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luna-redamancy · 4 years ago

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Fix It (Thorin x F!Reader) 18+ NSFW Commission

Thank you @anjhope1 for the Ko-fi! Here is your ko-fi commission!

Note: The Thorin image as well as the divider is not mine. The Thorin image was originally posted by @thearkenstone-ck (I found it on pinterest, luckily the url is at the bottom right) and the dividers used are by @firefly-graphics which can be found Here

Warnings: Smut, angst, Thorin being an ass for a bit.

⚠️18+ Content ahead, Please read at your own risk ⚠️

It wasn’t unknown to you that braids have significance, in fact that was the first conversation you ever had with Thorin upon him asking for your approval to court you- how important and vital the braid was. How each placement of the strands of hair was significant, how by tilting the braiding outward you can declare a budding love, but inward you can declare a passing of something, such as a birthright.

‘Yet how did this happen?’ You mentally scolded yourself as you watched each passing dwarf look at you like you were a conundrum. You knew it had to have been your hair. It was Muhudtuzakhmerag, or Spring Fest, in Erebor and Thorin requested you wear a traditional ‘Queen’s Braid’ to the event to walk alongside him.

The request itself was simple, and sweet of him, to want you to participate like the queens before you, however, there was not a single portrait of what the said braids looked like. So you simply went by your best educated guess coupled with the old instructions written on ancient parchment that looked like it was going to fall apart any moment now.

The festival would begin with the giving of the straw. First, Thorin would place a strand of the straw into your hair, and you into his tunic pocket. This was to symbolize the true connection and reliance the dwarves had with nature. The next event was the ‘Carrying of the Straw’ where you and Thorin would lead a line of dwarves through the kingdom, assisting each other in carrying a barrow of straw to the feast room. All to honor Yavana, Mahal’s wife who originally gave the first dwarves their first straw of barley.

To say this event was huge for the dwarves would be an understatement. And, with this knowledge, you had hoped to look your best for Thorin.

As soon as you entered the throne room to meet with Thorin, Balin, and Dwalin before the event, you knew you messed up royally.

“(Y/n)...” Balin began gently, before Thorin’s angry voice startled you.

“What in Mahal have you done?” Thorin wasn’t shouting, but his fists were clenched like he was desperately trying not to.

“I tried my best to follow the instructions, is it that awful?” You looked at Balin and Dwalin, your eyebrows furrowed and your expression hurt at Thorin’s tone of voice. “What did I do wrong?” You asked the elderly dwarf, in hopes he would be able to give you advice before Thorin began speaking again.

“Everything.” He spat, shaking his head with a humorless chuckle as he began to pace the throne room floor.

“Lass,” Balin began before Thorin held his hand up, “Don’t speak to her.”

“The one time I request for you to do something specific and you can’t even get that right!” Thorin shouted, making you flinch as you stood back, your eyes beginning to fill with tears.

“I knew it was a mistake to ever court you, I never loved you to begin with.”

A gasp left your throat, “T-Thorin…” You felt your heart sink to your stomach. He regretted loving you, courting you, marrying you, all because of one braid?

“I can fix it,” You offered, your tone showing how close to the verge you were to breaking into tears, wanting to appease him so he wasn’t so angry with you.

“You can’t fix being human,” He huffed, “I knew a low human would never be able to meet the standards of being the queen of Erebor. If I could turn back time and never let you join this journey, I would---”

“Thorin, enough.” Dwalin all but growled at him. “It is just a braid, you can re-do it for her.” Dwalin tried to reason but Thorin let out a humorless chuckle. “You can re-do a braid, but you cannot redo or undo the damage that has been done. She has shown she does not care about our culture or our practices.”

Looking to Balin, you suppressed a sob as tears went down your cheeks. “I’m so sorry,” You told him, eyes full of regret and pain as you quickly took the pins holding the braid in place out, the metal clanging as it hit the stone floor.

“Lassie, it’s alright,” He began to soothe you but you shook your head.

“I’m so sorry,” You repeated shaking your head, exiting the room, with your hand up to your mouth to attempt to muffle the gasps leaving your throat as you continued to suppress the sobs threatening to escape.

