moves to curl up in his lap. She presses her cheek to his shoulder and his arm wraps around her, holding her tight against him.

He's warm and comfortable and safe.

"Tell me something."

She suddenly wants to know everything and anything, and she doesn't want to fall asleep in fear of the nightmares returning her to the man who burned his cigarettes into her arm and hit the woman who made her cookies for her birthday.

Or to the place where she was left and betrayed a hundred times over again. People and places shifting with each passing day. People never wanting her the way she deserved to be wanted. People never loving her the way she deserved to be loved.

It isn't like Killian is ever going to be able to give that to her, but at least he isn't going anywhere right now, and he does care for her enough that he listened and didn't say anything that showed her that he sided with the evil in her past.

"My father abandoned me when I was a young boy," he tells her, and she almost laughs, because they're both pitiful messes. "And you know my mum passed after I was born. I don't remember her. Liam used to tell me stories about her."

"How much older was he?"

"Seven years," Killian says with a smile. "Used to pick on me an awful lot."

Emma laughs when he chuckles. "Sounds like he loved you a lot."

"Aye," he hums. "As much as a brother could."

She wouldn't know what that feels like, but she has an idea that it must feel a lot like friendship, only closer. She can sense it in the way he continues to tell her stories about their time in the Naval Academy, about how he used to pull pranks on him until Killian finally wised up and pulled pranks back.

He has her laughing and forgetting, and for once, she doesn't feel like she's stranded on an island with a stranger.

They continue to talk well through the night, about anything, really.

He tells her what it is that he does in that lighthouse of his. She tells him about what her favorite movie that he hasn't seen in the past four years is.

They speculate and formulate stories about Henry and where he came from, laughing about silly plot lines where aliens sent him to earth from a desolate future to save the human race, but they miscalculated and sent him too far back and attached a letter to his basket to make him sound human.

She knows him now. She knows about who he is and how he is. They've shared, intimately, stories and memories. Hurts and aches.

And yet, she doesn't know if it's enough.

"I think I should go to bed," she whispers, gazing at Killian with her head pressed against the back of the couch so she can look at him. Her legs are draped over his lap and their hands are still entwined over her thighs.

Killian searches her face and smiles, nodding slightly. "Aye. It's late, isn't it?"

"Hm," Emma closes her eyes. With a determined sigh, Emma pulls herself up and cups Killian's cheek, her thumb caressing his scruff. "Good night."

Killian awards her a sleepy smile, his eyelids droopy and his voice scratchy and low, "Good night, love."

For a second, she just admires him, and he admires her, time slowing as she fondly thinks back on the day they’d shared.

Kissing him sends her flying, but she anchors herself, nuzzling his nose in the moments afterwards while she tries to catch her breath. He leans in for one more and she allows it, because she kind of loves the way it feels to have his affection.

She presses her forehead to his, humming contentedly. “Ok. Seriously. Good night.”

Killian manages to steal one more kiss, both of them laughing by the time they break apart.

“I’m finished now,” he murmurs, his ears pink and his cheeks rosy. “Promise.”

Her heart feels absolutely full, desperate to stay with him a little longer, but she determinedly climbs off of him instead. She only turns back once she’s standing at the door to the bedroom, biting at her lip to keep from saying something stupid.

She's filled with hope, by the look on his face, that maybe today was enough to prove something to him.

Emma's eagerness fades into something twisted and frustrated as she falls into bed.

Going back to Storybrooke together is something she hasn't spent enough time thinking about.

What's going to happen if she shows up with a baby on her hip and a guy holding her hand? Her parents are going to flip. Neal's probably going to be pissed.

The Emma they knew was not the person she is now.

/

After Emma goes to bed, Killian finds that he’s just a little too wound up to fall to sleep, so he goes out to his lighthouse.

He slumps down at the desk, pulls open a drawer, and removes the pieces of the radio that he'd smashed against the wall of the lighthouse.

With a sigh, he examines his handiwork. He's been working, slowly but surely, to piece it together, in the hopes that maybe by some miracle, he’ll be able to radio for help and they won’t be stuck here until the supplies boat comes.

He slinks back against his chair and scrubs his hand over his mouth, staring blankly at the mechanism on his desk.

The idea of leaving feels all too real now, especially after the day he’d spent with Emma. They’d spent hours talking, laughing, and honest. She’d tasted sweet when she kissed him, so sweet that he couldn’t let her get away with just one kiss goodnight.

There’s a wild part of him that can already see them leaving the island, getting married, giving Henry a bunch of siblings, and growing old together. In fact, he can imagine it so well that his heart skips a beat at even the imagined life they’ll have together.

There isn’t a doubt in his mind that choosing Emma over the ghosts of his past was the right decision, but he now stands at the edge of a precipice.

Fix the radio and leave soon, or continue to wait.

Almost automatically, Killian begins to tinker with the wires and screws. It doesn’t take long for a light to flicker on, a testament to just how long and hard he’d been working on this for the past week or so.

His heart skips at the sight of life from the machine. He steps away from his desk, staring at it.

Leave soon, or continue to wait.

Taking a deep breath, Killian shuts the radio off.

It would have to wait until the morning.

[jeongcake]

𝐌𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 || 𝐓. 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐨

► content/warning(s): angst, implied reader death, mentions of abuse, no happy ending

► word count: 1.7k

► summary/prompt: “I see your monsters, I see your pain,” [Monsters] by [Timeflies] 

► a/n: Inspired by the song Monsters by Timeflies. I thought this song fit with someone for Todoroki. I also split it so that it would work better. Please tell me what you think! Hope you enjoy! Copied and pasted from my Wattpad. It's a bit angsty again. 

Positive note | taglist | Super Long Prompt List | Navigation

━┅━━┅━━━┅ஓ๑♡๑ஓ┅━━━┅━━┅━

I see your monsters I see your pain, Tell me your problems I'll chase them away, I'll be your lighthouse, I'll make it okay, When I see your monsters, I'll stand there so brave, And chase them all away

You stars silently at Todoroki. He was staring at the words in a book, but you could tell he wasn't reading it. He didn't look happy, or sad, he looked in pain. It was obvious he wanted to be strong and in control of his emotions, which often lead to him seeming cold and emotionless.

"Hey Todo, you feelin' alright?" You tapped his shoulder softly, drawing him away from his book. His eyes always looked so shiny, watery as if he always was in the brink of bursting into tears.

Lowering his eyes a bit and focusing them somewhere other thank your own, he nodded, "Oh, yeah I'm fine y/n."

He sounded like he was itching to talk, like he wasn't fine. Placing a hand on his shoulder gently, you tried to get him to confined in you, "Are you sure? You can talk to me about anything, y'know."

"It's nothing y/n," Now it was clear that something was wrong. He was a dense and blunt person, and he wasn't good at lying or hiding things, so him trying to was usually not a good idea.

A cup of coffee still steaming, Staring back at me, it's blacker than the night, Ay, I'm awake but still sleeping, I keep telling myself I'll be alright (I won't)

He stared blankly at his mug on the coffee table, watching the steam as it rose. He felt broken, beaten down by all the bad memories from his childhood. On most days, it was easy to mask it, but today it was just too much for him to take.

And I know it can't get worse than today, Sitting here and she's trying to rehearse what to say, See, she's in the bathroom hoping I'm not in earshot, While she's getting used, To the sound of a teardrop, splash it hits the tile, And I know it's been a while since you seen me, Smile and laugh like I used to, I've been in denial since it happened

He watched subtly as she stood to walk towards his dorm bathroom, pulling out her phone so she could research what to say.

I'm all honesty, he'd never felt like such a wreck. His head hurt and his mouth had been dry, throat clenching each time the salty liquid began to we'll up behind his beautiful heterochromatic orbs. It was like he was a water balloon that just kept getting filled and today, it felt like it was going to pop finally.

Muffled, he could hear you in the mirror murmuring the words of comfort you'd been trying to string together in front of the mirror, practicing like an actress.

"I don't know what to say... I wish I could take the pain away, but I can't. I don't really know what to do, but I'm here... This is really tough!" You struggled, reading different articles with alternative lines that can bring comfort and maybe get him to confide in you.

It quited and the tapping of water leaking from the faucet and hitting the ceramic sink filled your ears, bringing more of a concerned feeling as you wondered about how many times he could've possibly sobbed alone over this sink, before washing the hot tears away.

He grimaced at the thought of how you must feel, knowing he hadn't so much as laughed in a matter of weeks, and wasn't himself. In the back of his head, the memory of what his young life was like haunted him, lingering and surfacing whenever he thought he was over it. And he wasn't just hurting himself anymore.

Just take me to the past, 'Cause I just can't imagine losing you (too), I can't explain this so I'll keep it all inside, Wear my pain, but it's masked by my pride

The thought of pushing you away always scared him. He didn't really want to be alone, but it was so hard for him to truly trust anyone after so much pain. Not to mention he couldn't understand how you could possibly care for him after hearing of his past. He wanted a time machine, to just suck him back into the time when he was happier, before his quirk manifested. He wasn't a prodigy then, and was allowed to play and have fun with his siblings, and see his mother outside of a mental institution.

Worst of all, he couldn't open up if he wanted to, because he knew it would come out a jumbled mess he couldn't coherently say, so he locked the idea out of his mind and bottled up everything. Even if a bottle could only hold so much before it shattered, he would keep shoving the feelings and darkness back in, them seeping out bit by bit and bruising him.

Letting you in was out of the question. He'd give you his vulnerability, the ability to hurt him in the worst way possible. You'd be past his defense, and his shield wouldn't be there to block your stab if you chose to kill him. With everyone, he'd rather be unliked the way Bakugou was, throwing his match and refusing his fire side to spite his father, than to let everyone see the broken boy behind the scar.

She came to hold me and she cried Told me this as she stared into my eyes, said I see your monsters I see your pain Tell me your problems I'll chase them away I'll be your lighthouse I'll make it okay When I see your monsters I'll stand there so brave And chase them all away

When you finally emerged from the bathroom, you knelt in front of him, slowly pulling his book from him and began soothing his aches.

"I-I know I may have no idea what you're going through, but I'm here so you can tell me. Whatever it is, it won't change my view of you, okay?" He nodded, most of his attention on the hand that was caressing his cheek and making his heart flutter. "I won't think any less of you for opening up."

I can't, you won't like what you see, If you were in my head and had to hear my pleas, It's like I can't believe this is happening to me, And could someone please, Shut this fucking answering machine, So I can start leaving these messages, That you will never get, And all these cries for help, You'll never see and never check, But I guess it's easy for you to leave me, But believe me, See this isn't something that Ima just forget, I would trade it all for one more minute, Don't you see I really need you to talk to, I'm still sitting here wondering who did it, While I'm staring out our front door, Knowing you'll never walk through, Said you'd come right back, And now you're gone like that, A blank stare as I stand so alone, And know you're never coming home (damn)

He shuddered, closing his eyes and tearing up, unable to utter a single word back to you. How could he tell you? Those were just words you'd conjured up to it the help of the internet, and he had know way of knowing it was from your heart.

Bringing him into a hug, you allowed him to cry into your chest and soak your clothes with his tears, squeezing him reassuringly.

"Shh, it's not your fault, everything will be okay. "

Even if you didn't know what exactly was going on, it was probably related to his father's abusive lifestyle and thank goodness you were able to piece it together. His arms wrapped around your waist hesitantly, finding comfort in having your plush body against him.

Now, he just whimpered into his cell phone as your pre-recorded voice mail played, the only part of you he had left.

Everyday he prayed you'd answer, pick up the phone and grace him with your perfect voice, wall through the school doors and take your seat next to him, whispering about some gossip he didn't pick up on. He wanted that to happen so badly, even if it was impossible now.

Because now that he was ready to tell you about everything, you were gone.

I see your monsters, I see your pain, Tell me your problems, I'll chase them away, I'll be your lighthouse, I'll make it okay (yeah), When I see your monsters, I'll stand there so brave, And chase them all away

He screamed into his pillow, calling your abandoned number again, "This is y/n. I can't come to the phone right now, but I'll call you back soon!"

Everything that'd ever hurt him before was nothing compared to the pain and anguish he felt knowing he'd never receive that return call, and still he hoped for it with all his heart.

Who was going to keep him safe now? Bring him back from the angry ocean when his sailing was over? How was he supposed to get over everything without you there to guide him each step of the way?

I got a heart made of fool's gold, Got me feeling so cold, You keep chipping away, All the promises that I told, Felt like I was on those, They keep slipping away, I want nobody else, But it's hard to get to know me, When I don't know myself, And it helps 'cause I felt, I was down, I was out, Then you looked at me now, And said I see your monsters, I see your pain, Tell me your problems, I'll chase them away, I'll be your lighthouse, I'll make it okay, When I see your monsters, I'll stand there so brave, I see your monsters, I see your pain, Tell me your problems, I'll chase them away (chase them all away), I'll be your lighthouse, I'll make it okay (make it okay), When I see your monsters, (When I see your monsters), I'll stand there so brave, And chase them all away

"Y/n, please! I'll tell you everything you want to know! I-I'm sorry I t-took s-s-so long! Please..." He sobbed, screaming into the recording phone, uttering out the useless message he oh so wanted you to respond to, "Call me back soon..."

Positive note | taglist | Super Long Prompt List | Navigation

[let-it-raines]

Catch Me If You Can (31/40)

298 days. That’s how long Killian Jones was away from a baseball field. It’s less than a year, only part of a season for him, but it might as well have lasted a decade as he alternated between physical therapy and spending an excessive amount of time sitting on his couch.

But then he came back and won the World Series.

It’s something no one saw coming, and it’s certainly not something anyone who knows about his arm would predict. Now it’s a new season with new possibilities, and anything could happen. On-field reporter Emma Swan will be there to cover it all even if she is not his biggest fan right now.

Asking her out live on-air will do that.

Rating: Mature

a/n: I have no excuses for myself about the last chapter and the next few chapters other than this is what my evil brain came up with at the beginning and @resident-of-storybrooke​ has been yelling at me about this all since then 🙈 But this story is near and dear to my heart, and I’m very happy with it all! I think you guys will like the way it turns out ❤️

Found on AO3: Beginning | Current

Tumblr: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 |15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 |

Tag list: @stunningswan​ @eala-captian @galaxyzxstark @xellewoods @mariakov81 @ultraluckycatnd @royalswan @shey-starsfury​ @superchocovian​ @sals86 @iam2307 @ashley-knightingale @karenfrommisthaven @scientificapricot @captswanis4vr @ultimiflos @jamif @idristardis @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @tiganasummertree @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @notoriouscs @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog​ @cs-forlife @andiirivera @jonirobinson64 @qualitycoffeethings​ 

-/-

Bright light filters through the blinds covering the bedroom window, and just from the angle that it’s hitting her, Emma knows that she isn’t asleep at her apartment or at Killian’s. It takes her but a moment to remember that she is at Ruth’s, that she and Killian have been here for about twenty-four hours, and it is that thought that has her twisting in the bed in search for him only to find the other side of the mattress empty.

Damn.

She could have gone for them not getting up and leaving her room so early this morning after they had such a late nightlate -night last night.

Emma sighs, and snuggles a little further into her pillow as her mind convinces itself that just because Killian is out of bed doesn’t mean that she has to get out of bed. He’s a grown man. He can fend for himself downstairs with her family where she’s sure he and Ruth are having a fantastic time cooking breakfast for an army instead of six people.

Yesterday, even in her tired haze, was one of her favorite days in a long time. She wants to commit it all to memory – from the airport to Killian and Ruth cooking breakfast and getting along so well to Killian drawing her a picture of the lighthouse they visited with two little figures at the bottom that she knows are supposed to be the two of them.

He even signed it with a little number twenty-nine.

(She wants to take it home with her, but she thinks she’ll leave it taped to the wall here.)

That was…emotion chokes her up simply thinking about it. So much of her heart has been shown to Killian – the good, the bad, and the downright ugly – and yet telling him about why this room is so bare was like opening up an entirely different chamber of everything. Him drawing her that picture was so dumb and yet so damn sweet that she couldn’t actually form real words to thank him. Instead, she teased him, but she hopes that he knows that was simply her way of saying thank you for always being so considerate of her.

Killian knows her so damn well that she’s pretty confident that maybe he does actually know that without her having to say any of the words.

There’s a smile on her face as she rolls over on the bed toward the side that Killian slept on (it doesn’t matter how old she is – having a man sleep in the bed next to her at Ruth’s house felt weird as hell) and breathes in the warm scent of him before turning the alarm clock to the side so that she can see that it’s a little past nine thirty in the morning.

That was definitely not enough sleep considering how late they were up.

Everyone is likely awake and down in the kitchen either making breakfast or having already eaten it, and since Emma is sure that they’ve saved something for her, she gets out of bed and ruffles through her bag to find a pair of jeans and a light sweater and all of her shower stuff before walking into the bathroom and twisting the knob so that water starts to flow. This shower always takes so long to get warm water, something she hated as a teenager, and if Emma knew where her phone was at the moment, she’d turn on some music to have something to listen to. But the hot water comes quicker than she thought it would, and she steps into the shower and goes through washing her hair and her body, as well as shaving her legs even if she’s wearing jeans today.

They do have holes in them after all.

Emma runs through the list of things they were thinking about doing today – David seriously wants to go to a Sea Dogs game – just so that she can be prepared for the itemized list Mary Margaret has inevitably prepared and is waiting for her to go through.

Fifteen minutes later, when Emma is dressed and has her hair wrapped in a towel on her head, she walks out of her bedroom door and down the hallway until she’s walking down the stairs. Leo is laid out on the living room floor with Wilby watching cartoons, very obviously too engrossed to pay her any attention, so she ignores him and walks through the archway to the kitchen where everyone is sitting down at the table sitting in silence.

But awkward silence.

Like, the kind of silence that happens when she walks into a room and knows that everyone has been talking about her.

Has everyone been talking about her?

“Um, hey guys,” she starts slowly, ignoring the weird feeling in her gut and walking around the island to the coffee machine and grabbing a mug. She’s not sure how old this pot is, but it can’t be that    old. “Have we had breakfast yet? Or do we want to go get something to eat?”

There’s silence as her answer, and Emma turns to look at everybody as they all stare down at their mugs like the world’s most interesting secrets reside there.

It’s…weird. Like, really weird, and worry is starting to whirl around in the pit of her stomach.

“Morning, love,” Killian starts as he scoots his chair back and stands from the chair, “why don’t we go sit outside for our coffee?”

“Um, okay. Does anyone want to join us?”

“Maybe in a few minutes,” Mary Margaret supplies, flashing her a reassuring smile that isn’t at all reassuring. “Ruth was going to talk to us about having Leo come spend his fall break with her.”

“Oh, okay, yeah.”

Emma grabs her cup of coffee just as Killian comes up behind her and places his hand on the small of her back to direct her out toward the set of French doors that lead out to Ruth’s back porch. As soon as they walk out, the sun is brightly shining down on them, enough that her eyes squint to try to adjust, and the air feels cool and crisp, almost like fall. She knows that it’s the middle of September, that fall is technically very soon, but it certainly hasn’t felt like fall weather back home.

Here, it does.

Looking out at the yard and how manicured it is after she and Killian helped Ruth yesterday, it almost makes her forget that something weird is most definitely going on with everybody, but only almost. She can practically feel the tenseness radiating from Killian’s fingertips, but nothing else about him gives any of it away.

“Did you sleep well, Swan?” Killian asks as she sits down in a rocking chair and pulls her knees up to her chest all the while Killian sits in the chair opposite her. Her towel is heavy on her head, so she takes it off and lets her loose hair fall down her back. “You were out like a rock this morning when I woke up.”