“Thorin what have you done?!” Balin shouted at him as soon as you fled the room, glaring at the boy he watched grow up in these stone walls.

“Something I should have done a long time ago.”

“You will come to regret it. Don’t you realize you just told your wife that you despised her?”

“I don’t have time to deal with this, we have a festival to lead.” Thorin brushed past both of them to go grab his crown for the festivities.

As you put on a plain slip and slid into bed, you felt hot tears bubble down your face. He didn’t love you. All because you were human. Your heart ached as you heard the cheering, the Broken Bone Race being completed and the victor being given a medal, Thorin’s laugh trickling into your ears despite the many voices you have heard. That made you begin to sob as you clutched the pillow.

“He doesn’t love me…” You murmured to yourself, wiping your tears. “He wants a dwarrowdam.” You felt your heart clench as those words passed your lips.

Sitting up, you sniffled, wiping your eyes almost aggressively as you put on a robe. Maybe something in the library could help you with your love issues.

Thorin couldn’t deny the worry in his heart as he searched the halls of Erebor for you a few days later. Upon returning from the festivities, Thorin wasn’t too concerned with your absence, figuring you needed time alone from the blow-up that occurred in the throne room, but when it was the third day that he hadn’t seen you at any meals, your very presence and being missing from his day to day activities such as your walks together, he knew something was wrong.

His gut twisted as he walked down another corridor, before halting in his steps. “(Y/n)?” He breathed out, confused at the sight of you. You were dressed in the average dwarrowdam fashion, your hair up in braids like every other dwarrowdam he had come across.

It wasn’t you.

“Yes?” You cut straight to the point as you turned from your discussion with an advisor, and seeing Thorin’s dumbfounded expression, you excused the gentleman as you turned fully toward him. “What is it that you need, Thorin?” Your voice was cold, posture stiff as you stared him down with calculating eyes.

It was like you were a different person altogether.

“What happened to you?” Was all he could think to say.

Tilting your head, you raised a brow at him. “What you wanted.” Was all you answered as you turned on your heel, leaving him in the stone hallway all alone as you went to speak with the advisor once more.

Bursting through the doorway, Thorin’s voice caught the ears of the Company members fairly quickly.

“There’s something wrong with (Y/n)!” He yelled out, completely unsettled by your appearance. He knew you preferred your hair loose, not confined by things, and how you liked to wear flowy dresses made by soft fabrics, not thick dresses weighed down with crystals and braided fabric tassels.

“You finally noticed.” Dwalin scoffed, continuing to sharpen his blades, his disapproval of Thorin very clear.

“Aye, it wasn’t like she was missing from your chambers for three whole days and four whole nights.” Balin’s tone was clearly passive aggressive as he handed out documents to each member.

At Thorin’s lost expression, Balin chuckled bitterly.

“You told her you didn’t love her, that you despised her because she was human and what did you expect her to do!” Balin finally lost it, throwing his papers across the room, tears welling up in his eyes.

“She didn’t deserve that, Thorin!” Balin yelled, a tear going down his cheek. “All she wanted to do was make you happy and instead of applauding her effort and guiding her to the correct way, you belittled her! You ruined her self-esteem and told her she meant less than the dirt on your boots.”

“She didn’t deserve any of that… And now… Now you have the audacity to come in here like you did nothing wrong?”

“I didn’t realize…”

“You don’t seem to realize a lot of things, Thorin.” Balin huffed moving to pick up his papers as Fili, Kili, and Ori helped collect them from off the ground.

“I have to do something.”

Bofur shook his head, “If she’d let you.”

Thorin looked at him like he just grew two heads.

Rolling his eyes, Bofur shook his head again. “You were an utter arse, Thorin. You expect some weepy apology is going to make her forget everything you said? How little your actions have done to prove you do indeed care for her?”

“She’s lost weight, Thorin. She doesn’t come to meals, she hardly sleeps. And what do you notice? Oh, that she’s wearing a traditional dress.” Bofur’s sarcasm seeped through his tone.