“I’m still – ” A yawn interrupts her, which seems very fitting, and it causes her eyes to water. She really needs the caffeine in this coffee to take effect immediately. “I’m still tired, but I think once I was out, I was out, you know?”

Killian’s lips are pressed together when he smiles, and that’s not the kind of smile she wants to see in the morning. She wants to see the wolfish grin, the one that looks almost dirty in nature, that makes Killian look like he’s absolutely, positively giddy to simply be sitting with her drinking coffee in the morning with no cares in the world.

She wants him to smile in the way that makes her want to kiss the smile off of his lips simply because she wants to taste some of that happiness.

“Good, good,” he sighs, and the slightest smile stretches across his lips. It’s almost the smile she wants. But only almost, and it has her free hand clutching for the chain around her neck as some kind of reassurance. It’s only been in her possession for two weeks, but clutching it has become enough of a habit that she realizes that it’s one. “When I woke up, my bloody arm felt like it was going to fall off because you’d been sleeping on it all night, which was refreshing that it only hurt because of you and not the tendons.”

Emma smiles into her coffee. “You have a very comfortable arm, and I was tired.”

“From all of the sex you said we couldn’t have?”

“Shut up,” Emma laughs, a bit of joy spreading over her skin. “You thought you were so funny making the bed squeak as you tried to get comfortable enough to go to sleep, and you were not funny.”

Killian circles his finger around her face. “Well, that is not what all of this laughter right now and the laughter from last night tells me. You were in stitches.”

“I was obviously delusional.”

“Obviously.”

Emma sighs and cocks her head to the side to look over at Killian over the top of her coffee mug. He hasn’t shaved this morning, his scruff fuller and darker than usual, and his hair is falling in his face so much that he keeps having to push it back. He needs another haircut, and knowing him, she’s sure that he has one scheduled for some time this week, probably after one of his physical therapy appointments.

Other than that, though, he looks exhausted. Absolutely exhausted. The bags underneath his eyes seem dark, his actual eyes red and a little puffy, and she swears there are lines there that weren’t there before.

“Killian,” she hesitantly starts, rocking forward to place her mug on the small glass table between them, “are you going to tell me what’s going on? It’s really freaking me out.”

His lips stretch into another smile, this one definitely kind of sad, as he reaches up to scratch behind his ear. That’s his nervous tick. She knows it is. And her lungs constrict so that it feels like she can’t even breathe.

“Aye, um…an article came out this morning. My scumbag of a father has apparently been in contact with your scumbag of an ex, and they did some kind of fucking tell-all interview about the truth about me and my life and how I’m nothing but a fake humanitarian who doesn’t care about the charities I support because how could I care about strangers when I don’t even care about my own father?”

Shit.

Emma heard the words. She did. But it’s kind of difficult to wrap her brain around them. That’s just…that’s a lot to take in, and her mind seems to be fighting between feeling distraught for Killian and angry at Walsh. Because she knows that it’s Walsh who wrote the article. It wouldn’t be Neal. He is probably too busy conning some other woman to fall in love with him.

“Killian, I’m so sorry.” It’s all she knows to say right now, before she even gets the full extent of the information. “I haven’t read the article, but you’ve got to know that everything in it isn’t true. Your father has used you your entire life, and he’s still trying to use you by using your name to make money. He’s the awful person. Not you.”

“I don’t know. I feel pretty shitty sometimes.”

“Stop that.”

“I know, Swan, but I – ”

She holds her hand up and stands from the rocking chair to walk over to Killian and squat down in front of him, threading their fingers together and placing her hands in his lap while her thumbs caress his knuckles. She’s fuming for him, but she has to be calm. She has to let him process this. It won’t help if she’s angry too.

At least, she doesn’t think.

How does someone deal with their boyfriend’s estranged dad saying shitty things about them?

“Brennan is a bad person, Killian. You’ve told me all of the stories about him. I’ve seen how he still affects you and Liam even though it’s been a decade since you’ve talked to him. He’s not crying out to you by giving Walsh some kind of dumbass interview. He’s using you for the money it’s going to get him. If there’s anything I’ve learned, it’s that that we don’t get to pick our parents. Sometimes we’re simply stuck with shitty ones.”

Killian nods his head at the same time that he squeezes their hands. “I know, love. I know. And I’m…I’m devastated over something that is so personal to me being released into the world. My father is a prick. I’ve always known that. But I’m fucking furious at the entire article, and I…Walsh told the world that we’re dating, Emma. Everyone knows.”

“W-what?” she questions, her brain not quite catching up with the words there. “What are you talking about?”

Killian sighs and releases her hand so that he can pull out his phone from his pocket before swiping with his thumb a few times and handing it over to her, an article pulled up on some ridiculous blog site attributed to Walsh. Of course he would be coward enough to not publish through ESPN even though he’s paid to do that.

It’s probably because this article is most likely libel. It has to be. All of the shit about his father is false, and knowing Walsh, he’ll take it a step too far.

Killian Jones.

The name rings familiar with any fan of professional baseball, especially those who are fans of the New York Yankees. He’s their star pitcher, the young gun who was hailed as the man who would bring New York another World Series, and he did just that at the end of the 2018 season after being a part of the team for six years.

Everyone thought he would do it again this year until his unfortunate injury against the Rangers.

And while I could go on and on about Killian Jones, the infamous number twenty-nine, and his great statistics, that’s a story that has been told time and time again. What hasn’t been told is the story behind the man. Who better to talk about a player than that player’s father?

Three weeks ago, Brennan Jones contacted me after I had put out some feelers to get in touch with him, and we had a nice chat over a cup of coffee that allowed me to delve a little more into what exactly makes Jones tick. What I found was interesting.

Everyone knows Jones as a good guy, as the one who signs autographs for kids and volunteers at a soup kitchen at least twice a month. His public relations team is incredible because when you think of the Yankees now, the face you see is his. Yet, just a few years ago that was not the case. Three years ago, Jones was better known for being seen in a bar with a different woman by his side every night. He became famous for his conquests, for his faulty, short-lived relationships, and while that could be seen as simply a young man with more money than he knows what to do with living his best life, Killian Jones has a history of short-lived relationships.

His father is the main example of this.

Brennan shared with me that he spent all of his life in search of supporting his sons. After losing his wife to a strong-fought cancer battle when Killian was nine-years-old and his older son Liam was seventeen, Brennan started to work more and longer shifts to support his children, especially since Killian had the American dream of being a baseball player. Parents of athletes give up so much, make more sacrifices than the average family, and Brennan Jones is a prime example of a father doing just that. All he ever wanted was to support his children in their dreams.

However, after Killian started to play at Vanderbilt and had a real possibility of going pro, he cut his father off and has yet to talk to him since despite numerous attempts made by Brennan to try to have a relationship with his son. Brennan claims that there is no clear reason as to why his children no longer talk to him, and as sad as it makes him, he does believe that it is because Killian does not want to share any of his earnings with Brennan even though the senior Mr. Jones has never asked for a dime from his son.

All he wants is a relationship. Nothing more. How could anyone deny a father something as simple as that?

Alone, this doesn’t seem like much. Many children have bad relationships with their parents, but I believe that Jones has a consistent history of unethical or questionable behavior that is hidden behind shiny teeth and a clean uniform.

1)    Cutting off his father.

2)    An affair with a married woman.

3)    His partying days.

4)    The boat accident where he was cleared of all fault immediately despite there being alcohol involved.

5)    His hidden rotator cuff injury – a detrimental lie to his teammates, his managers, and his fans.

6)    Dating Emma Swan.

Oh yes, we all remember after the World Series when Killian asked out reporter Emma Swan, correct? That was quite the misogynistic move on his part. She’d said no, which is well documented, but as can be seen in the pictures below, they have been involved in a romantic relationship for quite some time. Perhaps they were involved in a relationship at the time of the World Series and it was all a publicity stunt to allow Ms. Swan to jumpstart her career. She’s had a banner year this year when it comes to her social media following and her time on camera. She was even able to commentate a full game. None of this was on her career trajectory before last year.

It’s funny how things like that work out.

It’s also funny how the good guy, in this case Killian Jones, can simply be the villain hidden under a baseball cap.

For inquiries to Brennan Jones, his contact information is available in the link below.

Holy shit.

Son of a bitch.

Emma’s hands shake while her eyes keep skimming back and forth over the words and the pictures. Her life is very much on display here, and she hates it. She hates that Walsh is obviously targeting Killian because of her, and she hates that the man still has the ability to knock the breath out of her lungs by making her feel useless and worthless and like nothing more than a young girl who doesn’t deserve anything that she has.

He’s a fucking bastard.

Her legs tremble beneath her, and she has to stand from the squatting position. She has to stand and walk away, down the back-porch steps, and into the yard so that maybe the fresh air around her will have an easier time reaching her lungs.

She really needs to be able to breathe right now.

She can’t breathe.

All of her fears are coming to life. Every single one of them. Yet again, Emma is being told that she doesn’t deserve her career or any of her accomplishments. Every minute of hard work is being attributed to someone else, and even if it’s not true, even if it’s all simply the words of a small-minded man who is trying to hurt her, she already knows that everything is about to blow up again.

Two steps forward. Ten steps back.

And she didn’t even take any of those ten steps. They were all forced upon her.

And shit. She’s an awful person and an awful girlfriend because here she is having a meltdown in the middle of Ruth’s backyard over how this is all going for her when nearly every low point in Killian’s life has been summarized in an itemized list and put out there for complete and total strangers to see.

She can’t even imagine what’s going through his head right now. This isn’t supposed to be another low point for Killian. He’s already out on injury, and he’s told her and himself time and time again that this won’t be like last time. He won’t fall into the dark hole.

But he might very well be pushed.

Yet, here he is putting Emma and her feelings above himself again because that’s what Killian does every damn time. He’s probably killing himself thinking this is all his fault when it’s not.

It’s hers.

Walsh did this because he still has some kind of vendetta against Emma. He did it to hurt her, and he did. He’s hurt her because he’s yet again hurt her career, but he’s mostly hurt her because he’s devasted Killian.

If she gets the chance to slap him, she’s not holding back.

Turning on her heel so that the soft grass brushes over her skin, Emma immediately walks back toward the porch, jogging a bit and placing Killian’s phone in her back pocket before walking back up to him. He’s leaning forward with his face pressed into his hands and his elbows on his knees, very obviously distraught.

“I’m sorry, Swan,” he mutters, shaking his head back and forth. “I’m so damn sorry. I’ve done nothing but fuck up your life.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” she soothes. Emma grabs his hands and tugs him up from the chair before wrapping her arms around his shoulders as he does the same. She can feel his nose pressing into the side of her neck, his entire face buried there, and she doesn’t know if she’s ever felt so small against his frame than she does right now. “You have not fucked up my life, and I’m the one who is sorry. This is because of me.”

Killian shakes his head and hugs her tighter. It should be another thing to take the breath away from her, but it doesn’t. If anything, it gives her the air she’s been searching for.

Then, though, Killian is pulling back, just a little, and suddenly she can see the blue of his eyes and the sadness that resides there. They’re not the sparkling blue that she wants. Not at all.

“It’s my job,” Killian starts with a crooked smile on his face, “at least I hope it’s my job, to protect your heart. I have failed here. You can’t deny that.”

Emma’s hand moves from the back of Killian’s neck to trail down his chest and rest right at his heart. “You have not failed. You didn’t do any of this to me. And if it’s your job to protect my heart…well, let me do the same to you. Killian, this can’t be a good feeling for you. It’s got to be bringing up all kinds of emotions about your dad and Milah and the past you’re trying to put behind you. Just because I’m freaking the hell out doesn’t mean that you drop all of your feelings to be supportive of me. That’s…that’s not how we work, remember?”

“Aye, I know. I’m just – I’ve been up for awhile, love. I’ve had…I’ve had time to process. I sat in silence with Dave for an hour and then had to call Liam and Elsa and…I hate my dad so much. I h-hate…”

And for the first time in all of the years that Emma has known Killian, even with all of the emotions that come with sports, she sees a tear fall from Killian’s eye. It’s not much, just a single tear rolling down his cheek to mark the skin there, and yet it breaks her to the point that she can do nothing more than continue to hold him and whisper that it’s okay. It’s all going to be okay.

She doesn’t actually know that, but it seems like the right thing to say.

Life is so damn unfair sometimes that someone with such a good heart can have it shattered like this.

They stay standing on that back porch surrounded by the low whistle of the wind and the songs of birds for minutes that she doesn’t count. There’s no need to as her hand moves up and down Killian’s back while he simply tries to start breathing again. At some point, his lips start moving against her neck, his mouth and his teeth working in desperation, before his lips find her jaw then her cheek then her own mouth. He tastes like bitter coffee, which is most likely appropriate for the situation, and even though the kiss is sorrowing, she doesn’t stop him.

Emma gets it. Sometimes all that anyone needs is to feel the comfort of something familiar and sure and entirely theirs.  

Maybe she’s a little desperate for his touch too.

But then Killian is mumbling something about wanting to go take a nap and needing a bit of time alone, and after she asks him if he’s sure, they both go inside where everyone is still sitting in the kitchen. She imagines they’ve been watching them the entire time. Mary Margaret asks if everything is okay, Killian nods at her before walking through the living room and heading upstairs, the steps creaking under his weight.

“You know what,” Ruth starts as she stands from the table and brushes her hands over her pants, “I think I’m going to take Leo out to get some ice cream and maybe go to the park. I’ll bring everyone something back. Emma, dear, what flavor does Killian like?”

“Um, strawberry, especially if it has actual strawberries in it. Or really anything fruit-related. But definitely not chocolate.”

“Got it. Leo and I will be on the lookout for ice cream for everybody.”

“Should I,” Mary Margaret starts, her eyes darting between all of them. “Do you want me to come with you, Ruth?”

Emma rolls her eyes. “You guys can just say that you’re going to leave to leave me here with David because he’s better at dealing with emotional fallouts.”

Mary Margaret blushes, her pale skin lighting up with red, but she doesn’t deny it. What she does is move forward and hug Emma, squeezing her a little too tightly. “I love you. I’m sorry that you dated a fucking asshole who is still trying to make you miserable despite the fact that he is the reason your relationship dissolved.”

“That’s some nasty language from you, Marg.”

“Yeah, well, he deserves it. Always has.”

Emma chuckles and leans into Mary Margaret a little bit more. “I love you too, by the way.”

“I know,” Mary Margaret sighs. “David is ready to go to hell for the two of you. Walsh isn’t going to have a job much longer if he has anything to say about it.”

She has a million words to say to that, but she doesn’t say any of them. She simply nods and releases Mary Margaret before stepping over to the fridge to get some water. She’s suddenly very thirsty, and she just know that she’s going to need something to fiddle with while she talks to David who is still furiously typing on his laptop probably cursing out several figureheads and managers and anyone else who dares pick up this story.

Emma is almost scared to know how widespread it’s gotten. She still doesn’t know where her phone is.

So, taking her bottle of water, she slowly steps back over to the kitchen table and settles across from David, pulling one leg up to cradle to her chest while the other dangles on the floor. He hasn’t looked at her, and that makes Emma’s chest absolutely ache.

“You okay, kid?” he asks, still not looking up.

“You haven’t called me kid in what feels like forever.”

The keys on his laptop continue to click for a moment before he’s closing the laptop and looking up at her with a wry smile. “It’s this place. It makes me think of you that way.”

Emma arches her brow. “It’s also because my life is kind of falling apart again, right?”

“Your life is not falling apart. I just – is all of the stuff in the article true? I know the things about his dad aren’t. He told me this morning all about it, but I…did you know about everything? You haven’t – he hasn’t hidden all of this from you, right?”

“No. God, no.” Her finger clutch at the ring, holding it tightly to her chest, and she notices David’s eyes flickering down toward it. “It was his mom’s,” she explains, watching the light glint off the silver and the small bits of sapphire. “It’s what he always used to wear, you know? He gave it to me before I commentated as a reminder that he’d be there cheering me on even if he was out on the field, and I guess…I guess he wants me to keep it now.”

David’s lips stretch into a small smile, even if she can still see little glints of anger and confusion residing in his eyes. Much like Killian, he looks exhausted and older and all-around done with everything having to do with today.

“That man loves you a hell of a lot, Emma,” he murmurs on a sigh while his eyes don’t leave hers. “It’s almost jarring to me because how he talks about you and looks at your and treats you reminds me so much of how I am with Mary Margaret. I’ve never…you’ve always deserved this really big love that was also a good love, and I didn’t want to admit it at first, but I think that’s going to be Killian.”

“I know.”

“You know?”

She bites her bottom lip and nods her head all the while her fingers mess with the little paper label on the bottle. “Yeah, I mean, saying things like that out loud terrify me because I’m so used to things going wrong. This morning is a prime example of that. But as much as I’m angry and upset and feel like I can’t even breathe over the thought of what this is going to do to me, I’m absolutely furious at what it’s doing to Killian. All of the low points in his life that he’s trying to erase are just…they’re there. Anyone with internet access can read about them, and you just know that this isn’t going to be the only article. It’s going to be everywhere. Walsh had to have known that when he set out to do this. He even gave out contact information for Brennan. Killian’s upstairs right now freaking the hell out, and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

“I’m trying to handle this. God, I’m trying to keep it from getting big, but none of it is working. My phone won’t stop ringing from my email. Ruby has called me ten times because she can’t get ahold of you or Killian.”

“I don’t know where my phone is. It’s probably on the floor underneath my bed or something.”

David waves her away, and suddenly her throat feels dry enough that she needs to take a sip of her water. A huge sip. “I told her you’d call her when you can.” David sighs, and his shoulders deflate. “This isn’t going to be easy on either of you. It’s going to be worse for you at work. Killian is going to have even more focus on him than he has on him right now. Your lives are very much exposed, and that makes you vulnerable. I fucking hate that coward of a man for doing this to the two of you. Has he not hurt you enough?”

Emma shrugs, all of the feelings inside of her kind of going numb. “He always hated any time that I had success. He always hated that you were around to help me. It doesn’t surprise me that Walsh did this. What surprises me is that he was able to learn about any of this. He’s not the sharpest tool in the shed, so that just doesn’t make sense to me. And, like, how is it that only he had these pictures of us? Why had no one else released them? How is that even possible?”

“I don’t know. Killian is obviously a well-known guy but only in a small sector of the sports world. It’s not like he’s a household name. People are watching, as you know, but in hallways in the stadium and in airports so early in the mornings. That almost seems targeted.”

“Knowing, Walsh, it probably was. Such an asshole. Why didn’t you go into overprotective big brother mode when it came to me dating him?”

“You never would have listened to me,” David laughs, and it’s the first time that she’s felt a little bit light-hearted since she woke up this morning and looked at the little piece of artwork that Killian drew for her. “You were stubborn as hell.”

“Oh, and I’m not now?”

“You are.” David flashes her a grin. “Just a little more willing to listen now.”

Emma chuckles, but that little spark of joy has gone out because her thoughts have returned to Killian and how he must be feeling sitting upstairs in her childhood bedroom all alone.

What a morning.

She doesn’t even know what time it is.

“I don’t know how to help him, David,” Emma whispers, hoping that saying the words will somehow help her come up with some kind of magic solution. “I’m not good at this kind of stuff. How do you help someone who is hurting like he is?”