“Y’know, Thorin, I hope she doesn’t forgive you. I hope she doesn’t let her sorry excuse of a One back into her life.” Bofur’s words cut into Thorin, hitting him where it hurts most. And for a moment, Thorin wasn’t Thorin son of Thrain, son of Thror, king of Erebor. In this moment he was a young dwarrow being scolded.

“But if you do somehow manage to weasel your way into her good graces, you better work your arse off to prove to her that you care for her.”

“I will.”

Bofur huffed through his nostrils as he went back to carving a wooden duck as if Thoin wasn’t even there.

“You better go find her, then.” Dwalin nodded to Thorin, a small smile on his face was all Thorin needed to feel encouraged as he set off to go find you.

Seeing Thorin for the first time in the past couple of days affected you more than you’d like to think, his harsh words being pulled from the back of your mind to the forefront, replaying in your head over and over. Instead of meeting with your advisor, you waited until Thorin was gone so you could go back to your room, the room you originally had before you and Thorin were wed.

Looking into the mirror, you couldn’t help but criticize everything about yourself. Your braids weren’t as taught as how they were this morning. The gown made you look radiant this morning but now it felt like a bulky mess that you shouldn’t have attempted to wear.

“Is it all for nothing?” You wondered as you stepped away from the vanity mirror and sat on the edge of the bed.

“He didn’t even notice.” You scoffed, flopping backwards.

The next morning, Thorin was adamant on approaching you.

“Good morning, Dushin-Mizim (dark jewel).”

“Morning, King Thorin.” Your reply was short as you walked past him, your hair half braided today, and in a less formal traditional dwarvish gown.

Thorin frowned, usually you’d kiss his cheek and say “Good morning, my love,” to him before he’d hold your hand and the two of you would walk together. Not that he blamed you for not doing so.

Instead of eating with him, you sat at the other end of the table, alone as you carefully ate your breakfast.

Sighing, Thorin brought the water glass up to his lips. ‘I deserve this,’ he thought as he watched the way the sunlight filtered through the sky-lights, making a rim of light circle the top of your hair, making you look angelic. An ache began to settle in his chest, he missed you.

He’s got to come up with a plan.

“How was your day, Ghivashel (Treasure of all treasures)?” Thorin attempted to make conversation as you approached after exiting a meeting.

“Perfectly fine, King Thorin.” You responded icily as you walked past him, your face stoic until you moved where he couldn’t see your face. Your eyebrows were furrowed and you bit your lip. ‘Does he love me still?’ you pondered, but that thought was quickly squashed when you realized he began to act lovingly again once you were in dwarvish attire. ‘He loves the facade.’ you decided as you walked to your room.

Looking in the mirror, you shook your head. “This isn’t me.” You murmured to yourself, while you had nothing against dwarrowdams, you knew this style of dress, this hairdo, it wasn’t yours. It didn’t suit you. You felt like a wolf in sheep's clothing, an imitator waiting to be revealed.

Unravelling your hair, you sighed as your scalp was relieved of the taught pressure. Reaching behind you to unravel the laces of your bodice, you let out a relieved groan as you pulled the thick fabric off of you in favor of pulling on a light night gown.

Returning to the mirror you brushed your hair, refreshed to see it how it usually is. Free and relaxed.

“I’m done pretending... “ You told yourself, nodding to your reflection. “I am (Y/n), a human.. Not a Dwarrowdam.” You felt tears build in your eyes, “and if Thorin wants one so bad, then so be it, but I will not erase myself for his pleasure.”

The next morning you felt alive again, as if someone had cleaned out the cobwebs of your chimney and lit the fire once more. Putting on a loose gown, you only brushed your hair, carefully placing oils where they were needed before looking in the mirror. You finally looked like yourself again.

“Good morning, amrâlimê (My love).” Thorin called out to you as you exited your bedding chambers, making you pause in your stride.

“Good morning, King Thorin.” You responded blandly, watching as he analyzed you, your expression cool but your heart hammering inside of your chest. Would he say anything? Would he stop calling you the names you cherish close to your heart?

“You look radiant,” He smiled at you, before letting it drop, his expression turning serious. “I would like to have a talk with you, today, whenever you have time, of course.” He looked nervous as he spoke, something you hadn’t seen since the day he asked to put in your courting braid.