“You have got to stop saying you aren’t good at this stuff because you are. You have a lot of people who love you because you know how to connect with people, even if it takes some time. And looking at how the two of you interact, I know you know how to help Killian. All he wants is you to be there for you because I’m guessing half of his hurt stems from him being worried about you.”

“Yeah, probably.”

David tilts his head toward the staircase. “SoSo, go upstairs and simply sit with him for a little while? Don’t force conversation. Just…be you. I’m really sorry, sweetheart. The two of you don’t deserve this.”

“We don’t,” Emma confirms. “Killian really doesn’t. No one should have to deal with having their past thrown back in their face like that. No one should have shitty parents like that. It almost makes me not knowing mine seem like a good thing.”

“Emma.”

“I know, I know. Sadistic joke.” She reaches down and takes a sip of her water before standing up. “That’s a can of worms for another day. I’m going to go sit with Killian. Tell us when the ice cream gets here.”

“Nah,” David sighs. “I think I’m going to eat your bowl myself.”

Emma flicks him in the back of the neck in response before walking out of the kitchen and making her way up the stairs, avoiding the little creaks that she knows are in certain steps. It’s a force of habit from days of not wanting her presence to be known in this house, and even if she doesn’t mind that now, she still watches her step.

Her bedroom door when she reaches it, and Killian is stretched out of the mattress, the comforter laying low around his hips. He’s showered, his hair obviously still damp, and changed clothes, and she thinks from the subtle rising and falling of his chest that he’s asleep. Killian looks peaceful, all of the stress from his body gone and the lines on his face having fallen away. It’s almost enough to have her turn around and walk away, but selfishly, Emma kind of wants to hold him at this moment simply to feel the heat of his body against hers.

Slowly, she climbs into bed, making sure not to jostle the mattress too much, before tucking her foot in between Killian’s legs, wrapping her arm around his waist, and nuzzling her head into the crook of his shoulder. She thinks she’s made it without disturbing him, but then his right arm is moving underneath her until his hand is on her waist and she can feel the coarse bristles of his scruff moving against her forehead where he’s laying a kiss there.

Emma’s breath catches in her throat, and she wonders if he has any idea the effect that he has on her in little moments like this. The smallest of touches and affections mean so much to her, and he seems to do them all without thinking. It’s all so natural to him.

“I wasn’t asleep,” Killian mumbles into her skin again before moving and slight shifting them so that they’re better aligned. “I was damn well trying, but I wasn’t asleep.”

“I’m sorry.”

He hums, the vibrations moving through his chest so that she can feel it. “Don’t be. How is everyone downstairs?”

“Everybody but David went to get ice cream. They’re going to bring us some back.”

“That’s nice of them.”

“Well, they were all leaving the house because David was going to talk to me. I think they assumed I was going to have some kind of breakdown.”

His warm breath ghosts over her skin. “Did you?”

Her hand scratches against Killian’s stomach, pulling his shirt up so that her nails can move through the dark patches of hair all the while Killian’s fingers keeping moving against her back like they always do, tracing words that she knows by heart now.

“No. We just…we talked about a lot of the same things you and I did. I’m obviously hurt and scared for me, but I don’t think I’m going to know how bad it is until I go back to work on Monday. I’m mostly upset for you though. I don’t like seeing you like this.”

“I’ll be fine, my love.” He punctuates the words with a squeeze of her hips another kiss to her temple. “I promise.”

“Do you need me to do anything?”

She can feel the shake of his head from side to side by the way that his whiskers tickle her skin, and he doesn’t say anything else after that. SoSo, Emma simply does what David told her to do. She’s there for Killian, sitting in the silence, and she steadies the thoughts in her mind by the consistent heartbeat underneath her ear and the sturdy up and down of Killian’s chest once more.

In no way is she sure that she’s helping, but if this is all Killian needs from her, this is what she can do.

She loves him, and she’d do anything to make him happy.

Minutes later, she has no idea how many, the front door audibly opens and then closes, bringing in the sound of happy voices chatting away and talking like everything is normal. To everyone else, it kind of is, and even though there is ice cream downstairs, Emma is fine to stay up here. But Killian insists that they get up and go downstairs, and he practically forces her out of her bedroom until they are down in the living room with cups of slightly melted ice cream in their hand.

He’s still reserved, his voice and smile not quite right, but Emma can tell that Killian doesn’t want to mess up this weekend she has with her family. He wouldn’t, no matter what, and she’d tell him that if he would listen.

Today probably isn’t going to be a day where he listens.

After they’ve eaten their ice cream, her brain a little frozen, Leo asks Killian if he’ll play catch with him outside. Almost everyone jumps on that saying Killian’s arm is hurt, but he shakes his head and insists that he’s fine enough to toss a ball back and forth with Leo. It’s a sweet gesture, one that doesn’t go unnoticed by anyone.

Emma snaps a picture of it on her phone, wanting to preserve some good memories from this weekend too. There’s still goodness.

“That’s a good one you’ve got there, honey,” Ruth sighs as she rocks in the chair next to Emma. “I’m so happy that you’ve found a little slice of happiness with him.”

Emma reaches over to place her palm over Ruth’s knuckles. “He is a good one. He’s just got to believe it.”

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Can’t Go On, Thinking Nothing’s Wrong

Summary:  Rus’s sparkle is becoming a firecracker, the Fell Brothers still aren’t talking, and Red is a Grand High Poobah. Just another day in Rus’s life since he got knocked up.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Brotherly Relationships, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Pregnancy

Notes: Why does this happen to me? Guess it’s a series now, here we go. 

Just quick, thank you SO much for all your comments everyone. I’m going to reply to them eventually, but I’m having some pain issues right now. I can reply to comments or I can write, and I went with write. So, I SUPER appreciate them and I love them, and I will reply when I can. ^_^

Warning: There is what could possibly be a discussion about miscarriage but nothing like that actually happens.

What Will Be, Will Be

Something To Say, But Nothing Comes

~~*~~

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

Not that long ago, Rus would’ve said he knew what tired felt like. Tired was always dogging after him, dragging him down into impromptu naps and through exhausted days while his piddling HP soaked up any rest it could, keeping him afloat.

But the past few weeks had taught him a new definition of the word and the only good thing about it was that this time, no one was griping at him to get his lazy butt out of bed.

Oh, yeah, and there was gonna be a baby eventually, that was nice, too.

Rus had a sneaking suspicion that the tired wasn’t gonna end with the skitten putting in an appearance. Probably learn a new definition of it, though.

Anyway, there was also the added perk that his brother no longer came in to wake him up in the morning for sentry duty. Alphys was a tough chickie, but she had a soft, gooey center for baby Monsters, skitten or otherwise. She immediately put him off work until the baby decided to show up before putting in a demand for some babysitting time. The way things were going, Rus was gonna have to come up with a duty log or something if he ever wanted a chance to hold his own kid.

Behind Rus, the mattress creaked as the bed shifted and, oh, right. That was another change, wasn’t it. For starters, his mattress had been upgraded to a bed frame scavenged from the dump. Not so much for the skitten, but because Edge refused to keep sleeping on the floor, like a no-account vagabond, was how he put it.

Rus sort of thought he should be offended by that, but, eh, the new bed came with perks. Namely, it usually came with an Edge included in the nighttime hours, big and cozy warm, and a helluva lot more cuddly than their previous visits led Rus to believe.

It was just a damn shame that morning came so early when Edge stayed over,

The bed creaked again. “I need to go.”

“mm hmm,” Rus mumbled. He wasn’t ready to commit to actually being awake, but he had enough going for him to be sleepily waiting for what came next. He was not disappointed.

First, a kiss on top of his skull. Very soft, a butterfly’s breath of a touch. Hesitant, not really sure of its welcome, but every morning that it wasn’t rejected upped the odds that tomorrow might bring another one.

Next came the one right over his sternum and this one was more confident, sure. Today Edge added a new layer, murmuring softly, “Be good, baby.”

Yeah, okay, Monsters didn’t exactly get hormones when they were knocked up, but Rus was just about to weep at how precious that was. Better to pretend he somehow didn’t notice. Edge got all flustered and blushy when Rus teased him and as cute as that was, Rus also didn’t want him to stop.

He didn’t want to say that upcoming parenthood was softening Edge up in seriously unexpected ways, but damn if it wasn’t. Hell, he’d pretty much accepted that Edge was giving all he could before with the occasional one-night stand, and that was okay, you know? Rus didn’t take it personal, was what it was. He’d gotten a few glimpses of Underhell...er...Fell, he saw where Edge and Red were coming from and if part of him desperately craved more, then that was his problem because Edge never promised him anything but orgasms.

Turned out that beneath that hard, boney shell Edge had a gooey center of his own and with a little spark to smooth the way, Edge was becoming the best sort of cuddle Monster.

Yeah, Rus could get used to this. He kinda hoped he’d have the chance and it wouldn’t dry up once the kid was here.

The sound of the bedroom door quietly closing was a sign that it was time to go back to sleep and when Rus woke up again, he could see the bright, artificial light coming around the curtains.

His phone buzzed again; that was what woke him up the first time, and Rus groaned loudly, not bothering to look at the text. He already knew who it was from and he also knew they were turning him into a crazy person because they were from a crazy person who was probably already inside the house.

In the end, he looked at it anyway because he couldn’t not look at it. It said exactly the same thing as yesterday. And the day before. And the day before that.

need to get down here and eat

Yeah, Captain Obvious, it was about the time his hunger started warring with the whole tired thing, he didn’t really need a wakeup call. But since he had one, Rus went ahead and gave in, kicking the blankets to the end of the bed and hauling himself upright.

He yanked on his bathrobe over his pajamas, leaving it hanging open as he wandered downstairs. The gargoyle currently slouched on his sofa was getting to be a common sight, too.

“morning,” Red didn’t look up from his phone. “your bro left breakfast for you on the table.”

Even Red’s grouchy mug wasn’t enough to dim his appetite and Rus’s shuffle got a bit of a lift as he headed over to the covered plate. Toast soaked in butter, richly browned sausages, glistening eggs. Even a bowl of oatmeal swimming with a generous amount of honey, with a tall glass of orange juice to wash it down. Twice and then some what he would’ve eaten before and Rus dug in as if it might make a break for it if he looked away.

He piled most of it on a toast slice in a messy sort of sandwich and took a happy bite. Around a mouthful of eggy toast, Rus mumbled, “you know, you don’t need to come over every day.”

Blue and Edge woulda had some words to say about his manners, some more profane than others. Red was his sort of guy and spoke ‘full mouth’ fluently. His pissiness, on the other hand, was more a character flaw than anything Rus did to earn wrath.

“yeah, and you don’t need to tell me what to do but here we are,” Red grumbled. “boss’s gotta patrol. your bro has training. i’m the only one who can hang around.”

“uh huh.” Telling him that Rus didn’t need anyone hanging around probably wasn’t gonna go over well, or it least it wasn’t gonna do much good. Red had assigned himself as the Grand Poobah of Overprotectiveness and Rus was gonna have to roll with it.

Probably wouldn’t be too much longer, anyway. The little spark was growing quickly. Already it had gone from a twinkling to a firecracker, much faster than expected. He’d always had an overabundance of magic and according to Undyne, the souling was happily gorging on it. That was why he was so damned sleepy and right now he’d nod off about anywhere. Which, okay, he did that before but these days Blue only shook his head indulgently and sometimes tucked a blanket around him.

For some reason he was feeling a little more energized today, so after he dumped his plate in the sink, then went back to rinse it off so he didn’t get ‘The Lecture, Now In Stereo’, Rus went upstairs and put on actual clothes instead of standing by his previous declaration that pajamas were good for all occasions.

That was enough of a program change to get Red to look up from his Candy Crush or whatever the hell he was engrossed in. “what are you doing?”

“going for a walk.” Rus told him as he stepped into his untied shoes. Then, more grudgingly, “you coming?”

The answer was obviously some version of yes, but the expected bitching and moaning didn't come. Red only hopped up and put on his shoes, double-knotting the laces before he went over and did the same to Rus’s sneakers, ignoring his exasperated sigh.

Red didn’t ask before practically leaping in front of Rus to make sure he was first out the door. He looked around like he was expecting a sneak attack from the garage or maybe an ambush from the Librarby, books lunging out with nefarious deeds already written on their pages.

When neither of those scenarios manifested, Red seemed to decide it was safe enough for a stroll. Rus pushed past him impatiently and headed for Waterfall.

“your bro is out in the woods,” Red puffed out, jogging to catch up with Rus’s long legs.

“yep. which is why i’m taking a walk in waterfall. got a problem with that?” Because if he did, Rus’s easygoing attitude was about to bypass the lighthouse and crash into the rocks.

Red only shrugged. ���nah. some exercise is good for the kidlet.”

“Kidlet?” Rus made a face, “i was gonna stick with skitten.”

Red stopped in his tracks, horror flitting over his expression, “skitten?”

“yeah, you know. skeleton kitten. a skitten.”

Red scrubbed a hand over his face and shook his head as he started trudging after Rus again. “i tried to tell the boss something was wrong with you.”

“i bet you did.” Rus said agreeably. “i mean, there are, so many things. probably hard to pick one.” It was true. He had a list.

But if Red was gonna drag that out of the shadows and into the light of day, Rus would like to point out that whatever was wrong with him wasn’t as bad as what was currently wrong with the Fell brothers. Didn’t take a genius to notice that as soon as Edge came back to Underswap from patrol or training, Red took off, usually with a grunt for Rus or Blue, but always without a word to Edge. It was like as soon as Red passed the little souling torch over to his brother, Red was out.

Rus was starting to feel like the ball in the Underground’s most boring game of ping pong.

Of course, it was really their business, not Rus’s at all. Like he was up to giving any advice about relationships, considering he and Edge hadn’t even gotten around to slapping a label on theirs? Right. He should stay out of it and let them work it out.

Except, Rus didn’t give two hurty squirty shits about that because it was really starting to get on his nerves. Edge was supposed to show up here and spend his time looking all adorable about upcoming parenthood, possibly (hopefully) tossing a promising look at Rus from time to time. He was not supposed to be moping around soulbruised because his brother was a dick. Which, okay, Red was always a dick, but he could be less of one.

Around the path, the snowdrifts began to trail away, the air around them slowly warming as it shifted to a gentle trickle of constant rain. A change of scenery called for a change of conversation, and fuck it, Rus was up for a challenge. “so, you ever gonna stop being pissy with edge?”

“no.”

Well, at least Red wasn’t going to pretend everything was a-ho k-ho. “it’s because of the kid, isn’t it.”

Okay, yeah, he probably deserved that particular derisive snort.

The damp was starting to creep in through his shoes, making them squeak against his bony feet. “you aren’t pissy with me,” Rus pointed out. “why? takes two to jitterbug, yeah?”

“yeah, but he’s not supposed to be the stupid one.”

It took a second for that to click. “…hey!”

Rus reached out and gave Red a shove, cause he might as well enjoy it while Red wouldn’t push him back. “seriously, though, he’s really upset about it, i can tell, you should--”

“stay in your lane, honey bun.” The words were gently said, but the warning in it was clear.

Welp, he’d tried. Mark that notch on the board and maybe tomorrow would be a better day.

“kinda hard right now, feel like i’m swerving all over the place.” Up ahead was one of the larger pools of water and Rus stopped at the edge and sat on the damp ground. After a fierce struggle with Red’s knots, he pulled off his shoes and rolled up his pant legs, scooting up to dip his feet into the cool water.

Next to him, Red did the same thing, tucking his socks deeply into his sneakers before sitting next to Rus. Their height difference wasn’t quite as obvious sitting down since Rus lost the advantage of his gangly legs.

Rus gave Red’s foot a nudge under the water with his toes and asked slyly, “how are you gonna protect me from the cave ninjas in your bare feet?”

Because he was a shit, Red scowled deeply and started to stand. Rus grabbed his arm to keep him still.

“stay put, you pine cone. we both know you could probably murder someone while you were bareass. Not that you’re gonna need to, thanks.”

“be a hell of a last sight before ya dusted, though.”

“thanks, i was looking for a good excuse to bleach my mind.”

The cool water felt good, soothing. His joints were a little achy lately, especially in his feet. From the magic drain, according to Undyne. Thinking of...“i’m supposed to see undyne tomorrow for another checkup. she wants to measure the souling, see if she can give me a guess-tament on when it’ll descend.”

Red grunted, noncommittal. Rude. Rus was trying to give him a heads up on the agenda for tomorrow. Chances were Edge would want to tag along, but if he couldn’t, he didn’t want Red grumbling about having to take a trip to hotland. Though he probably wouldn’t anyway, Red was being weird about all of this, everything, and Rus didn’t much want to guess at why.

But the silence was drawing out and at last, Rus went ahead and asked the question that'd been bugging him most. “do you want to see it?”

“see what?”

“my tits,” Rus said exasperatedly. “the souling, what else?”

Because for all his protectiveness, Red was the only person who knew that hadn’t asked for a quick peek. Not that Rus minded; he was perfectly happy to show off his little spark and now that it was bigger, it was starting to look like an actual soul, not a little blob of light. Edge was practically trying to commune with it on a daily basis, cuddling up close so he could stare through Rus’s rib cage or pressing his skull against Rus’s sternum and listening to its quick-quick little throb, barely audible over the pulse of his own soul.

Red seemed to be giving the question a lot more consideration than Rus thought should be necessary for a quick glimpse at a souling. The legs of his shorts were too close to the water and they were getting soaked, made worse when he kicked his feet and sent a little wave to splash back at them.

At last, Red gave a little shrug and said, “nah.”

Hm. Rus didn’t press, lifting a foot out of the water and watched the trickles fall from his boney metatarsals. Not far away were a few echo flowers, their words unintelligible, but their glow lighting the walls with an almost eerie blue.

Rus was about to suggest they head back to see if lunch miraculously appeared while they were gone when Red asked, low, “can you feel it yet?”

“feel it?” Rus asked dubiously. He rubbed his fingertips over his sternum, right above where his soul hovered with his own little echo circling around it. “maybe? sometimes it does feel warmer in there--”

“no,” Red shook his head and his words were tight, grated out, “when it gets close to descending, you should kinda feel it. it’s a full soul right next to your own, ain’t it? but not like soul joining, there’s no real thoughts or anything. just emotions. like...like getting touched with happiness.”

“not yet,” Rus said softly. His voice reverberated faintly, and he wondered if the echo flowers would claim it. “must be too small still.”

Red nodded jerkily and fell silent.

There was a fuckton of questions springing up around that, but Rus didn’t ask any of them. They sat there a while longer together, and if the silence wasn't exactly comfortable, it wasn’t bad, either. Eventually, Rus flopped back to lay in the cool grass, still paddling softly with his feet. The water dripping down into his sockets was weird but not unpleasant. He didn’t remember falling asleep, didn’t know how he got back home to be lying on their sofa, and he definitely didn’t want to know how he ended up in fresh, dry clothes.

What he did know was that Edge was in the living room with him, still pulling off his boots, and Red was nowhere to be seen.

“you look tired,” Rus said. Which, was the truth, but he winced a little belatedly at having said it like that. He was always a little off his game when he woke up and lately, that seemed like always.

Edge replied, curtly. “Today was...difficult.”

He didn’t elaborate and Rus didn’t ask.

“well, hey, come lay down until dinner is ready.” The sounds coming from the kitchen were a pretty good sign that Blue was already in there, whipping up something delicious. And when it looked like Edge was going to argue, because of course he would think he needed to toss on a chef’s hat after an already long day, Rus said lightly. “undyne was just telling me that frequent proximity of the other soulsharer is good for the little firecracker.”

Sure, that was a blatant lie, but Rus thought it was for a good cause. Edge faltered, his eye lights straying to the kitchen, but in the end, it was too much of a good thing to resist. Edge settled down next to him, moving immediately and unashamedly into Rus’s personal space, already prepared to start trying to commune with their little spark. Talking to it, humming little songs, even summoning his own soul so that he could offer a taste of the emotions bubbling in him and yeah, that overflowing love wasn’t for Rus, but feeling it so close to his soul brought tears to his sockets, maybe someday...maybe…?

Almost, Rus thought he might have felt something, a tiny, sweet little echo of emotion, but he couldn’t be sure.

Soon, it’d be soon. He hoped. Rus was really looking forward to getting touched with a little happiness.

tbc

Read Next Chapter

[readyplayerhobi]

Strawberry Lemonade

; Hoseok x Reader

; Genre: Fluff

; Word Count: 2.5k

; Synopsis: After a stressful day, you come home to Hoseok to see whether your life will change for the better.

; A/N: Surprise! I consider this the fluffiest of all the drabbles...please let me know what you think with a comment or ask!

Peppermint 01

-

The apartment is quiet when you get home from work, no sound effects coming from your boyfriend’s mouth as he plays one of his favourite video games nor any beautiful singing as he works in the peace and tranquility of home. You’d almost think he wasn’t there, except for the fact that you know he’s been working from home all day to ensure that he doesn’t get distracted with any incessant questions at the office.

It had been lonely without him, even though you can’t actually see him when you work. His desk is on the other side of yours after all, his monitor backing up to your own and the only way you can spy his pretty face is by leaning around the side. He normally always has a bright smile for you when he spots you, lips curving into that familiar heart shape that still makes your own heart kick after three years together.

Even on the days when you had a fight before entering work, it would still soothe your anger to see him there with the concentrated frown behind those familiar circular glasses. Not that you argued often with him. In fact, it was about as rare as Hoseok getting angry, which was almost never.

The man had endless amounts of patience, which you had come to love and admire over the years. Shy, awkward and jumpy though he may be, he was nevertheless a rock of support that you could rely on happily for comfort and support through rough times.

Your lighthouse in the storm.

Today, you’d really wanted the safety of his arms and his soft words of reassurance to allay your fears and soothe the worries that had flitted through your thoughts the whole day. Because something had been irritating you in the back of your mind for a while now, wondering if perhaps you were imagining things or if it was actually serious.

But today, you’d finally decided that you were going to find out once and for all. Hoseok could help with the psychological side of things for you, but only you could truly resolve the issue. You just hoped that he’d be agreeable to it, which was why you were hoping to hear him when entering the apartment.

It had once been solely his, but now was home to the both of you. The living room remained near enough the same as before with only a few minor changes by you. A few more pictures of you both dotted around the room, some new curtains and new cushions being the main extent of the differences.

Otherwise, it was still a shrine to popular culture spreading over all different mediums. Still very much Jung Hoseok in a room.

When you first moved in, he’d been pretty agreeable when you’d made changes to the bathroom and inserted your things into his life permanently. He’d been a little wary with the bedroom, but had accepted the changes with only small amounts of whining and complaining.

But you’d quickly discovered that the living room was a no go area for change, at least at first. Suggestions of removing figures or certain posters to make way for something else sent him into a visible state of defence and borderline panic, leading to you abandoning it for his comfort.

This had been his home since he was 22 after all, 10 years by that point. It was his safe area, the place where he wasn’t judged by people or expected to respond to social cues in an acceptable manner. It was the place where he had happily surrounded himself with all the things he loved, a place that calmed and comforted him.

You were one of those things, and so he was happy to include you in it. But shifting other things around had evidently not been in his immediate plan and you were loathe to do something that distressed him. So you’d backed off and over the last two years, Hoseok had become slowly amenable to adjustments that reflected the two of you.

His safe space was no longer solitary, and you were beyond pleased when he began to make changes himself. He’d spent so long building walls around himself that it took him awhile to find his way through them and invite you inside. But you were there now, cosy with him.

“Hoseok?” You call out, voice loud in the silence. Frowning, you wonder where he could’ve gone. He had been online on Skype when you’d left, and you knew that Hoseok had a tendency to accidentally overwork if left to his own devices. It wasn’t really work to him as much as a hobby he just got paid for. He loved his video editing that much.

Moving over to the tiny office that had been set up in a corner of the kitchen, it had originally been in his bedroom but he’d moved it when you moved in, you note the MacBook laid on the surface with the screen open. It’s on, so you know he’s here somewhere.

Quiet he may be, he’s still far too big to be playing hide and seek.

“Hos-” You’re cut off when the door to the bathroom opens and your boyfriend walks out, almost walking straight into you from where you’d been stood in front of it. Immediately he jumps backwards, a shriek leaving his mouth that was a weird combination of adult male and little girl. 

For a moment, he does nothing but stand there with wide eyes and a hand pressed to his chest as he calms his obviously racing heart. The bright pink headphones covering his ears let you know why he hadn’t heard you and you can’t help but wrinkle your nose as you gently push them till they slide down his neck.

“Ew, you wore those to the bathroom?” You question, causing him to roll his eyes as he moves past you into the kitchen.

“It’s not like I peed on them. I didn’t even touch them. Why are you home so early?” He asks, sitting down at the small desk and tapping on the keyboard quickly. Biting your lip, you move one of the chairs to sit next to him before suddenly letting your head flop onto his shoulder.

“I asked to come home early. I don’t feel well. All sick and blah.” Hoseok shifts, trying to twist his head until he can look at you. He has such pretty eyes, soft and friendly looking. His hand comes up to rest on your forehead.

“You don’t feel hot. Do you want to lay down? I can bring you something later if you want? Toast? Soup? Flat Coke?” Snorting, you just cuddle closer into him and wrap your arms around his bicep tightly.

“That’s an old wives tale. It doesn’t work. Besides, we don’t have any. You drank the last the other night. No, it’s not that,” Hoseok goes to argue, his mouth opening but you beat him to it. “I think I’m pregnant.”

No sound leaves him, despite the fact his mouth works for a few moments while he stares blankly ahead. You can practically hear the cogs working in his head, putting together what you’ve just said and you have no doubt that he’s working through denial right now. He’ll probably verbalise it in a moment, pointing out that you’re on birth control and he uses condoms. Except that one time last year when you’d both gotten a little too drunk at one of the work nights out.

That had been interesting, discovering a new kink for both of you. Not one that you’d entertain again for the near future. Although maybe now…

But your wonderful boyfriend has never been like other men, and he proves it right then and there. “Do you want me to go buy a pregnancy test? Or five? How many are you supposed to take?”

“What...no asking me if I’m sure?” You tease lightly, despite the roiling of your stomach as you lean back to look at him. His face is markedly pale right now against his black hair, not the usual golden tan that it normally is and his cheeks are flushed rose but his expression is sincere and determined.

“You know your body. If that’s what you think, then that’s what you think. Just...have to prove it I guess. Or disprove it.” You can hear the concern and worry in his voice, but whether that’s for you or the potential future child you’ll both have, you don’t know. Instead, you just wrap your arms around him tightly.

“I love you. You know that? I bought three. Just in case, you know. Three’s a charm. I’ll go...do them I guess?” He watches you carefully, nutmeg brown eyes scanning over your face before they look at your bag by your feet.

“Do you need help?” Chuckling, you shake your head as you retrieve the three boxes and head over to the bathroom.

“Not unless you want to pee on them. And I think we’re definitely getting a negative from that. I’ll be back out in a minute.” Hoseok stands to follow, the last image you see of him as the bathroom door closes is one of a man trying to look positive for you but with confusion written all over his body.

The process is simple enough and you don’t even bother to read the instructions properly, simply uncapping and peeing on each stick in sequence. Washing your hands and heading back out, you carefully lay them on some tissue paper on the kitchen table while Hoseok watches them with wide eyes.

He sits down next to you at the table, an arm wrapping around your shoulders to bring you closer to him before he presses a gentle kiss to your temple. “We’ll be okay. Are you okay?”

The question is soft and you smile at him, nodding. You’re surprisingly calm about this whole thing to say that you’ve spent the whole day feeling ill about the prospect of being pregnant.

Neither of you really speak for the next few minutes, the silence tense and almost awkward until finally you both look at the tests laid out in front of you. Each one is pretty easy to understand, and the three tiny plus symbols make it clear what the result is.

“Holy fuck. We’re having a baby.” Hoseok states bluntly, sitting back in the chair with almost comically wide eyes. Chewing on your lips, you rest a hand on his denim clothed thigh before realising that you’re already resting a hand on your stomach.

Your child is in there, a tiny bunch of cells that are made up from Hoseok and you. Both of your DNA coming together to create a little human being.

You expect a bit more panic from Hoseok, a little more wild hair as he runs his hands through it and a little more pacing frantically as he tries to get his head around it. Hoseok doesn’t particularly like change, and a baby is the biggest change anyone can make.

He doesn’t like mess or chaos, and a child is the biggest creator of mess and chaos. His beloved living room will never look the same. What if it’s too much for him?

“What do you want to do?” Is all he says though, turning to face you with a carefully blank face. There’s no sign of panic or turmoil on his expression, just determination and love for you. It almost makes you want to cry, and you do end up pressing your hand to your mouth.

“Do you...I mean do you want a baby? I know that we’ve talked about it before but you’ve always made out that you want a baby after you got married. And we’re not married. And a baby will cause so much mess for you and it’s a lot of noise and stress and-” He cuts you off with a kiss to the forehead before looking at you sternly.

“What do you want to do? You’re the one carrying the baby. I don’t need to be married, ignore that. I’m terrified, yes. I think I’ll be a terrible dad honestly. The idea of all that mess is horrific, but I’ve always known I want children with you one day. It just came early. But it’s your decision. I swear I’ll support you.” You don’t mean to, but tears start to fall at that as your heart swells with pure emotion from him.

Everyone always thinks of Jung Hoseok as cold and awkward. A high opinion of himself when in reality he’s just shy and quiet, forever unwilling to raise his voice. He doesn’t comfort with his words but with his actions, and he loves so strongly. And yet he’s never said anything more wonderful than what he said just then.

That he’s here, and he will be here no matter what you choose. That even though he’s scared, he’s willing to go with whatever you want because he knows you’re just as scared. Maybe even more so, as it’s your body that will change over the next few months and it’s you who will go through the trials of labour.

“Are you sure? If we keep it? I mean...we’ll need somewhere new and to buy things and get things ready. It’ll be so much mess, so much. And-” Hoseok shakes his head with a trembling smile.

“Don’t. Don’t think like that. We’ll just get on with it, like every other parent. I’ll be okay. We’ll be okay. I swear. Do you want to keep it then?” You’re nodding before you even realise, salty tears falling down your face to land on your lips where you taste them when your tongue darts out.

Hoseok tastes them too when he kisses you, his hands cupping your cheeks gently before his thumbs wipe away the trails. “I love you. I’m not even being cheesy when I said that I never imagined myself having babies with anyone other than you.”

“You’re going to be a daddy. And you’re going to be a great daddy, no more bad mouthing yourself.” He laughs, breath ghosting against your lips as he nods, his nose brushing against yours.

“You’re going to be a mommy. Ahh, you’re going to be such a good mommy. Now we can be a super family at conventions!” Hoseok’s arm wraps around you and pulls you tight to him, the position awkward on two chairs yet neither of you cares too much. You care even less when he rests the flat of his palm against your stomach hesitantly.

“They’re going to lose their minds at work, you know that right? Jimin may literally die of shock and Taehyung may just pass out from excitement. You know he loves kids.” You state quietly, smiling into Hoseok’s neck as he laughs and nods.

“I can’t wait. Is that mean of me?”

“No, it’s perfect.”

[etherealhood]

Lighthouse - Part Two

author: @etherealhood

word count: 10,470

warnings: nsfw 18+, smut, unprotected sex, fingering, make-out in the on-call room, mention of cancer

a/n: and here is chapter two! holy shit thank you for the feedback and all the kind words on part one! it means the world to me that you all are just as excited for the rest of the series as i am! this is real long and steamy so enjoy!!

pairing: neurosurgeon!calum x pediatric/neonatal!surgon reader

As you looked down at the charts in your hands, you walked into the patient’s room. Looking up, you saw the little boy sitting in the bed and his parents sitting in the chairs next to him. With a smile, you greeted them. “Hey, everybody! How’re we doing tonight?” You asked, setting the grey charting folder on the bedside table as you stood at the little boy’s bedside. “Tyler, how you doing, bud?”

Tyler, your patient, sat in the bed, tapping away at a tablet in his hands. “I’m great, Doctor Y/L/N!” He smiled brightly, still looking kind of tired as he did so. “I’m winning the game! Look! I never win!” He told you excitedly.

“You’re kidding!” You exclaimed happily, looking over his shoulder to see the game he was playing. All the time that you’ve spent with Tyler this past month has given you a bit of a knack for knowing the latest games and how to play. “There’s someone behind you, I can hear footsteps.” You told him.

His character turned around and shot the remaining player, winning the match he played. He laughed in surprise, clearly excited about winning in the game for the first time. He turned to look up at you, seeing as you held up your hand in a high-five. “I can’t believe I just saw that! Congrats, Tyler.” You say, praising him.

Looking to his parents, you notice the small smiles on their faces as they watch their son. It’s rare for you to see a parent smile in what you do. Watching your child go through something so painful hurts more than anything, as you know to some degree. So seeing your patient’s parents smile always made your heart swell.

Especially parents that had kids with tumors or cancer. Tyler had what was called a pediatric ependymoma, in which the tissues of his spinal cord and brain were being damaged by cancerous cells. The doctors working on the case had caught it early on, so thankfully he was still in the early stages of the disease. However, it was rapidly growing and he was required surgery to remove the problem.

Since Tyler was a child, he fell under your specialty, but his condition was also neurological, so you’d been working with the attending neurosurgeon, Calum Hood. Truthfully, you didn’t mind working with him. Although you were both headstrong and that trait caused you to butt heads all the time, you worked together perfectly. In the years that’s you’d been a doctor, you’ve never worked as well with someone as you have with Calum.

Over the four months that you’d been working at the hospital, you had grown a lot closer to Calum. Since you were two of the only single people in the group, you spent most of your time together both at and outside of the hospital. Most nights you got off, you and Calum would go to the bar down the street and have dinner or go to one of your apartments and just hangout there. At the hospital, you and Calum had lunch together when you weren’t eating with Marie and Aerielle, which wasn’t very often, but frequent enough to be considered good friends.

“So, Tyler, hate to bring down the mood, but I’ve gotta take-”

“Vitals, I know.” He sighed as he nodded, sitting up straighter so you could take his heartbeat. “Are you going home after this?” He asked as you grabbed your stethoscope and put it in your ears.

“No, I’ll be here a while, lil dude.” You told him, putting the chest piece over his lungs, telling him to take deep breaths. “So whatever you need throughout the night, just press the button on the remote and I’ll be there. Another deep breath for me, Tyler.”

You finished up the vitals and started writing things down in his charts. You sat in a chair as Tyler told you about him and Michael playing a couple games the other night. Eventually, Tyler’s parents started telling you about they’d gotten the physical therapist to start working with Tyler and what he’d been doing with the therapist, who was recommended to them by Calum. Because of Tyler’s tumor being in his spine, he was likely to lose motor functions and it was the goal to keep that from happening too soon.

Said man walked into the room, knocking two of his knuckles on the door as he stood in the threshold. Everyone in the room looked to see him with a smile as he came further into the room. “Hey, everyone. How are we doing this evening?”

“We were just talking about the therapy you recommended for Tyler.” The little boy’s mother explained to the neurosurgeon.

Calum nodded in understanding as he looked at the monitor screen, making sure everything looked okay. “How’s that been going?” He asked. You stood from your seat and pushed the chair out of the way, as you knew that Calum coming into the room meant he was getting you so you two could eat together.

“The therapist said Tyler’s been doing good, that they don’t usually see such motor function in children with his condition.” Tyler’s father told Calum, smiling at his little boy.

“That’s great!” The doctor grinned down at his patient, giving him a thumbs up. “When we get you out of surgery in a few weeks, you’ll be doing even better.” Calum promised.

You smiled as you watched your friend interact so casually with the child you’d grown fond of over the time you’ve worked with him. If you weren’t with Tyler, then Calum was usually nearby, making sure that the child got everything he needed to be comfortable. Calum didn’t get very many child patients, so when he did, he always made sure to make them as comfortable and unafraid as he could.

Looking down at your watch, you saw that it was approaching ten o’clock and you still hadn’t eaten. Your stomach was starting to rumble as you thought of what the cafeteria might have tonight. You smiled at everyone in the room, informing of them of your departure. “Well, I’ve been here for a while now, so I’m gonna get going, but I’ll be back in about two hours to make sure you’re doing alright. Sound good?”

Tyler shrugged. “You know, I’m getting tired of you always waking me up in the middle of the night.”

You giggled at the child’s statement, nodding in agreement. “I could say the same for you, bud. We’re gonna let you get some rest for now, so we’ll be on our way.”

“Thanks, Doctor Y/L/N and Doctor Hood.” Tyler said to you and your colleague. You and Calum looked at each other briefly, sharing the common thought of how much you both adored the sweet boy.

“Goodnight, Tyler. Mister and Missus Watts.” You nodded in farewell to each of the family’s members before walking out with Calum right behind you, his hands in the pockets of his white coat.

As soon as you stepped further out into hall, you let out a deep, solemn sigh. Calum’s face softened as he tilted his head slightly. “You okay?” He asked, knowing what was bothering you already.

“Yeah, he just, reminds me of what I could’ve had, you know? He’s just such a pure and sweet kid.” You told him as you walked down the hospital hallway with your arms crossed over your chest. “Wish I got to know mine.” You mumbled quietly. Calum felt his chest tighten as you brought up your child.

After a while of being friends with Calum, you explained what you’d gone through in the last two years to him. Since you were so close, you felt inclined and comfortable enough to tell him about your harder times in life. You told him about the loss of your son and the divorce in full detail. It was nice, because you hadn’t for a long time, had someone who didn’t understand what you had gone through, but would just listen to what you need to get all out when it came to your past.

Calum wrapped his arm around your shoulder, pulling you into his side so you could lean your head on his shoulder. “I know you do, love.” He whispered, kissing your right temple softly as you two continued down the hall.

Taking the elevator, you two rode down to the cafeteria together, talking about what you were both up to tonight. Calum and you were going to both be at the hospital until tomorrow morning, so it was kind of a relief that you’d get to see each other throughout the night.

You both entered the not so busy cafeteria, going your separate ways to grab what you wanted to eat, before finding a table in the corner to sit at. You sipped some of your water after you bite into the sandwich you bought. You and Calum started talking about the day and patients you had or things you’d heard from other people all day long. It was the kind of conversation that just flowed and you didn’t feel the need to make an effort.

From across the cafeteria, two of your friends watched you interact with Calum. Ashton and Marie were sitting together, discussing their wedding plans when they saw you and Calum sit down together. You laughed at something the Maori man was saying as you put a chip in your mouth, trying to hold back from laughing harder.

Marie beamed as she saw you smile and laugh. Knowing that your life had been rough for the last couple of years brought her to great sorrow, because all she ever wanted for you, one of her greatest friends, was happiness and a good life. You deserved to be happy and she thought that your kind heart always deserved great things. She always felt it was unfair that you were given the cards life dealt you.