“I’ll be free this evening,” You told him, curious as to what he needed to tell you.

You could practically see the cogs turning in his head as he nodded, like he was having an inner conversation before looking into your eyes.

“Would you… Do me the honor of meeting me in the gardens this evening?” Thorin held his hands behind his back, nervously rubbing his thumb over the other one, just waiting for you to say no. After all, he had to earn your trust again, to earn your love again.

You paused, a ‘no’ quick to push itself to the tip of your tongue, but as you watched his eyes dart around your face, his eyebrow scrunched like how it always does when he’s worried, you felt your face soften.

“I shall.” You chose to say instead, a smile threatening to lift your cheeks as he perked up like a puppy, a spark returning to his eye.

“You won’t regret it, I promise.” He vowed, hesitating, like he was ready to give you a kiss before physically holding himself back.

Coughing nervously, he nodded, “I will see you then.”

You couldn’t deny the disappointment that bubbled in your chest as he walked away, you had hoped he would offer to walk you to breakfast.

“Well with how you’re acting, don’t be surprised if he thinks you hate him now.” Your inner voice taunted but you shook your head, you had every right to be upset with him.

The day seemed to drag on and on, and as you dragged your feet to the dining hall after your final meeting, you remembered Thorin had wanted to see you.

“The gardens,” You hummed to yourself as you headed that way, seeing petals of (favorite flower) being littered on the ground. Raising a brow, you followed them, a small smile growing on your face as you approached the entrance to the gardens.

Thorin stood staring at the stars, his back turned and between you and him sat a table. Two plates, two chairs, two water glasses.

“So your discussion was a date?” Your voice pulled Thorin from his thoughts, his head quickly swinging to face you.

“Not exactly, no.” Thorin spoke quickly, as if your words scalded him like a hot pan.

“If you do not wish to stay for the meal then I will not ask you to.” He began, gesturing to the seat. “But I will ask if you’d like to take a seat so you can be comfortable while we talk?”

Biting your lip, you let out a breath before chucking off your heels, your feet sinking into the cool grass as you approached the table.

Thorin sighed in relief, believing you were going to turn your back and leave the minute he opened his mouth.

“What is it you wished to talk about?” You questioned, your voice professional as you took a look around the gardens. Lanterns were placed all around the garden, giving the space an ethereal glow and if you listened hard enough you’d hear the gentle noises of the creek.

“I would like to apologise.” Thorin stated, and the statement alone nearly made you choke on your saliva. Thorin? Apologizing?

“I… I have no reason, excuse or otherwise to explain to you why I spoke the way I did.” He furrowed his brows. “I am a horrible excuse for a husband, a failure of a One, and a failure as your friend.” Thorin spoke, his voice close to cracking before he cleared his throat.

You frowned, not expecting this at all, especially the glassy look in his eyes.

“I wanted to let you know I did not mean a thing I said.”

“I knew it was a mistake to ever court you, I never loved you to begin with.” His words replayed in your head, your lip beginning to tremble.

“Meeting you was the biggest blessing Mahal has ever given me, being able to love you and to cherish you was a gift I threw away,” Thorin’s voice finally cracked, as he let out a shaky sigh.

“Menu tessu (You mean everything to me) and I was a fool to tell you otherwise.” He shook his head, angry at himself.

“I love you, (Y/n), I love the way you take the blankets from me when we’re sleeping, I love the way your eyes sparkle when you’re happy, I love the way you care so much for people you love…” Thorin halted himself, looking up to the sky briefly before looking back to you.

“But despite all of that, I have wronged you, I have wronged you and belittled you,” He frowned at the sight of your tears building in your eyes.

“And I understand if you would like to leave.”

“Leave?” You couldn’t help but echo, causing him to nod.

“After all I have done, I cannot expect you to want to stay with me, Men Kurdel (My heart of hearts). I made you feel inadequate, when I should be the one making you feel like a goddess. I failed you.” Tears slipped down Thorin’s cheeks.