Seeing you so happy and so comfortable with being yourself again after so long of just being stuck in your grief, was something she’d been waiting for. Marie knew you moving down fo California, being around your long-time friends would be good for you and she was so happy when Ashton told her that you decided to take up his offer of being the head of your speciality at Crossroads General. Albeit, she’d rather have heard it from you than from her fiancé, she was ecstatic for your arrival.

As the couple watched you with Calum, Marie couldn’t help the concern she had for you. She knew that you and him were great friends and he was a big part of the reason you were back on your feet again, but she was still worried. She loved Calum like family, she really did, but she knew how he was: he slept with someone and always left it at just sex, not making an effort to really care about what happened afterwards.

She knew that he was a good man and that he wouldn’t dare hurt you, but she had this fear that you and Calum would get involved sexually and that would cause you to fall back down a few steps from all the progress you made. It was very clear that you two liked each other and it was even cleared that there was some kind of chemistry between you two. Marie didn’t understand it, but she saw it every time you were with him. The way you two fit together was perfect and she would’ve had to have been dumb to not see the possibility of something happening between you two.

Marie knew it was absolutely none of her business what you and Calum did, but you were her best friend, someone she’d considered a sister. All she wanted was you to have the best life you could. More than anything in the world, she wanted that. She wanted you to be happy and she felt terrible for thinking that getting with him could be detrimental to your well being.

Marie placed her small hand over one of Ashton’s, causing him to stop talking and slightly tilt his head as he looked at her. “What’s wrong, babe?” He asked, pulling the wrapper off him muffin.

“Calum and Y/N.” She nodded towards you two, causing her fiancé to look at you table. He saw you nodding along to what the neurosurgeon was saying as you bit into your sandwich.

“Yeah, what about them?” He asked, eating his blueberry muffin.

Marie sighed and shook her head. “I love Calum, I really do. But Y/N, she can’t be hooking up with him. I mean, you were there in the hospital after her and Cyrus… you know?” She said softly.

“Yeah, I know.” Ashton nodded, his voice low as sadness crept into him at the memory of that terrible phone call. After getting the news, Ashton, Marie, and Aerielle went up to Seattle and stayed for a couple days to help the struggling couple out. They stayed at the hospital with you and Cyrus, just trying to be a support system.

“It was rough on her. These whole two years have been hard for her and she’s just barely getting back to who she was and I don’t want Calum ruining it.” Marie looked to her green-eyed man, her dark brown eyes meeting his. “I think you need to tell him to make sure that nothing happens between them.”

“What? Why me?”

“Because you’re his best friend and he’ll listen to you.” Marie argued. “He won’t take it seriously if I tell him to back off. Besides, it would be weird.”

“Alright, fine.” Ashton sighed, knowing he couldn’t even put up much of a fight with his partner. She smiled and kissed his cheek, causing him to smile softly. “You’re lucky I’m so in love with you.”

Marie laughed at her fiancé, “I know I am.”

A few days later, Ashton found Calum coming out of an elevator, looking down at his phone as he walked out. Ashton hurried to finish writing something on the papers he was working on before unclicking his pen and shoving it in the chest pocket of his white coat. He closed the file and put it on the cart before quickly jogging towards his friend.

Calum looked upon hearing the sounds of footsteps hitting the linoleum hospital floors. He turned to see his best friend coming towards him, he furrowed his brows but put out his fiat for Ashton to bump. “What’s up, Ash?”

“I need to talk to you.”

Calum’s confusion only increased. “About what?”

“Y/N.”

It was weird how both bewilderment and fondness grew in him upon the mention of your name. He had no idea why Ashton would want to talk about you with him, but he was also jumping at the opportunity to talk about you. With an even more puzzled expression, the neurosurgeon shook his head. “What about Y/N?”

“Well, I have some concerns.” Ashton scratched the back of his neck, his fingertips grazing over the California condor tattoo he had. “So Marie and I were talking-”

“That’s never good.” Calum sighed, having a feeling he knew what was coming.

“No, it’s not bad.” Ashton explained. “We’re happy that she seems to be taking in to California and the hospital so well. It’s been rough for her these last few years, things I don’t want to get into because it’s none of my business.”

Calum shrugged as they turned down a hall, leading to the nurse’s station in the surgery wing of the hospital. “I already know about everything. The baby, her ex-husband.”

Ashton stopped in his place, causing his friend to do the same. “Then you know that it broke her to go through all of that. That her losing her son and her husband is why she’s down here, why she is the way she is.”

“What are you getting at, Irwin?”

“Don’t sleep with her, Calum.” Ashton blurted out, feeling a little bad about just coming out with it, but he needed to say it and he couldn’t keep beating around the bush.

“I don’t plan on sleeping with her!” Calum exclaimed as threw his hands up in the air, anger growing in him at the conversation. Nearby people looked at the two men, giving them weird looks. Calum winced at the attention he didn’t mean to grab before quieting his voice and turning back to the Chief of Surgery. “I don’t plan on sleeping with Y/N. It’s not like that.”

“Well make sure it stays like that.” Ashton told him with a bit more authority. “It’s not just Marie who feels this way, I do, too. Y/N, isn’t just a friend, she’s family and I don't want to see her get hurt.”

“I’d never hurt her.” Calum mumbled and looked down at his shoes, knowing where Ashton was coming from. It still made him angry, but he understood. As much as he cared for Y/N, as much as he might’ve been so enamored by her when he first met her, she was his friend first. She was his best friend first. It blew him away how she’d so quickly became one of his best friends. As his closest friend, he would do anything to make sure she was okay and that she was happy.

He wasn’t blind to why Marie and Ashton may have felt the need to say something. He knew that he had this reputation for sleeping around, and he understood that the fear of him hurting their friend stemmed from that quality of his. As he thought over it a little bit more, he realized that he wasn’t mad, he truly wasn’t. He was just frustrated. He thought that he was good at showing that for him, Y/N came before any sexual urge he might’ve had.

“I won’t sleep with her, you have my word.” He muttered as he nodded in agreement. “She’s just a friend. We done here? I have a surgery to get to.”

Ashton sighed as he realized that he had upset his friend before he nodded. “Yeah, we’re done here.” He said and with that watched Calum walk towards the operating rooms. Ashton shook his head and turned to go to his office.

-

“He’s getting worse, Y/N!”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, biting your lip as to keep from saying something rude to your partner. “You think I don’t understand that, Calum?” You exclaimed, looking up at him dead in the eyes, noticing how he looked just as upset as you did. You felt bad for thinking that he looked so good when he was angry, the way his face scrunched up with the need to win the argument. His jawline beautifully defined as he clenched his jaw. His eyes darkened with irritation.

Calum was thinking the same thing as you two struggled with your opinions. He watched as you continuously licked your lip before you spoke, watched as you pulled it between your teeth. Today was one of the few days that you wore your hair down, since you hadn’t had any scheduled surgeries. So your hair flowed over your shoulders, your fingers going to run through it when you got upset.

It’d been a couple weeks since Calum and Ashton had the conversation about you being off limits to Calum. Ever since that day, he’d been looking at you different. Instead of looking you in the eyes when you were talking, he’d looking at your lips, wondering what they would feel like against his, what they would taste like. When he did look into your stunning eyes, his chest tightened because they somehow had this kind of magic that lit up the whole entire room. Whenever you smiled, he found himself smiling because more often than not, he was the cause of the lovely sight.

Whenever you two were sitting together at lunch, he watched you intently and hung onto every word of yours as you talked passionately about your day in the hospital or something totally unrelated. Whenever he saw your favorite color, he thought of you. He had no doubt that he was into you, especially when the sexual thoughts crept into his mind at the most inconvenient times ever.

The other day, he walked in on you in the supply room, grabbing things for a patient just as you bent over, your perfect ass right in front of him. It was ridiculous that he felt himself get hard just at the sight of your scrub pants tightening around your bottom. The other day, he went to grab something from his locker in the locker room, but you were in there the room, you pulling off your shirt, leaving your beautiful breasts in hey your bra. With a quick moment of his eyes trailing over you, he hurried out of the room. You often pushed your hair over your shoulder when you wanted it out of your face, leaving your neck exposed. He would look at your smooth skin and think about how perfect you'd look if his mouth left purple love bites on your throat.

It was safe to say that, without really knowing it, Calum Hood was falling in love with you.

The neurosurgeon scoffed and rolled his eyes, shaking his head with sneer as he put his hands on his hips. “Well, you seem pretty keen on not doing surgery. You’re a surgeon, this is what we do.”

“I know! But the tumor is in a tricky spot, if you make even one wrong move, he won’t have any muscle movement for the rest of his life.” You argued, eyebrows furrowed as you explained what you should do for Tyler’s treatment plan. Calum believed that he could do the surgery, even with the tumor being in such a terrible place, but you knew the risks and that the risks with this form of treatment almost seemed to outweigh the benefits.

As you two were walking in the hallway when you came back from lunch, you started discussing your mutual patient’s treatment. Unfortunately, you two didn’t agree, which led to the hushed argument. One of Ashton’s first rules in the hospital was to have quiet arguments to keep from disturbing any patients.

“I’m a neurosurgeon! My whole job is one big risk.” Calum threw his arms in the air, exasperated at the fact that this was even being argued. He was the attending neurosurgeon, which meant he was damn good at his job. This was one of the best hospitals in the country with some of the best teaching doctors and best surgeons, there’s no way that they wouldn’t be able to perform this successfully.

“I understand, but you’ve never done a procedure like this, maybe we could call in someone, have them teach you how to do it before you actually do it so our odds are better.” You watched as his face fell, making you instantly feel terrible for saying what you said. Without physically saying it, you told him that you didn’t believe in him, and that wasn’t the case at all.

Calum chuckled with disbelief, looking down the hall before grabbing your wrist, pulling you into one of the on-call rooms that was nearby. You didn’t register what was happening until you’d been pressed against the closed door once you were both inside. He leaned in, grazing his lips over the shell of your ear, his warm breath hitting your skin.

“May I should you teach you a few things, yeah? Teach you a lesson, Doctor Y/L/N?” He growled into your ear. You squeezed your eyes shut, moaning quietly at the way his tongue would gently peek out and touch your skin. Your hands went to his back, bunching up his own dark blue scrub top as he pulled back and looked into your eyes.

You gave him a slight nod, one that he had to have been looking for to see. You could feel that your eyes were clouded with lust as you found yourself no longer on Earth. He leans in, pressing his lips to your roughly. The taste of the chapstick you saw him applying multiple times everyday on his plump lips. You closed your eyes as you two moved in sync with one another, savoring the kiss you’d secretly been wanting for so long.

Over the last few weeks, you’d been craving Calum. You don’t know what suddenly sparked your sexual interest in him. Maybe it was that you hadn’t been with anyone in months, or maybe it was that you’d gotten too comfortable with your relatively new best friend, that you realized just how perfect he was. Whatever the case, you wanted him so badly, and now that he was kissing you, pressing his body as close as possible to yours, you couldn’t help but never want him to stop.

His hands wrapped around the backs of thighs, lifting you up against the wall. His neck craned up as he kissed you, trailing his hot and quick kisses down your chin and all the way to your warm chest. He nipped at the skin, causing you to whimper in pleasure and grind your hips into his body. He could feel himself harden a bit at the way you would roll yourself into him. The thin material of both of your scrub pants didn’t leave much to be desired.

Your small hands, went to the back of his head as he dragged his hand up and bunched up the material of your thin shirt above your bra clad chest. Your breasts were clad in a simple black, cotton bra, but oh did they look so heavenly. He moaned as he looked at your body, leaning into start sucking at your skin. His fingers trailed down your chest to pull down the cups of your bra so he could kiss and suck at your nipples.

His lips wrapped around the hard buds, the cool air of the room and his touch setting your body on fire, lighting you up with a warmth you’d never quite felt so intensely before. His teeth grazed over your sensitive skin, causing you to mutter a curse followed by a whisper of his name. Calum heard every sound you made, making sure he didn’t miss anything you might’ve said. He could feel himself spiraling into a daze as he touched you sensually.

A sudden beeping went off, pulling both you and Calum out of your moment. You looked each other in the eyes, both of you realizing what had happened as he set you back on the floor and pulled your bra back up and your shirt down. He wiped his mouth of the spit that had collected around his mouth from sucking so aggressively at your nipples.

There was one thing Calum was thinking as you grabbed your still-beeping pager from the waistband of your pants, reading the page you’d been sent: “Fuck.”

Calum muttering the curse made you look up at him. He pulled away and put his down his pants to adjust the growing erection he had. You furrowed your eyebrows, even more confused at what just happened as he left the room without another word, slamming it closed behind him.

You fell back against the wall, feeling very flustered and very needy for more of what your friend had to offer. “What the fuck?”

Later that night, Calum was in his apartment, sitting on the couch with his elbows resting on his knees, his face in his hands. There was an ice-cold, half-drunken Corona sitting on the coffee table next to his couch. He was beating himself up over what happened in the on-call room with you earlier that day.

After the extremely heated moment shared between you two, Calum made sure to avoid you for the rest of the day. It was tough seeing as you and him shared a patient and saw each other multiple times throughout the day. He made sure to go to Tyler’s room when he knew you wouldn’t be there. When he looked at Tyler’s files, he noticed that you gave your signature of approval to the surgery you and Calum would operate, the one you were arguing about.

After you two got off, you’d wait for him in one of the waiting rooms so you two could go get something to eat and have a couple of drinks at the bar. As he was walking out to leave, he saw you scrolling through your phone as you waited for him. He went as far as walking through the emergency room and out to his car, which was on the other side of the hospital, just so you didn’t see him and possibly confront him.

With the television playing quietly, he was cursing himself for letting his urges get the best of him. He knew better. He told Ashton nothing would happen, and just a couple weeks later he had his lips all over your chest and his hands touching every part of you he could in the on-call room.

Even with the shame he had for betraying his best friend, he still wanted you. Badly. He still wanted to explore every inch of not only your body, but your soul and your kind heart. After just that brief moment in the on-call room, he was beyond addicted to you.

Rubbing his hands over his face and up into his hair, Calum groaned frustratedly as he pulled at his hair. He laced his hands together and pressed his knuckles against his lips. He looked at the beer bottle on the coffee table that was leaving water rings, thinking of you and how you’d started drinking Coronas just because he did so. The water ring of his beer reminded him of the coasters you insisted he used when he was at your apartment. It reminded him of the way you got so mad when you saw water rings on your coffee table and made him smile softly at your weird quirks that he absolute loved.

He grabbed the bottle and brought it up to his lips, wrapping them around the lip of the bottle as he tilted his head back and let the beer rush down his throat. He drank the rest of the liquid in the bottle, finishing it off. A knock at his apartment door caused him to stop drinking and furrow his eyebrows as he looked at said door. He looked at the watch on his wrist and saw that it was approaching midnight.

Standing from the sofa, he walked over to the door, throwing the now empty glass bottle in the recycling bin as he walked by it before he went to the door and pulled it open. You stood there in front of him, looking anxious as you two made eye contact.

Calum’s eyes widened, stuttering as he tried to find his words. He was gaping, left speechless at you standing before him. To be completely honest, he didn’t really expect you to even talk about the incident in the on-call room, let alone show up at his front door. “W-What are you doing here?”

You walked in, pushing past him. He closed the door and turned to face you again. Your arms were crossed over your chest and you looked like you were also trying to find your words. With a final sigh, you set your bag on the counter in his kitchen.

“You said you had a few things to teach me.” You said, referring back to earlier that day. Your fingers came to the hem of your shirt as you pulled it over your head. Calum’s eyes just about fell out of his head as he watched you undress yourself.

“Y/N, stop.”

“Teach me.” The shirt you were once wearing dropped from your hands and to the floor by your feet. You began taking off your shoes as Calum watched you.

Calum shook his head slightly. “I can’t. I told Ashton nothing would happen between us.”

You shrugged, in response to Calum. “I don’t care what Ashton said. I want you to teach me a lesson.”

“We can't, we’re friends, Y/N.” He said, his eyes going up and down your body in a moment of weakness.

“But you wanted me earlier.” You walked over to him and grabbed his left hip, pulling him closer but also pushing yourself into him. Your hand smoothed up his chest and to the back of his neck, your fingers going to play with the the tiny hairs residing there. “Please, Calum. Teach me.”

He seemed to have another moment of hesitance, but you watched his face and saw that reluctance melt into desire. He cupped your face with his hands, dipping his head down to kiss your lips. Your eyes fell shut and you arched into him, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders while his came down to circle around your waist.

He backed you up to the couch, your butt pressed against the back of it. His fingers trailed down your back and to the curve of your bottom, his hands going to the back of rogue thighs to lift you up. He set you on the back of the sofa, pressing himself as close as possible to you. You could feel the bulge in his pants that you’d felt earlier growing against you.

Calum's lips moved roughly against yours, but not as rough as before. It seemed like he couldn’t get enough of you and wanted to just get inside of you all while wanting to make this last because he didn’t know if it’d ever happen again. It felt like you were what was giving him the power to breathe and he’d been underwater for so long, holding his breath until his lung burned in his chest.

His teeth nipped at your bottom lip, pulling continuous whimpers from the back of your throat. “Lay me down.” You whispered. He did as you said, walking around to lay you down and hover over you. He looked down at you, your lips flushed and your chest heaving as you brushed our fingertips over the side of his face. His gaze followed his large hand as it smoothed over your bare stomach and up to your covered breast, cupping it in his warm palm. His other hand softly moved to your back, finding the clasp of your bra and unhooking the two hooks with just three of his fingers.

He pulled the straps down your shoulders, taking it completely off your body. After he’d thrown it over the back of the couch and let it fall somewhere on the floor in the kitchen, he went back to kissing you passionately. His fingers began tweaking at your nipples, pulling at them as his tongue grazed over yours.

Your hands went to rest on Calum’s shoulders, but he grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head on one of the couch pillows. He pulled back from you, shaking his head with a smirk. “No, baby. You wanted me to teach you, remember?” He asked with a quirked brow. You nodded and bit your swollen bottom lip, your chest rising and falling as he looked down at your with eyes that had darkened significantly as you two made out. “So I’m in charge. Am I understood, gorgeous?”

You nodded and reached up to kiss his top lip quickly, still looking into his eyes as you did so. “Yes, Doctor Hood.” You whispered with a smirk playing at your plump lips.

Calum growled before he caught your lips with his once again, his fingers moving through your palm to lace with yours above your heads. You wrapped your leg around his waist, pressing your foot against his butt to push his crotch closer to yours. The erection pressed to your lower stomach. You mentally applauded yourself as you felt his covered cock twitch against you.

Still holding your hand, your friend started kissing down your body, licking over the spots his lips touched every now and then. When he got to your perky nipples, he made a point of looking you dead in the eye as he flattened his tongue over the hard peak before he pulled it into his mouth, sucking at it. You hissed at the wet feeling of his spit on your skin.

“You need me, baby?” He asked as he let go of your nipple, voice low as he started sucking at your stomach. You closed your eyes and shook your head when his free hand rested over your stomach, his long fingers splayed over your smooth skin. You shook your head, showing Calum some resistance, but that faltered as he licked your stomach and nipped at your skin. “Sure about that?”

“Don’t be such a tease, Calum.” You mumbled, rolling your eyes. He chuckled, before he undid the buttons of your jeans and then pulled your zipper down. He unlaced your fingers and grabbed the waistband of your pants, pulling them off and letting them fall to the floor.

His fingers bunched up the fabric on his back, pulling it off his body before throwing it onto the coffee table. He ran his hands through his thick hair and took the time to look down at your body, laid out in front of him.

His eyes scanned every inch of you. Every inch of your wonderful body, leaving him speechless. You had stretch marks on your hips and on your stomach which he assumed had came from your pregnancy. You had a tattoo on your hip that his fingers grazed over. He smiled softly at the black ink of the name he read he across your skin. He met your gaze and nodded slowly. “He had a beautiful name, Y/N.”

You felt your heart swell at the way that even in the heated moment, he could still speak to you with such fondness in his voice. That he could still touch you so softly, that he could still look at you with a softness in his eyes.

You leaned up, resting on your elbows as you watched his fingers trailed over your tattoo before your hand pulled him back down. You kissed him, softer this time than any of the other kisses you’d shared that day.

He leaned back down, laying you down once again. As he was above you again, the metal necklace he wore around his neck touched your heated skin, the cold contradicting the warmth. His fingers, hooking in the waistband of your panties, began pulling the flimsy fabric down. He let them pool with your jeans.

His fingers grazed over the scar just below your belly button before dipping down to run through your slick folds. You hummed quietly against his mouth, happy that he’d actually touched you where you wanted him to. His pointer and middle finger rubbed over you entrance as you stopped kissing him to moan into his mouth.

“Please, Cal. I want your fingers so bad.” You whined, looking him in the eye as you skimmed your lips against his. He pecked the corner of your mouth before dipping both of his fingers into your tight entrance, curling them up as he went right in with a single rub at your g-spot.

“Like that?” He asked as he began pumping them in and out of you slowly, making sure to graze his fingertips over the spot inside of you. You nodded in approval of his actions. His thumb started making clockwise circles around your bundle of nerves, causing you to arch into him. You loved that he’d so quickly figured out how to make you feel so good. His lips were kissing gently at your heated skin, your body starting to shine with sweat at the close proximity of your hot bodies.

Your hands smoothed down his chest, fingernails scratching gently at his dark skin which caused him to let out a little moan. Your fingers came to the waistband of his sweatpants. You slid your hands into his pants, fingers peeking into them smoothing over his round butt as you pushed them off of him.

His fingers were still pumping in you when his thumb pressed at your clit and caused you to dig your fingernails into his ass and your mouth to fall open. His forehead was leaning against yours, his nose bumping into yours as you tilted your head back. He watched as your brows furrowed and your throat was left exposed for him to mark up, which he took the opportunity to do so.

Calum’s plump lips latched onto your neck, doing a combination of sucking lovebites and skimming his teeth over the sensitive skin. You sighed pleasurably and squeezed at his bottom urging him to release a groan of satisfaction at your actions.

After a few more minutes of him fingering you, he could feel you clenching around his fingers and he wanted more than anything to hear what sounds you would make as you came,  feel how your body would shake against his as you splattered juices on his fingers. His fingers were dripping with your arousal and he could only imagine how sweet you tasted. He’d make you come as many times as he could that night because he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to do it again.

“Come on, darling. I can feel you clenching ‘round my fingers.” He growled into your ear, his lips kissing underneath it before biting the thin skin gently. You whimpered and nodded, your hips squirming. It was almost torture the way you moved so actively against him, your hips pushing up into his hand but also creating a bit of friction against his achingly hard cock. “Oh, I wanna see your face as you cum, baby. You’re so fucking gorgeous, I can’t get enough of you.” He told you.

You moaned repeatedly, the sounds bouncing off the walls and the hardwood floors in his apartment, making it louder enough to hear from outside the front door to those walking by. “Oh my god. I’m right there.” You breathed out, your eyes squeezed shut.

“Cum for me. Cum all over my fingers.”

With that, you released all over his digits, your body trembling and your toes curling as you came. Your release splattered against his fingers as he rubbed harshly at your g-spot and your throbbing bundle of nerves. You let out a mixture of curses and moans as you said his name over and over again like a prayer.

He helped you ride out your orgasm, trying to milk everything out of you and give you one of the best climaxes you’ve ever had. You’re not even gonna lie, Calum making you come with just his three of fingers was like being on cloud nine, you were more than excited to see what he could do with other things.

As your high settled, he pulled his fingers out of you gently just as you opened your eyes. He moved from you, sitting back on his knees, his sweatpants pulled low but not low enough to expose his lower half. Your eyes trailed all over his torso, noting every inch of him from the hair around his belly button that led into his sweatpants to the tattoos on his collarbone. You were looking up at him, making a piercing eye contact as he put his fingers, covered in you, in his mouth, sucking them clean. You suppressed the shiver of arousal that his actions wanted to send through you.

He smirked as he finished licking at his fingers, knowing that it had affected you even if you didn’t physically show him it did. Your breathing was uneven as you got on your shaky knees to level with him. Your fingers danced down his body, finally pushing off his sweats enough to show you his hard cock. It slapped against his stomach with a soft smack as he sighed, grateful for the release.

He moved to take them off fully, leaving them on the armrest of the sofa. You were both fully exposed to each other, nothing left between you two. You looked down at his erection, seeing a bead of pre-cum leaking from the slit in the swollen head of his dick. You wrapped your fingers around him, beginning to pump his member very slowly, teasing him.

You looked at him as you heard him gasp, immediately looking up to see his lips parted and his eyebrows scrunched up with a wrinkle between them. He placed his hand on your hip before he dipped his lips down to kiss you again. Your hand came off of him as he pushed you back down to how you were before, but you wanted to be on top and have a little control and that’s why you flipped him.

Unfortunately, you forgot that you were on the couch and it wasn’t big enough for you to flip over. You two landed on the floor, you on top of him as you landed on the carpet that he had in the living room. You were going to laugh at your mistake but didn’t as you heard him groan underneath you.

“Oh, Cal, I’m so sorry.” You apologized as you looked up at him, his eyes squeezed shut.

He shook his head and opened his eyes to look at you. “It’s all good, baby.” He said to you with a strained voice. He saw your soft smile as your tried to not laugh at the incident, which only made him laugh a little. His fingers rubbed up and down your spine, before splaying across your back to hold you close as he sat up. He kissed your chin, making you giggle when he nuzzled his face into your neck, his stubble tickling your skin.

Your arms wrapped around his shoulders as you smiled at the playfulness of your situation. His chest was pressed against yours when you looked down at him, nuzzling your nose against his lovingly. One of his palms came up to cup your face, his thumb stroking over your cupid’s bow. The mood shifted around you and Calum again as it got quiet and all that was heard was your uneven breathing.

“What do you want, gorgeous?” He whispered as you leaned your cheek into his touch, your eyes closing at the comfort of him holding you so gently. You placed a kiss to the heel of his palm and looked at him with those eyes of yours that took the very oxygen out of his lungs.

“You. All of you.” You mumbled, tilting your head into his touch as you looked at him. Your hand came to the side of his neck, your finger stroking over the chain of his necklace.

“Then you have all of me.” He said lowly.

He went to grab his pants to pull out his pocket and grab his wallet since there was always a spare condom in there, but he realized he’d left his wallet in the bedroom. “I have to go get a condom.” He told you.

You shook your head and started kissing his cheek and jaw. His hands were on your thighs as he was confused by your actions. “It’s okay. I’m on birth control and I’m clean. What about you?”

“I just got tested, I’m clean.” He explained. You nodded and raised yourself up on your knees as Calum pumped himself a couple times before rubbing his tip through your folds. He looked at you for another sign of approval as he placed his cock at your entrance. “You’re sure about this, Y/N?” He asked, but you knew that he meant about everything; about him, about what could potentially ruin your wonderful friendship, what could get you both in trouble with Marie and Ashton.

But, you didn’t care.

All you wanted was Calum Hood, in any and every way you could get him.

“All I want is you, baby.” That was the first time all night you’d called him something other than his name and it made something snap in him as he realized how serious you were about this. He nodded as you sunk down on him, his hands coming to your hips as he was finally all the way inside of you. You both let out satisfied sounds as you pushed him back onto the floor, Calum letting you take the reins.

You began rolling your hips towards him, bouncing on him as you sped up your actions. His hands were on your hips, squeezing tightly at the feel of your warm pussy wrapped so tightly around him. To steady yourself, you placed your hands on his soft stomach, grinding down into him as he laid on the carpet.

He couldn’t stop watching you as your tits bounced in front of him. Your eyes were looking down at him, watching as he bit his lip at the sight of you above him. His fingers tightened around you, his nails digging into your skin as you grinded a bit harder into him, rubbing your clit at his pubic bone.

“Fuck.” He groaned out when you tightened your walls around him. With every movement you made coming down on his cock, he prodded that sweet spot inside of you, pushing against it repeatedly. Your head fell back and your nails dug into his chest, scratching roughly down his chest, making him moan loudly; louder than you’d heard all night. After that, you quickly caught on to the pain kink he seemed to have and planned on taking full advantage of it throughout the night.

He flattened his feet on the ground so he could begin thrusting his hips up meet you halfway and maximize the force of your movements. He sat up and used his right hand to grab a fistful of your hair and pull your head back gently, while his other arm circled around your waist. You hooked your arms underneath his, holding him close as your hands rested on his shoulder blades.

Your leaned your cheek against his shoulder, beginning to kiss his soft skin gently while you moved sloppily with each other. You could feel him do the same to your bare shoulder, though his kisses quickly turned into sucks so he could leave hickeys on you. You knew that the next time you looked in the mirror at your naked body, you’d be covered in all kinds of bruises that came from just this night. With the way he gripped your hips so mean, you knew that there’d be finger-shaped bruises, you knew that you’d have various love bites scattered over your body and the thought of having a reminder of this night thrilled you.

“Feel good, darling?” He asked in between his kisses on your sweaty skin.

You nodded slowly as pleasure shot through you at a million miles per hour. “Your cock feels amazing. Stretches me so good, fills me up unlike any other.” Pulling back, you grabbed one of his hands and brought it to exactly below your belly button. “I feel you right here, baby.” You told him as his fingertips sat where you could feel his tip grazing inside of you with every thrust he made.

He smirked and gripped your hips again, tighter than before as he held you close to him. His thrusts had stopped and he was just inside of you, twitching as he held you down on his cock. You whimpered and tried moving, but he wouldn’t let you. “That didn’t mean you could stop, Calum.” You scoffed.

Calum started moving thrusting up into you quickly, leaving you speechless as he moved so fast. You moaned loudly, realizing what his plan was. Tease you just a little bit then give it his all. You hugged him again, nose pressing into his shoulder as you pressed your lips to his sticky-with-sweat skin. He fell in love with the way you held him so close and the way your hard nipples were pressing against his chest. It was something that was so simple, but something that felt so wonderful.

“Please, don’t stop, Calum.” You begged him, whimpering and moaning with every thrust he made. Your sounds were endless, but Calum loved it. In the weeks leading up to this, he thought of the sounds you’d make as he fucked you into the sheets or as you moved against him like you were now, but this was way better than anything he could’ve ever dreamed up. The sounds leaving both yours and his mouths combined with the slapping of damp skin, the noises bouncing off the walls.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, gorgeous. Your pussy feels like heaven, so nice and warm. Fits me so perfectly.” He told you, bringing his hand to rub at your clit. You shuddered as his fingers touched the bundle of nerves that aches so good. “All mine, Y/N. You’re all mine.”

You hummed approvingly and sucked hickeys on his neck. You skimmed your teeth gently over his skin, causing him to shiver against you. You tangled your fingers in his hair, yanking his head back so he could look you in the eyes. “And you’re mine, got it?” You asked him, your voice raspy from all the sounds you’d been making. Calum nodded with a whine and it set you on fire to hear the sound. “Only I can have you like this, can touch you like this.”

“Whatever you want, love. I’m all yours.” He told you breathlessly. His lips crashed to yours as his hips began to stutter, the kiss a mess of tongue and clanking teeth. He kept bouncing your body on him as you swallowed each other’s moans and groans. Your teeth bit down on his bottom lip roughly as you felt the coil in your stomach burn as it tightened. The pain of your teeth digging into his swollen lip encouraged him to rub harder at your clit and move faster inside of your pussy.

You let go of his lip as you felt another release approach you. With your arms wounding around his shoulders again, you dug your teeth into his shoulder, surely leaving teeth marks. Your nails scratched relentlessly at his back, long welts being left in your place. Calum was so turned on as all the wonderful pain of you biting and scratching him mixed with the pleasure he got from moving in and out of you.

Your clenches around him became more frequent and your hips started stuttering as you moved faster with him. You pressed yourself as close as possible to him. “I’m there, baby. I want you to cum with me.” He whispered in your ear as your legs shook. “Wanna feel you cum again. All over my cock this time. Let go.”

Once again, his words sent you over the edge and you were cumming over his member. The feeling of your warm juices around him set him off as the head of his cock twitched and he released strings of cum inside you. His hips were shaking as he thrusted up into you unevenly.

“Calum, oh my god!” You cried out with pleasure filling you like it never had before. You were burying your face in his neck as you held him tighter. “Oh, fuck!”

Calum grunted and was breathing heavily in between his groans. His abs were clenching as he released, his eyes squeezed shut as dug his fingers into your hips. He didn’t stop saying your name as he came inside you, his head spinning as he had the best orgasm he’d ever had. Never in his twenty-nine years, had he ever found a woman that made him physically and emotionally feel the way you made him feel.

He knew as he looked up at you in your post-sex glory, still recovering from your orgasm that you were it. You were the one he’d always unknowingly wanted. The one he never knew he was looking forward to falling in love with. But here you were, your eyes still screwed shut as you came down from your high.

You rolled off of him, your legs shaky as you fell onto the floor next to him. Your arm rested over your eyes as you tried to catch your breath. Calum looked over at you as he laid back then looked back at the ceiling. He wondered what was going through your head, what you were thinking. Did you mean what you said when you told him he was yours? Or was that something you just said in the moment of great sex? Did you want to even be with him? Was this whole thing a mistake?

You peeked an eye open and saw him with a thoughtful expression. You could see the wheels turning in his head as he laid next to you. “What’re you thinking, Cal?” You asked softly, pulling him out of his daze.

He sighed and sat up, bending his legs to put his feet flat on the floor. He rested his elbows on his knees like earlier as he laced his fingers together and brought them up to rub his thumb over his lips. With his back to you, you could see the scratches you left on his tan skin, the ones that looked painful. The hickeys you marked him up with were on his shoulders and the side of his neck.

You sat up with him and brought your hand up to his shoulder, rubbing his hot skin. “Hey, talk to me.” You leaned against him, kissing his skin softly.

“Why? So you can just get up and leave?” He asked bitterly. You furrowed your eyebrows, wondering where the sweet and caring man from earlier had gone. You should’ve known in all honesty. He had a habit of very quickly switching emotions up in the blink of an eye when something was worrying him. “Because if so, you can just go.”

He went to get up but you wrapped your hand around his left bicep to keep him from going anywhere. “You really think I’d do that to you? Because I promise I’m not going anywhere.” You said quietly, hoping he’d understand that you really did want to be here with him. You hoped that he’d understand what he meant to you and why you were really here with him.

“Why not? It was just sex, right?” He shrugged, shaking his head cynically. “Just me teaching you fucking a lesson?”

“What is your problem?” You exclaimed, frustrated that he wasn’t picking up what you were trying to say without saying it because he was so focused on himself. “God, Calum! Do you not understand that I’m trying to tell you I had feelings for you?” You frowned, looking at the man in front of you.

Calum’s anger melted away and his face visibly softened. “You what?” He mumbled.

With a soft chuckle, you cupped his cheek. You tilted your head to the side as you looked at him, tenderness swimming in your kind eyes. “This wasn’t just sex for me. I wouldn’t do that to you, not when I feel the way I do about you.”

The corner of his mouth lifted up in a gentle grin, his eyes lighting up with adoration and hope as he looked at you. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I shouldn’t have yelled at you or just assumed.” He grabbed your hand brought to his lips, kissing the back of it apologetically.

He laid back after grabbing a blanket off the sofa, throwing it on you and then he pulled you to lay on him. Your front was pressed to his side as you rested your hands over his chest, your cheek laying against your hands. He wrapped an arm around your waist, his hand rubbing up and down your back, fingers tracing circles around your soft skin.

You looked up at him fondly, happy that everything had turned around for the better. He tightened his arm around you, moving forward a bit to place short and sweet kisses on your lips. “Stay with me?”

“All night?”

“As long as you want, baby.” He smiled and pressed his lips to your forehead gently, your eyes closing in contentment. He ran his fingers up and down your spine, pulling you to sleep before he spoke up again. “Just promise me that this wasn’t a one time thing?”

You smiled and opened your eyes to look up at the man before you. “Well, it’s not just a one time thing. I’d like to see what you and I could turn into.” You told him.

Calum bit his lip to suppress his beaming face, but had a hard time doing so as you made him so happy. Being here with you, holding you and kissing you made him so happy. “I would, too.”

After a few minutes of silence, he chuckled and shook his head. You laughed at the man, wondering what was going on in his head. “What’re you laughin’ at, baby?”

“Ashton and Marie actually said something to me about us” He said, confusing you with what he meant, but you automatically had a feeling that it wasn’t a great conversation.

You rolled your eyes and huffed. “What’d they say?”

“Well, Ashton basically warned me about staying away from you because they think that I’m no good for you.” He said mockingly in his best Ashton voice. You chuckled and shook your head, kissing his pectoral.

“Fucking Ashton. I swear, he can’t keep his nose out of anything.” You said. “But I think they’re wrong. I think you’d be great for me. You already are.”

“So basically, fuck Ashton and Marie, and start sleeping together anyway?”

“Pretty much.” You shrugged and kissed his pectoral, scratching gently at his skin.

Calum tapped your shoulder, causing you to look up at him. “I can take you on dates, right?”

“Yes, of course.” You laughed, kissing his jawline. You put out your pinky and held it out for him. “We don’t tell anyone though, got it?”

Calum hooked his pinky with yours, sealing your promise. “Got it.” He nodded in agreement. He leaned in and kissed your lips. You pulled him on top of you and deepened the kiss. He grinded his hardening length against you and smirked when you hissed, still sensitive. “Wanna go again?”

You smiled smugly and nodded before wrapping your legs around his waist. “Sure you can keep up?” You asked, rolling your wet core into him.  

“Without a doubt.”

@biggestslutforcalum @moonlightgodcalum @cade-james @mycollectionofnuts @auburnish @lukesflaredpants

[turning-the-kaleidoscope]

“Thaw” (Chapter 3/3)

It was supposed to be a fun afternoon.

Neither of them could’ve expected it to end up like this.

Written for @mookybear12404‘s MP100 Sims!AU, which is wholesome in all kinds of ways but almost turned into a complete disaster with the latest installment. Stay away from precarious railings near the ocean, kids! 

[Part 1] [Part 2] 

He’s warm.

Shigeo cracks open his eyes slowly, and the room comes into view. Everything’s fuzzy, and his head feels like someone’d driven a nail into it with a hammer and left it there, but he’s awake, lying back on a couch, bundled in at least five blankets, with the warm crackle of a fireplace by his head behind him.

It doesn’t sink in at first. He doesn’t remember where he is or what led to him being here, but the splitting headache, coupled with the gentle crackle of the fire and the blankets wrapped around him, almost sends him right back into sleep.

Only, that’s precisely when everything sinks in.

He shoots upright, heart in his throat, trying to detangle himself from the blankets. Reigen, Reigen’s in here somewhere, he has to find him—

“Hey, hey! Hold it, son, hold it—”

Hands land on his shoulders and try shoving him back, but he fights against it, too scared to go unanswered.