“That is what I wanted to discuss with you, a way to make your life easier, a way to just---” He sighed, “If there is one thing I want, (Y/n), it is to make you happy.”

“And you think that’s away from you?” You cut him off, furrowing your brows as a tear slipped out, rolling down your face and dripping off your chin.

“I have spent days trying to make myself more like a dwarrowdam because you hate how human I am, because I want---” Your own sob cut you off, your breath hitching as you began to cry harder.

“Because I wanted you to love me again.” Your voice cracked as you barely got out the words, and at the same time, Thorin’s heart felt like it cracked in half as he watched you emotionally collapse in front of him.

Thorin nearly leapt from his chair, moving to cradle you in his arms, yet unsure as he hovered his form close to yours.

“Please, love me again,” You whimpered as Thorin pulled you into his arms, tucking your head into his neck as you sobbed.

“I never stopped loving you, (Y/n),” He murmured into your ear, his arms tightening their hold on you as if this was all a dream. “I am so sorry,” Thorin wept as you clutched onto him just as tight.

You missed him so much.

“I will spend the rest of my life making this up to you,” He vowed, pulling away so he could look at you, tears springing to his eyes again at the look of anguish on your face.

“Just please, come back to me, come back to our chambers, let me hold you, at least for just this night?” Thorin’s tone was on the edge of begging as he cradled your face in his palm, his forehead against yours.

Not being able to find the words, you nodded. And at that moment, he pulled you off the chair entirely, your form clinging to his as he brought you back to your shared chambers.

Setting you down on the bed, Thorin pulled away to go to your wardrobe.

“What’re you doing?” You tearfully asked, a whimper wanting to pull itself from your mouth at the lack of contact.

“Your nightgown--”

“Thorin, please hold me.” His priority was your comfortableness while yours was to be as close as possible to him. Quickly shutting the wardrobe doors, Thorin returned to the bed, barely able to kneel on it before you latched yourself onto him again.

Hugging him close, you could feel his heartbeat through his tunic. A sigh of relief left you before you looked up to him, seeing him already watching you with admiration and fear. Fear of you changing your mind and walking out of his life for good.

“Kiss me, please?” You asked tilting your head back to make it easier for him to attach his lips to yours. Thorin’s expression softened as he captured your lips with his own. A needy whimper left your lips as you clutched his tunic in your hands, his own cupping your face as he kissed you deeply.

Pulling away, Thorin pecked your lips one last time before pressing his forehead against yours.

“Thorin, I need you.” You murmured, you had been deprived of his touch, of his love, for so long now.

“I’m yours, I’m here,” He responded to you, not quite understanding your meaning, simply thinking you needed reassurance until you repeated yourself.

“I need you, Thorin.”

His expression changed from one of concern to something sensual as he dragged his thumb across your cheek.

“Are you sure?” He couldn’t help but question, not wanting you to regret being with him when you were so emotionally fragile.

“Absolutely.” You reassured, this time capturing his lips with yours, catching him off guard before he quickly fell into the rhythm you were searching for.

Lowering you gently on your back, you felt the familiar pillows beneath you as you arched into him, your hips rolling into his causing a pleased groan to release from his lips, his hands finding your butt as he controlled your movement against his clothed crotch.

“More, Thorin, please,” Your tone was leaning on the side of begging as he severed the kiss to pepper kisses along your jaw and neck.

“I’ll give you all you want, amrâlimê,” He reassured, lifting off of you to help you with your dress, the offending fabric being tossed to the floor before he yanked off his tunic, leaving him bare chested with you in your undergarments.

“Beautiful,” Thorin murmured, admiring the way your body was laid beneath him.

Smiling at him, you couldn’t help but admire him as well, the small scars from battles that have come and gone, the chest hair mostly covering him, the muscles beneath it.

You were brought out of your admiring state as he began to remove your undergarments, leaving you bare with him still in his pants.

“You’re very overdressed,” You hummed as he chuckled, the sound going straight to your core as he leaned back over you to kiss at your shoulders and the valley of your breasts.