“R—M-My dad, where…”

“Your dad’s fine, I promise,” the woman answers, eyes carrying a mixture of concern and annoyance. She runs a hand over her face and pinches the bridge of her nose, shaking her head. “Jeez, he did the same damn thing a second ago—nearly split his head open on the dresser, I swear—”

“W-Wait, h—” Shigeo feels lightheaded again, but for a different reason. “You mean he’s—he’s really okay? He’s okay?”

She smiles this time, releasing his shoulders and sitting by him on the couch. “Of course he is. He came to real quick once I dumped him in the bathwater. You’re lucky you found us when you did—”

“C-Can I see him?” he blurts, without thinking, and realizes a second later just how sharp his tone had been. “I—I’m sorry, I-I didn’t—”

“It’s alright, don’t worry, I ain’t mad,” she assures him with a soft smile. “Can’t imagine how scared you were. You’re a pretty tough kid, y’know It was really brave of you to stick it out like that. Wellp. Anyways.”

She pats him on the shoulder, then hops to her feet and waves a hand at him.

“C’mon, if you think you’re alright to walk, I can take you to him.” At this, she chuckles and shakes her head. “Or else he’ll probably tear apart the place looking for ya.”

Shigeo tosses the remaining blankets off of him and gets his feet underneath him. The dizzy spell doesn’t last very long this time, and even if it had, it’s not like it would stop him. The woman tilts her head in the direction of a hall across the room, and when she turns and starts that way, Shigeo makes to follow.

Then he notices Reigen’s jacket—the one he’d let Shigeo borrow—draped over the back of a chair in front of the fireplace.

After a slight hesitation, Shigeo retraces his steps and snatches it up. It’s completely dry now, dry and warm, and as soon as he has it tucked close to his chest, he spins on his heel and jogs after the woman again.

“Y’know, I never did get your name,” she says just as he catches up. “Your dad called you ‘Shige’, s’that right?”

“I-It’s Shigeo, actually,” he says shakily. He can’t tell if the use of the nickname was intentional or just a mishear on her part, but either way, the anticipation is making his head spin again. “What’s your name?”

“Name’s Akito.”

“Th-Thank you for saving us, Akito-san.”

“Don’t sweat it, son, don’t sweat it.” They come to a closed door, and she sets her hand on the knob and pauses, turning back to him. “Kaito went to get some tea started, I’ll have him bring some back to you two. Sound good?”

Shigeo nods, fiddling with the hem of his shirt, resisting the urge to bounce. Akito opens the door, and after a small, shy look to her and seeing her affirming nod, Shigeo shuffles inwards. The door clicks shut behind him.

It’s some kind of study, by the looks of it, with lots of bookshelves and even a grand piano in the corner. The windows have curtains over them, and there’s a furnace in here, which gives off not only heat, but a warm, orange-yellow light, too. It’s a nice looking room, but that isn’t really what Shigeo is concerned with right now.

There’s a couch by one of the bookshelves, about twice as big as the couch back at their apartment, and Reigen is asleep on it, covered in several blankets, wearing a long-sleeved shirt that Shigeo has never seen before.

Shigeo swallows hard, suddenly very aware of everything that’d happened, everything that led up to this point, everything he’d said and done that brought them here. He feels small. Scared, even. He clutches the jacket closer to his chest, but it does nothing to comfort him. If anything, it just makes him feel worse.

He shuffles over to the couch, hesitates longer than he should’ve, and pokes Reigen’s shoulder.

The touch was light, too light, but the response is immediate. Reigen’s eyes snap open, land on Shigeo, widen. Shigeo gulps and, before he knows what he’s doing;

“I-I’m sorry, th-this is my fault, I-I shouldn’t’ve asked about the sunset or the lighthouse or the—h-here, here’s your jacket back, I-I’m—”

Reigen yanks him into his arms. Shigeo yelps, not expecting it, and the jacket slips from his grip and lies in a heap on the floor, but Reigen doesn’t seem to care.

“Oh, god—” Reigen sounds breathless, like he’d just run a long time. Or is close to crying. “I’m glad you’re okay, Shigeo, I’m just so glad you’re okay—”

Shigeo takes a moment, contemplates this. “Y-You… you aren’t upset?”

“Of course I’m not, I couldn’t be, oh god, Shige, I’m so sorry, oh my god I’m sorry, I’m sorry...”

He’s… warm.

This probably should’ve been the first thing Shigeo noticed, but now, as Reigen goes on babbling, he has the chance to breathe. To feel Reigen’s arms around him, his heartbeat close to his ear.

He’s… really okay.

He really is okay.

The tears that have been steadily gathering ever since the moment Reigen fell finally reach a breaking point, and this confirmation is the defining crack in the bottle. Before Shigeo realizes what’s happening, he’s suffocating on his tears and wrapping his arms around Reigen as tightly as he can.

“I-I th-thought you—” he chokes out, voice a broken mess. “I-I—I d-didn’t know if you—I-I thought—”

Reigen drags in a long, shaky breath and holds him closer, tighter. “I know, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—you must’ve been so scared, I—I’m sorry, Shige—I’m okay now, you’re okay, it’s okay—”

Reigen holds him tighter, and Shigeo cries until he can’t cry anymore.

Akito and Kaito are relieved to see the two of them back on their feet. Shigeo is unsteady and Arataka is even unsteadier, but now that the weight of impending doom and death has been raised from their shoulders, they find their steps light. And that’s not just because of how lightheaded they are.

“You’re free to stay another night or two if you want,” Akito offers the following afternoon, after they slept the night in the study at hers and Kaito’s home. “It might do you some good to recuperate s’more before hitting the road again.”

“I think we’re alright,” Arataka says, “but thank you. It isn’t a long drive from here, we should be alright. I really can’t thank you enough for everything.”

Akito waves her hand and shakes her head along with it. “Nah, you two are fine. I’m glad we were able to help, you’re both very lucky.”

Arataka thanks her again, though, and so does Shigeo, and neither one of them stop until they give their final farewells and head up the shore back towards the car. They make a quick stop by the lighthouse, just so Arataka can retrieve his phone (which they’d both completely forgotten about, when it’d skidded out of Arataka’s hold), but then they’re in the car and homeward bound.

The ride is quiet. Shigeo keeps his eyes glued to the road, but Arataka still catches him glancing his way every so often. Shigeo always looks away before he has the chance to ask what’s wrong, but he knows better than to push it after all that’d happened. It’s been a long past couple of days; he’ll definitely be calling into Shigeo’s school for a sick day tomorrow because god knows he isn’t going to be ready for that.

“Do you wanna stop by and get ramen or something on the way home?” Arataka asks once the silence has stretched beyond its welcome. “It doesn’t have to be ramen, just whatever you feel like eating.”

Shigeo is quiet for a while. He fiddles with the strap of his seatbelt.

“C… Can we just go home, m-maybe?”

That’s unusual, but Arataka gets it. He doesn’t feel much like a restaurant, either.

“Alright, sounds good to me,” he says. “Would you mind me stopping by somewhere and getting some takeout, though? I really don’t feel like cooking right now.”

(That, and cooking has never been his forte, and it just so happened that whenever he concocted something actually worth being happy with, the accursed cat either knocked it off the table or ate it himself.)

Shigeo pauses a moment before nodding, and Arataka takes a side-street down to the nearest restaurant—which just so happens to be a small ramen shop, though not one they’ve frequented often. Or, ever.

Arataka cuts the engine, stuffs the keys into the pocket of his jacket. Shigeo unbuckles himself, and once they’re both out of the car, they head inside. Shigeo’s hand slips into his and Arataka squeezes his fingers.

The shop isn’t exactly busy; there’s no line when they step through the door; but the tables are filled and there’s a waiting bench already. Arataka watches Shigeo’s posture, and when he sees no change, they head to the counter and Arataka orders for the both of them.

“Is the wait long?” he asks once he’s placed and payed, stuffing his wallet into his pocket.

The man behind the counter shakes his head. “No, no, we should have it ready for you two in maybeeee… ten minutes, tops, if you’re alright to wait a bit.”

“Alright, thank you. C’mon, Shige.”

There aren’t any benches, so Arataka leans against a wall out of the way, and Shigeo leans in close to his side. Shigeo has never been particularly against physical contact, but he’s never the one to initiate it, and the fact that he is now leaves a pang in Arataka’s heart that has no right being there. He brings an arm around Shigeo and tugs him closer, and Shigeo responds by wrapping his arms around his waist and holding tightly.

Arataka’s name is called for the order shortly thereafter, and they’re set for home, for real this time.

“A-Are you sure you’re okay with me eating on the couch?”

“Yep!” Arataka says, popping the cap off his cup of ramen and dumping it into a bowl. Their jackets, scarves and gloves are in a sorry heap by the door, and the two of them are in the kitchen, dishing up their takeout. Arataka snags a pair of chopsticks, takes his bowl, and starts into the living room. “C’mon, Shige.”

Shigeo sets aside his own empty takeout cup, and Arataka hears his careful footsteps behind him. “W-What happens if it gets spilled?”

“Then we’ll clean it up!”

“A-Are you s—”

“Absolutely positive, kiddo.”

Arataka is already out the couch, and he sets his bowl and chopsticks down on the coffee table while he gets situated. Shigeo appears through the doorway moments later, settling his own bowl down beside Arataka’s and taking a seat with him on the couch. Arataka reaches behind them, grabs the quilt draped over the back, and swings it around the two of them in one fluid motion.

“There,” Arataka says, offering him a smile. “Nice and warm, yeah?”

Shigeo blinks at him, and he nods, but he doesn’t smile. He does, however, tuck himself closer against Arataka’s side, and Arataka’s smile grows softer, more genuine, as he pulls the blanket further around his shoulders.

“You doing okay?”

He feels Shigeo nod against his side.

“It’s alright if you aren’t, kiddo.”

“No, I’m okay,” Shigeo says, very quietly. “I’m—I’m okay.”

Arataka isn’t convinced, but he doesn’t push it.

Dimple appears just as they start eating, which, of course he does, but it still scares the crap out of Arataka and he almost flails himself right into his bowl of ramen. Shigeo, unfazed, offers Dimple a noodle (that he does not deserve, and Arataka makes this very clear, though Shigeo’s response is to give him another noodle and he gives up immediately).

“R-Reigen?”

He’s poked.

“Reigen?”

He’s poked again. He feels it a little more this time.

“Reigen are you awake?”

He’s poked one more time.

“R… Reigen?”

He’s shaken this time, just barely enough to pull him from his slumber. Moonlight creeps through the blinds, creating stripes across his bed and his face. He blinks and rubs at his eyes for a moment or two, propping himself up on his elbow. Shigeo’s face, only half-illuminated by moonlight, swims into view.

“Sorry, I’m up, I’m up,” Arataka says, shaking his head to chase away the remaining drowsiness. “What’s the matter, buddy?”

“T-The…” Shigeo fiddles with the hem of his shirt, eyes on the floor. “Th-The ghosts are trying to steal my slippers again.”

“Are they, now?”

Shigeo nods, still fiddling, still rocking from his heels to his toes. Arataka is much more awake than before, and it isn’t long before he’s smiling gently and scooting over.

“C’mon, kiddo.”

Shigeo doesn’t wait a second longer. He practically leaps into the bed, diving under the covers like a kid afraid of the dark, curling close to Arataka’s side.

“Oh my god, you're freezing,” he gasps, resisting the instinct to pull away. “What, were you standing out in the hall this whole time?”

Shigeo’s voice is small. “M-Maybe.”

That wasn't the answer he was expecting. He'd meant it as a joke. With a sigh, he pats the blankets around them both, then brings his arms around Shigeo and pulls him closer. Shigeo doesn’t object.

“... Hey, Shigeo…”

“Mm…?”

“You don’t have to make up stories to justify staying with me, you know. You can come to me for anything at all, no matter how silly or stupid you may think it is.”

Shigeo turns his face against his chest and keeps it buried there. “B-But it is silly.”

“It isn’t silly to me, I promise.”

Shigeo doesn’t say anything for a while, and Arataka draws a long breath and lets it out slowly.

“I’m not gonna make you tell me, Shige. It’s okay. And it’s also okay to wanna stay with me. You don’t need to find some kind of explanation. I don’t need one.”

“Are… r-really?”

“Yeah, I promise. You can tell me anything you wanna tell me, no matter how silly or serious it is, but more than anything else, I wanna be here for you whenever you need me. You don’t have to explain yourself.”

Admittedly, he already knows why Shigeo wanted to stay with him tonight. And he gets the feeling that Shigeo knows he knows. But regardless, it doesn’t change the weight of his words, and it doesn’t change Shigeo’s nod.

“Th-Thank you.”

Arataka smiles and rests his chin atop Shigeo’s head, shutting his eyes. “You’re welcome. Don’t be afraid to wake me up if you need something.”

Shigeo nods again, and Arataka closes his eyes. A silence befalls them, broken only by their breathing, and Arataka is this close to falling asleep when there’s this horrible, grating sound by the foot of the bed.

It really is the worst thing he’s ever heard.

And he’s heard it before.

“Aww,” Shigeo says, like it’s actually cute, “Dimple feels left out.”

“Good.”

“Reigen that’s mean.”

“He literally pees in the bed, that’s mean, too.”

“He’s trying his best.”

“Okay, but—”

There’s that godforsaken meow again. This time, Arataka heaves a long, heavy sigh and runs a hand over his face.

“Okay, okay fine, fine, he can sleep with us, but just this on—”

Shigeo squeezes him around the waist, which both cuts off his words and his airway for a moment, but then he lets go and pats the bed instead. “C’mon, Dimple, you can come up here!” A weight dips the bed and Arataka sighs again, heavier this time.

It doesn’t take long for Dimple to get settled down at the foot of the bed, and once a calm has befallen the room once more, Arataka lets himself relax. If it makes Shigeo happy, well. He really can’t mind too much.

“... Hey, um… Reigen?”

“Yeah?”

“Would you, um… would you mind if I called you dad?”

Ah.

Ah.

… ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh gOD—

He pushes back the almost irresistible urge to crush Shigeo in a bearhug and instead settles for just, pulling him closer. His heart is soaring. “Of course you can, Shige, of course you can,” Arataka says, unable to keep the giddiness from his tone. “Just… whatever you want to call me.”

“Okay. Thank you.” Shigeo would seem nonchalant, if Arataka hadn’t known him better. If Arataka hadn’t known him well enough to catch every slight subtlety in his tone, the small but very real joy behind it. “Th… Thank you. Goodnight.”

“‘Night, Shige.”

“I… love you, Reig—Dad.”

Oh his heart is skyborne he may as well be in the stratosphere—

He can’t help the giddy laugh, the goofy smile, the kiss he presses against Shigeo’s forehead, and he murmurs, “I love you too, kiddo.”

Shigeo hugs him even tighter and Arataka returns the gesture wholeheartedly.

He doesn’t sleep until he’s heard Shigeo’s breathing even out and felt his shoulders relax. Only then, when he’s sure Shigeo is okay, does he allow sleep to overcome him, too.

[k8ie-h0lt]

Somehow it worked

Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender Pairing: Keith/ Lance Summary: At first Lance didn't think it could have been possible for them to get along. But somehow they did. A/N: Made for the Tears of Neptune Exchange @vldlanceprotectionsquad  as well, for @abcleverun I hope you like it. Prompt: Ships: Klance + Self love Word Count: 1,743 Or read on: ao3

So long story short, Lance and Keith went from not liking each other to tolerating the fact that they had to interact with each other as they had mutual friends. To well, now in this gray area where they could laugh and just hang out. It had been nice. Very chill in some occasions. But for Lance. Well, he still didn’t know where to go from there.

He felt as if he were drowning.  

Not that he knew as to why he thought that, it just became a thing. They talked. Had sat next to each other but there had been something there. A barrier? Maybe a wall. He didn’t know how to describe it. Only that he was lost.

Did he ever find the answer? No. Not exactly. But he did figure that somewhere along the way when he was friends with Keith, they noticed the shift there. Where they could have a peaceful moment and something in the air would just feel warm and soft. Like the sweaters his grandma made him.

Or how a bottle would be placed on the table and the whole gang would just start up a game. His limbs would relax, his eyes would roam until he would catch Keith’s. They wouldn’t say anything about it. But he knew that Keith wanted something.  

.

The beach had become a place where Lance and Keith went to. Why exactly there? Well, he didn’t know the complete answer. He knew that Keith was that kind of guy that liked nature and privacy. While Lance had grown up close to the ocean that he found himself comfortable with the idea of going back there as he had spent many summers there during his childhood.

It had become a place just for them, and it had in turn offered a zone where they often told each other their secrets.

Some were harmless. Others they had made Lance see why his heart fluttered like the waves in the ocean. Always crashing, always cycling back to the earth. Just like how Lance couldn’t go a day without having Keith close by. They just stayed like that.  

It had been a peaceful transition if he had to be honest. Watching the sky changing colors as time went by. With Keith’s body heat close to his and Lance seeing the world hum in silence. He could get used to it. Maybe he had been starting to when Keith kept calling for him to meet him by the beach where their spot would be secluded enough.  

Where the world was quiet enough, and they had that extra layer of protection to seek each other without judgment. He knew it could had been dangerous to linger in that kind of approach, but when Keith never scorned him, he had felt so relieved. As if he had been accepting each part, he had been showing to him. Few people ever saw the sides that he showed him. It had been terrifying.  

But it had been also liberating too when Keith had been patient and astute to let him be himself. As if he were allowed to be imperfect.  

.

“Will you ever stop that?”

“Stop what?”

Keith would look at him, and Lance swore he felt the insides of his body turn over when he finally elaborated. “Will you ever stop devaluing yourself?”

Lance wished he knew the answer to it or had been able to deflect it. But he couldn't because of how his heart had drained itself from blood, and how it had banged itself against his chest in the same way a rain storm raged on. Luckily there had been no water works that day. But Keith’s words, they had lingered. For a lot longer than he wished they had.  

It gave way to him constantly thinking about how he viewed his life.

How sometimes, he felt like he was a jellyfish. Invisible to most, soft all around but not defenseless. He could handle his own obstacles, could bring home the bacon just fine. Keith, had known about that. Had seen Lance work hard to get where he was. But Lance wished that Keith would just accept his help too.

They had known each other for a while now. Had begun to get closer. But that didn’t mean that Keith let Lance in. Not like he let anyone else if they weren’t Shiro.  

He understood.  

He really did. (But he couldn’t help but sigh dejectedly.)  

.

Once he found the time to go back to the beach, he remembered the silly dreams when he had been younger when he wanted to be a merman.

It had been one of the oldest memories that he could recall perfectly. With his tiny forearms being taped with plastic fins, alongside with flippers on as he pretended to be a merman with his siblings. He even dressed up as one for Halloween a couple years in a row. Funny enough that had been the costume that he wore when he first met Keith. And it had also been what started their very long history together.

Not that he thought about it a lot. It just came up like how other memories did when somebody wanted to replay old ones. It had been a normal reflex. He wasn’t being weird.  

They had started talking more. Slower, practically cautious now if Lance had to think about it. By the time that they found a pace that worked it had gone back and forth like walking in a swamp during summer.  

It could have been worse. Could had made them lose all connection all together. But the great thing about them was that they were both stubborn people.

They both made the efforts to see each other, to understand that they were both going in different directions in life but were still committed into being in each other’s lives. And that... that had been enough for him.

.

Normally when people spoke about ice or in general winter, they didn’t always give it a positive review.

In Lance’s opinion that had been terrible because ice was a beautiful concept. A lovely invention that nature created. It had been how he got Keith to ice skate with him when the lake near his grandma’s house froze.  

It had been why their time together was spinning into a warmer direction. Yeah, winter could be a pain to get to work and school, but when he saw Keith’s smiling face when the snow dropped, he could deal with the thousands of sweaters he would have to wear throughout the whole season.  

Because, Keith’s smile had been (and maybe had always been) everything to him.

.

Keith had been the first to kiss him.  

It had been during a late night where the ocean waves were slowing down, and he had been able to taste the salt water from Keith’s lips. The sand in between his toes hadn’t been that comfortable, but when it happened, the fact remained that they both knew what they had been desperately trying to figure out.  And the kiss had said it. Had made Lance lean closer, to practically now clutching the front of Keith’s shirt as he tried his best to memorize the sensation of his heart bursting from happiness.

It had been gratifying to have his feelings finally have a name for it after so long of wondering what had been plaguing him. To have an unexpected epiphany grab onto him; he had loved its sudden entrance into his life.  

Because wasn’t that how life liked to play? Being so unpredictable, but oh so, wonderful? He never wanted the night to end.

And it never technically ended since then. No matter what happened, he always smelt the ocean when Keith was by him, he could remember how tight Keith held on to him when they ice skated, or how wonderful it had felt like the impression of water running down his skin on hot summer days when Keith kissed him.

It had been a completely blissful awakening for him (and he was sure Keith thought so too when he smiled at him).  

.

When he got cornered by the mist that morning, he saw something very clearly. Between all the ups and downs, Keith had often been a center for him. In his own ways he known how to talk to Lance. Had made him feel like he could walk forward to any path because he had him.  

In any form, in any time, they just worked. They were Keith and Lance. Two people that despite how they first met, they had found a way to live side by side. The mist wasn’t scary to him anymore. Just like how the ocean had never scared Lance.  

It had been funny how the person that Lance first didn’t like had also become the very person that helped him overcome his own insecurities. To learn how to love himself. It reminded him of the time when he first learned how to swim. The water from the lake didn’t compare to the ocean. But in the beginning when he had a whole lake to learn to navigate, he remembered what his older siblings taught him. He took it easy, with one arm stretching out, then a leg pushing him forward.

It had been a very tedious routine, but with Keith, it had become a routine into stopping his negative thoughts. Obviously there still had been some bad days, when Lance had been learning. And it helped that he had seen the end of the tunnel because Keith had been walking with him.

It had made it easier to understand what Keith had been trying to say all that time ago. Life could and will be so much brighter once he stopped being so hard on himself.  

.

It felt a little cheesy to say that Keith reminded Lance of a lighthouse. But he did, he was a pillar where the light helped lost people find their directions. He may have not looked like that at first glance, but years since Lance got to know him, he could see the connection.  

He was strong and safe.  

And in Lance’s life he knew that as much as they were still new to their relationship, he could say that they were both learning how to be better alongside each other. They could do it. And they would achieve that happiness.

Because, he knew that they had each other to count on.

[heyitscmei]

Reverence

Pairing(s): Shiro/Keith Warnings: None Notes: For Soft Keith Week 2019! Day 5: Cuddles/Intimacy/Terms of Endearment! @softkeithweek

Read on AO3

Keith is almost surprised by how settled he feels. He still has bad days, sometimes bad nights, but every moment he spends with Shiro, he worries a little less, has a little more faith. It’s taken them a long time to get to this point, months of just being together, being there for each other when they need it most. Keith was always prepared to do anything for Shiro, and the more time passes, the more he believes that Shiro really will always be there for him too.

He drops the brand new sheets onto the bed and he can’t help marvelling at the size of it. He wonders if these sheets will really fit, but when he lays them out, they’re just as wide, king-sized sheets for a king-sized mattress in the nicest home Keith has ever seen. They won’t have to cram themselves into small-beds suited for one anymore.

“There’s even enough room for you, isn’t that right boy?” Keith asks. Kosmo wags his tail, and barks in response. Keith spends a few more minutes just petting him while he takes in the room, not for the first time. 

It’s a luxury, the whole place is, but Shiro had smiled and asked what Keith thought and Keith thought that it didn’t matter where they lived as long as they were together. More than anything else, it’s a place to come back to; a place to call home.

He and Shiro had been in and out whenever they could find the time, flying off to other planets and investigating the new shops that have popped up since peace had taken hold. Buying furniture to fill their home is the single most domestic thing Keith has ever done. He kind of loves it. Through the open bedroom door, Keith can hear the muted clinking of glasses and pots and pans and Shiro sorts them into their proper places; Hunk’s housewarming gift to them, along with thorough instructions and explanations about how to use and maintain everything. His mother had stopped by with a smile and a set of knives, beautiful and sharp, and gifted them to Keith, pressing a kiss to his forehead and congratulating him. It had become a theme throughout the past few days, all their closest friends dropping by with offerings to help make their house more of a home.

Keith pulls the sheets over the mattress, and fluffs the pillows, laying the blankets out neatly on top. He straightens and looks around. He still needs to put up their curtains and build the bookshelf and the desk. Kosmo has trotted off to keep Shiro company, so there’s nobody around to judge him when he elects, instead, to lay himself out on their new mattress. Just a quick break, he tells himself. The pillows are soft and the mattress is comfortable and he’s been on his feet all day.

He’ll close his eyes, just for a minute.

He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but he wakes up to Shiro carefully pulling the blankets over him and the warm press of lips against his forehead. There’s a warm weight at his feet where Kosmo has plopped himself down.

“Sh’ro?” he mumbles. 

“Sorry, Sweetheart, did I wake you?”

“Wh’time’s’it?” Keith asks, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The room is dim when it comes into focus, lit up only by the soft glow of the lamp on their bedside table. The curtains are up when he glances at the window.

“It’s evening,” Shiro says. The bed dips as Shiro lays himself out beside Keith, propping his head up on his arm. He reaches over and gently brushes the hair out of Keith’s face. Keith shifts so that he can face Shiro, snuggling close. He tries to stifle a yawn. “You can go back to sleep.”

Keith hums. “Why didn’t you wake me?” His eyes drift shut again, but not before catching the tender smile on Shiro’s face.

“You just looked so peaceful,” He responds. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“Could’ve helped you put up the curtains.”

“It was nothing,” Shiro murmurs. “Would’ve built the furniture too, but I didn’t want to make too much noise.”

“Tomorrow,” Keith slurs. “We’ll do it tomorrow.”

He feels Shiro shift and hears the click of the lamp, the room falling dark. The blankets are adjusted once more and then Shiro’s arms wind around him, holding him close. Shiro presses a kiss to his hair and sighs, small and content.

“You have no idea how happy you make me.”

“Mm?”

“I love you so much, you know that?” Shiro whispers. “More than the moon or sun or stars above, My Love.”

“Sap,” Keith snorts, but warmth washes through him nonetheless. “Where’s this coming from?”

“Nowhere. I just wanted to say it. Just wanted you to know.”

“As if I could forget, when you tell me that all the time,” he teases.

“Good,” Shiro says softly. “I don’t ever want you to forget how much you mean to me.”

Keith can’t help his small smile as he burrows deeper into Shiro’s space. It’s because of things like this: Shiro’s sincerity towards Keith, that makes Keith believe him. Even when he harbors his doubts, Shiro is never reserved about his love for  Keith. If his doubts are a storm, then Shiro is the lighthouse granting him safe passage back to shore. He grounds him.

“You make me happy too,” Keith says. “More than you know.” More than he knows how to express.

And he truly is. He’s so happy. He’s feeling settled in the home he shares with Shiro, the love of his life, in the bed they picked out together. He has a family, and people who he’s starting to believe truly love him. Not every day may be perfect, but he’s learning that he doesn’t have to bear it alone.

He gets to have this.

Keith yawns again and Shiro huffs a laugh that ruffles some of the hair atop Keith’s head.

“Goodnight, Sweetheart,” Shiro murmurs. “Get some sleep.”

Keith feels  one final kiss pressed to the top of his head and allows himself to be lulled to sleep by the sound of Shiro’s breathing, comfortable in his warm embrace.

[cutieodonoghue]

dark gray (9/?)

summary: Killian Jones operates a lighthouse in the middle of nowhere, preferring a life of isolation, until one day a woman and a baby wash up on his little island and change his life forever.

read it on: ao3, ff.net

and also catch up on tumblr!

///

Nine

In the morning, Emma wakes to an unusual smell. Well, for her time on the island, unusual.

She bites her lip as her eyes squint open, gazing over at the window that allows a soft white light through the curtains and into the bedroom. She sighs as she stretches, thoughts of the night prior fresh in her mind.

Part of her wants to hole up in the bed for the rest of the day, to hide from Killian and any awkwardness that might exist now. But she decides to be stronger than that. Their kiss, while it certainly hadn’t had the ending she’d hoped for, wasn’t a mistake.

Emma sits up, wrapping a blanket over her shoulders to go into the kitchen.She checks on Henry before she goes. He's still sound asleep, his little fingers twitching while he dreams.

When she enters the kitchen, Killian's standing by the stove with a pan and a spatula, looking every bit the scuffled morning mess he usually is.

His hair looks even worse now that it's cut, standing on end every which way. He's wearing nothing but a pair of sweats and she swears her breath doesn't catch at the sight of the muscles she finds herself wanting to run her fingers over.

He turns when he hears her feet against the floor and smiles a little. "Morning, love."

Emma smiles just a little in return. "Morning."

Everything about what’s happening right now feels weird. He's usually out doing chores right about now and he never spends this much time cooking.

For breakfast, it's always usually something fast and easy, if anything at all, but instead, he has a single plate with two round pancakes sitting on top of it.

Killian tips his head toward the table. "Made you breakfast. Hope you like pancakes."

Emma goes to sit at the table. He brings a plate of two slightly undersized, lopsided pancakes to her. Nothing for him. He sits beside her, seemingly content with a glass of water that he doesn’t touch.

“You’re not eating? Again?”

Killian manages to smile. “Those are every last ounce of pancake mix from the back of the pantry, so… enjoy.”

Her stomach gives a prompt grumble, making her helpless but to give into Killian's random act of kindness.

"Why aren't you out doing your chores?"

His gaze shifts to her and she feels as if she's caught him in the act, of what she isn't sure, because his expression is caught between deer in headlights and guilt.

He sits back in his chair. "We need to talk."

Emma narrows her eyes at him. "And are you bribing me with pancakes?"

He shakes his head. "No."

She presses her lips into a line and sets her fork down, wrapping up tighter in her blanket. She stares at him, letting him have the floor.

"There are a lot of things about this situation that aren't ideal," he says on a sigh, clearly having thought what he’s saying through, "Food, Henry… the weather. The thing is, Emma, I have spent a long time on this island grieving and I haven't spent hardly any of it living."

Her heart jumps.

Killian sits forward again. "I'm sorry I..." He hesitates, then straightens out, meeting her eyes with purpose. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you this last night, but I want to be on the same page as you now."

Emma's heart begins to race again. Her eyes widen on their own accord. "What page is that?"

He takes a shaky breath. "I can't let anything happen between us. I'd rather forget it did and move on, actually."

Regret precedes embarrassment in her mind. She feels every ounce of hope draining from her in just a heartbeat. 

He's staying here and she's leaving. It would never have worked. What was she thinking?

"I… it's okay," she insists on a false smile. She looks down at her plate. "It was a one time thing."

She would like to set fire to these Bribe Pancakes and to her memory, because now she has the distinct memories of what transpired in the middle of his living room flashing in her mind as she contemplates what this means for her and him.

His hair had been soft between her fingers, and his lips were gentle as he reciprocated the affection of her kiss. His hand on her hip, squeezing with each desperate gasp and sigh.

Emma hadn’t been kissed like that in such a long time. Part of her knows he hadn’t either.

"Yeah. Of course."

She tries not to seem rushed when she picks at her food to try and eat again, but she knows she's coming off like it. Frustrated, she sets her fork down and gets up from the table.

Killian catches her by the arm, looking her in the eye, demanding an answer but not asking any questions.

"Nothing can make the fact that we kissed disappear."

He furrows his brow. "Of course not,"

Emma's jaw tightens and she yanks her arm out of his hold. Unexpected tears fill her eyes and she groans a little, upset for getting so emotional over something so trivial.

"I'm sorry I'm not good enough."

She walks out of the house and straight into the cold morning as fast as she can, ignoring the pain that comes from her knee. 

It's still fairly early in the morning, so the sun hasn’t quite risen beyond the horizon yet. Her breath is a soft white cloud when she exhales and she folds her arms to her chest as she starts to walk toward the beach.

Maybe she is just an idiot. She shouldn't have kissed him in the first place.

No one ever thought she was good enough until David and Mary Margaret. Not even Neal really did.

She's never had a good relationship with a guy until this thing with Killian got to the point of smiles and teasing and comfortable a few days ago.

And now she's panicking, because she threw it all away when they kissed. It broke their relationship in half, sending them in a completely new direction. 

And it's not like she'll ever be able to just forget about it. Especially if they're living together.

Emma stands at the shoreline where the water washes up in slow, rolling waves. The salt fills her lungs and the cold, crisp air stings, but it reminds her that she is still alive and that means she has less than three weeks to prove that very same fact to Killian.

The front door clatters shut after squeaking open behind her, but she doesn't turn around.

She stands there waiting for something- anything- before she hears his boots behind her and then she feels something warm being draped around her shoulders.

She reaches up instinctively and smiles a little in thanks at him over her shoulder while she slips her arms into the coat. He moves so he stands beside her, both of them looking away from each other.

Silence sits heavy between them for so long that she wonders if there’s any point to him having joined her at all.

"I think you're good enough, Emma."

She turns her face to see him. He is looking out at the horizon, his eyes and jaw set.

"I don't know why I said that."

Killian turns to her, a perfect mixture of sorrow and grief in his eyes. "The reason I wanted to put it behind us was because I feared you would be the one to pull away."

She scoffs. "So you were being chivalrous, then?"

He shakes his head. "I'm just trying to say that neither of us were quite prepared for the repercussions and we need to take some space to figure it out."

Emma sighs. "And just what do you think should be done about that?"

She tugs at her coat and folds her arms. 

"I think we should go back to the way things were.” Killian says, but for some reason, she isn’t sure if he believes what he’s saying. “I'll take the couch. You and Henry in the bedroom. Chores in the morning and we don't see each other until lunch."

She stares at him, biting her cheek because she wants to refute that it is impossible to be back to the way things were. She's kissed those lips and she's felt his hair under her fingertips. 

Somehow, he's ruined her for anyone else.

"Okay," she sighs, letting a cloud of white fill the space between them. “If that will make it better.”

Killian gives her a pleading look. “Emma…”

Emma looks back at the ocean ahead of them. She tugs at her sleeves, trying to find the words she wants to speak. 

“Do you think this happened for a reason?” Emma asks, the question not even necessarily for Killian, but for herself as well. “I could’ve drowned. Henry could’ve frozen.” Turning to Killian, she finds his head tipped down, focused on kicking a rock on the shore. “But the ocean brought us here.”

Her companion finally meets her gaze. “I don’t know.”

Taking a breath of the salty air, Emma shuts her eyes. “I’m sorry that we interrupted you.”

She walks back to the house in silence and goes about her daily business after the door comes clattering against the doorframe.

They don't see each other until lunch and she forces herself to smile, forces herself to let go of all of the emotions she's feeling toward him and about him, and casually goes about her day, which mainly consists of reading his books and folding some laundry.

By the time dinner rolls around, she has tidied and re-tidied the entire place twice over and has set the table for grilled cheese she made for herself and for Killian, because dammit, she's not going to let him starve. He's an idiot for thinking she'd let that happen.

He comes back inside and sighs, obviously happy to be out of the cold. She has Henry in her arms at the table, feeding him as she reads over a play by Shakespeare that he's annotated quite liberally.

"Grilled cheese," she tells him, closing the book and setting it on the side of her plate by the wall. He looks at the plate and she can tell he's about to say something, so she speaks instead, "You're an idiot if you think I'm the kind of person who lets another human starve just so I can feel full. There's enough for both of us to have small meals. Just… no more pancake surprises."

They eat in silence and she bites her lip thoughtfully while she watches him finish.

"Did you go to college?"

He looks shocked by her question, a little confused, and then he shakes his head. "Straight into the Navy. Why?"

Emma takes the book and opens it up. "I've been reading a few of your books and I'm kind of blown away by all of these notes on the side. Do you like to read?"

She knows the answer to her own question. She's just digging.

He gives her a crooked smile. "Liam used to read a lot to me growing up." He looks down at the pages and hums. "Shakespeare. Very good taste, darling. Though, you could've picked a comedy. Macbeth is about as dark as they come." She watches with a small smile as he lifts the book and fingers over the pages. "Here we are. One of my favorites. The Taming of the Shrew. Lovely tale."

Emma hums, admiring the way his eyes shine as he reads over his own writing on the side. 

"Have you ever written anything?"

Killian looks up at her and nods slowly, tentatively. "I've never shared with anyone, but I have."

She smiles softly. "I'm sure it's good, if what you write on the side of an already existing piece of work is good."

He chuckles in a self-pitying way. Clearly, he doesn't think so.

"Would you care to read some?" he asks, seeing that she won't let it go.

She nods.

Killian pushes back from the table and rises, going straight into the living area. When he returns, he holds a leather bound notebook in his hand, opened to a specific page that he reads from. He holds it to himself nervously as he sits down again.

"Promise you won't tease me."

Emma rolls her eyes. He hands her the notebook then and she smiles as she reads it over.

His writing is beautiful. It rises and falls perfectly in every line. She is drawn in by the vocabulary and the phrasing, taken by the imagery and the sophistication. She swears he could be famous one day because of it.

She grins, looking up at him. "This is amazing, Killian. You have a real talent for this."

He looks a little embarrassed, shaking his head. "I doubt that greatly, love. But thank you for the ego boost of confidence."

She sighs. "As if you need more of that."

That makes him chuckle and a smile crosses her lips as she looks back into the journal, flipping the page to find more of his work.

It's so good that she barely realizes that she's still holding Henry until he stirs and grabs at her hair. She rips her eyes out of a short story involving a lost ship at sea and looks to Henry.

"Chill out, Dude."

She takes his small fist from her hair and makes him hold her fingers instead, flashing him a happy smile that he reciprocates. She looks up at Killian, who has his chin in his hand, staring straight at her.

"Just who are you, Emma?"

She flashes a coy smirk at him. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

She returns to reading with a teasing smile on her lips. The air between them is comfortable, surprisingly enough. She bites her lip as soon as she finishes a story and looks at him again.

"It's really good, Killian. You could publish this."

He shakes his head, grimacing a little. "It's nothing."

She sighs and closes his book. He's been good at keeping a relative distance from her, but she sees something in the blue of his eyes that's begging to know her.

Emma packages all of the feelings she's felt in the last twenty-four hours into a tight ball, tucking it away in the back of her mind and leaving it to rot. She can't let him wreck her like everyone else has. She's a survivor on her own and she can handle herself. Anyone else just doesn't do the job she can on her own.

She pushes back from the table and takes her dishes to the sink before she carries Henry into the other room.

When she returns, Killian is still at the table, clearly in thought as he follows her to the sink. He comes up next to her and she glances over when their shoulders brush.

There's still a spark between them, the intensity is still just as strong, just as provoking, and it isn't easy to ignore along with everything else, but she does her best, holding her breath as she takes their dishes and scrubs at them.

The next time she sees him, it's lunch the next day.