“Don’t worry about me, amrâlimê, focus on you.” He spoke softly as he kissed his way down your stomach, his hands coming up to tease your nipples for a moment, drawing a gasp from you. It served as a distraction as he skipped over your pussy to mouth at your thighs.

“Thorin,” You couldn’t help but groan out as he purposefully neglected where you wanted him most.

“Please,” You whined until you felt his breath over your pussy.

“I said to focus on you, (Y/n),” He hummed, now massaging your inner thighs with his calloused hands. Before you could think of a response, his tongue stole the words out of your mouth as it came in contact with you. Licking, flicking, sucking, you couldn’t focus on what he was doing as the pleasure made you reach out and grab at his hair.

Thorin swore he would make it up to you, and he planned to start right now through worshipping your body, making you feel every ounce of pleasure he could provide you.

Looping his arms under your thighs, he held his hands above your hips, locking you in place as he feasted on you.

“Thorin!” You couldn’t help but moan out, your tone high pitched as you felt yourself climbing higher and higher to your peak. Whether you called his name out of lust or trying to give warning, Thorin wasn’t sure, but he knew one thing for certain: you were close.

He flicked his tongue over your clit rapidly, circling it before suckling the bundle of nerves into his mouth, his cheeks hollowing as he aggressively accelerated you to your climax.

Your back arched as your grip on his hair tightened, your mouth opening in a silent moan as your hips wiggled up and down, his own grip loosening as he let you ride out your orgasm. Releasing your clit from his mouth, he kissed your inner thigh as you slowly calmed down.

“Men lananubukhs (I love you),” Thorin whispered as he rested his head on your opposite thigh, rubbing circles on your hips.

“What about you?” You questioned once you got your bearings again.

Thorin shook his head, pressing another kiss to your inner thigh before crawling up to pull you into his embrace. “All I care about is that you are satisfied, my beloved.” He nuzzled the top of your head, feeling a sense of pride as your thighs continued to tremble from the intensity of your orgasm.

“I told you before, all I want is to make you happy.”

It felt like flowers were blooming in your ribcage, something soft and delicate taking place in your heart as you curled into Thorin’s embrace, his arm around the small of your waist bringing a sense of comfort.

While nothing could erase the past, nor the heart that came with it, you’ve decided that for now, you would enjoy the peace that resonated in your heart.

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#thorin x female reader #thorin oakenshield x you #the hobbit imagines #the hobbit fanfiction #the hobbit fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #smut #smutty fanfic #fanfiction smut #the hobbit smut #thorin smut #commission #ko-fi support #request #thorin x reader #the hobbit x reader #the hobbit reader-insert #tolkien

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zeawoo · 3 years ago

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Why?

—kim junkyu

PAIRING ▸ neglectivebf!junkyu x reader

GENRE ▸ angst, established relationship

SUMMARY ▸ Junkyu finally realizes how bad he’s been treating you during your relationship and attempts to make things better, but he’s too late.

WORDCOUNT ▸ 0.581K

DISCLAIMERS & TAGS ▸ fem!reader toxicbf!junkyu, inspired by the song “why” by bazzi, strong language, written in 2nd person, mentions of a car accident, hints at death

The weather seems to reflect Junkyu’s feelings today. Droplets fall on his clothes as he walks on the sidewalk on his way home from the internet café. With every step he takes, the rain gets heavier and he regrets not checking the weather this morning before heading off to school.

Is this how you’re going to punish me for treating her so badly? Don’t you think this is a little too light?

His phone rings in his pocket, making him raise his head from the ground to the screen, lighting up his fatigued features. Another call from y/n… Instead of swiping left on the notification that lingers on his phone screen, Junkyu presses the side button, switching off the device and shoving it back onto his pocket.

The boy stops in the middle of his tracks, slowly raising his head to meet the dulled sky. Droplets fall onto his face, soaking his hair and clothes. He inhales slowly and quickly releases it into a sigh that contains so many confused feelings within him. He knows he’s done fucked up so many times with you, but every single time, you forgave him as if it were nothing.

But Junkyu knew better. He saw how hurt you were, but he didn’t do anything. The last couple of nights were spent thinking about you. How despite being treated like shit, you always cared for your boyfriend, Kim Junkyu. The homemade food that you would bring him during lunch was thrown in the trash the moment you walked away. All of your homework was stolen by him, leaving you to redo the assignments over and over again.

You really deserved better. So much better than the coward you were dating. The boy you called your boyfriend, Kim Junkyu.

Junkyu’s head turns towards a convenient store at the end of the street and after a moment of thinking, he slowly starts trudging over to it. Once inside, he shakes his head vigorously in attempt to dry off his wavy, black hair. Skimming the isles, he stops at the drinks section, frozen in place.

Shit, does she like strawberry or banana milk?

Unsure, he reaches for the banana flavored milk, only to stop midway and choose the strawberry one.

What candy does she like? Licorice? Jelly? Does she even like sweets at all?

And for the first time since you two started dating seven months ago, Junkyu finally got mad at himself for not knowing such basic things about his own significant other. Not that he ever even cared about knowing them before today…

He randomly picks a pack of jelly worms and goes to pay. He sighs again when he walks out of the store, eyes glued to the bag in his hands, hoping you would like the small gesture that was nowhere near big enough to mend your unhinged relationship.

His ringtone being set off brings him back to reality and he doesn’t even bother to look at who it is before answering. “Hello? What do you-“

“Are you Kang Y/n’s boyfriend?” The panicked voice cuts him off, making the boy’s brows knit together in confusion. When he doesn’t answer, the other person speaks up in a pained, slow tone. “Young man, your girlfriend was caught up in a nasty car accident. And I’m so sorry to have to be the one breaking this news to you, but she hasn’t been breathing for the past few minutes.”

So this. This is my punishment, huh?

#kim junkyu #junkyu x reader #junkyu scenarios #treasure #treasure fanfiction #treasure junkyu #treasure x reader #i kinda made this at like midnight on a school night so please ignore the mistakes #treasure maker #junkyu x fem reader #treasure angst #angst #junkyu angst #drabble #drabbles #Spotify

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carrotmakar · 4 years ago

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The Best Kind Of Night

Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Summary: After a long day filled with meetings and overbearing reminders of deadlines, Harry’s in need of a little time with his girl.

Warning(s): Stressed out H, a spa night, mentions of nudity (nothing explicit or sexual), and innuendo to some sexy time (but nothing to dramatic), fluff, not edited (i JUST had people beta read a piece for me and I don’t wanna bother them lmao)

A/N: anon requested: painting harry’s nails after he had a long day, followed by a bath together and cuddling. I’m currently working on a longer piece but I got this request and just had to write it (partially because of how cute it is and partially because i want to procrastinate for longer)!!!!! I have like, 15 other requests that are still in the works, so if you see me write someone else’s request and not yours, don’t worry, I’m getting to it!! also!!!! the gif has like, nothing to do with the piece i just really like it!!

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Reblogs help a lot and are greatly appreciated!!

When he was sixteen, he never thought that being a singer could be this hard. In his head it was simple: write songs, record the songs, go on tour. And when he was in a band, it still kind of seemed like that, especially because he had other boys to help him do everything.

But now he realizes that it’s a lot harder than he thought at sixteen, and sometimes he feels like it’s near impossible to do it on his own.

Every single day it’s “Harry, I need you to approve this” or “Harry, you need to redo this” or “Harry, there’s something that requires your immediate attention.” Sometimes it almost feels like it’s too much. There’s only so much he can handle before his brain feels on the verge of bursting at the seams with all the things that he has to do.

On days like today, where it was meeting after meeting, he’s drained. At the end of the day all he wants to do is go home and spend time with the love of his life. He wants to ask about her day and have her ramble on for as long as she wants about all the little things that made her day enjoyable.

That’s what he’s looking forward to when Jeff stops him and tells him that there’s yet another emergency meeting that Harry has to attend. He barely stops himself from audibly groaning about the prospect of having to sit through another meeting when he could be at home with his girl. The last thing that he wants right now is to go sit at a table with a bunch of people he sees once a week and do absolutely nothing but sign a paper or two. But he’s not really in the mood to push it off and then have Jeff mad at him, so he follows him to the conference room and takes his seat.

She can tell that he’s had a long day the moment that he walks through the door without his usual pep. Normally, there’s a smile on his face, albeit a tired one, and a twinkle in his eyes. Tonight, though, none of that’s there. It’s just a blank face, almost like he’s not entirely present.

“Hey, honey. Welcome home.” She greets as she pads over to where he’s kicking off his shoes.

“Hey, baby.” He mumbles. He sounds exhausted and she knows that he’s going to need some loving tonight so that he doesn’t go to bed upset about today.

“Wanna tell me about work?” She tries to gauge what exactly caused him to be like this. She knows that it has to be something to do with the business part of his musical career, but she needs to know exactly what’s gotten him to this point so that she’ll know what to do to fix it.

“Just meetings and Jeff badgering me about getting things done.” Before he can even finish the entire sentence, she has her arms wrapped around him.

She knows exactly what he needs to get his mind off of the stress and aggravation that’s weighing him down. Fortunately, it had been a while since he had paid enough attention to the details of his appearance to give himself a spa day, so she has enough room to give him the entire experience.

“Want me to paint your nails, H?” She suggests, knowing that he most likely does but just won’t openly ask for it.

‘You don’t have to do that, love.” He tries to assure her that it’s not something that’s required of her, but she can tell by the way that he slightly straightened up that the thought of having her redo his nails excited him.

“Nonsense, I want to do it.” She nudges him slightly to emphasize her point.

“Fine, if you insist.” He gives her a small grin, which she fully lights up at. She’s already getting him to destress and that makes her happier than just about anything.

She drags him to their bedroom and instructs him to sit on the bed. Once he complies, she walks over to the bottom drawer of her nightstand and pulls out the bag that she keeps full of nail products just for him.

Pulling out the nail polish remover and the cotton balls, she sits down beside him and adjusts everything to where she’ll be the most comfortable using it. She dampens the cotton balls with the remover and gets to work on stripping his nails of the polish. After a few minutes of rubbing away at his nails, she disposes of the used cotton balls and picks up the cuticle pusher.

“Please be gentle.” He all but whines when he sees the tool in her hand.

“I’d never hurt you, baby.” She coos, putting the pusher down to grab ahold of his hands.

“I know, it just scares me a little bit still.” She softens even more than she ever thought possible at his words. He’d always been a little weary about the nail tool, but she always made sure to let him know that he’d be fine. She knows that it can look a little intimidating, especially when she’s pushing his cuticles back.

“I’ll be careful, honey. I promise.” He lightly shuts his eyes and nods, signaling for her to continue what she was doing. She picks the pusher back up and takes her time pushing each cuticle back, making sure not to push too hard or go too fast.

After she’s done, he reopens his eyes and smiles at her. “Thank you, love.”

She leans up slightly and presses a quick peck to his lips. “It’s my pleasure, baby.” He blushes slightly at the pet name and it makes her heart swell in her chest. “Now, what color are we thinking?”

“Um, what color are you gonna do yours next?” He asks, looking up at her through his lashes.

“Probably pastel yellow. I’ve been wanting to do yellow for a while but I don’t think the neon would look good on me.” She slightly scrunches her nose at the thought of neon yellow nails and he chuckles lightly at how cute she looks.

“Then I think I’ll do pastel yellow too, if you don’t mind us matching.” The blush returns to his cheeks and she quickly agrees with the idea of matching him.

As she pulls out the perfect shade, he fidgets with the hem of his pants. Normally, this is something that would go unnoticed, but tonight everything is making her wonder how he’s doing.

“You alright, H?” He snaps his head up to meet her eyes and his hands stop all movement.

“Yeah, why?” He looks like a deer caught in headlights and she’s confused as to why he looks so nervous.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?” He quickly nods his head and looks away. She decides to let the subject drop, but not even a minute later, he sighs and looks back over at her.

“Can we take a bath after my nails dry?” He rushes his words, like they burn his tongue.

“Of course, honey.” The smile that breaks out onto his face makes his dimples pop and she feels like her heart skips a few beats.

They fall silent while she finishes painting his nails and applying the top coat.

She’s just thinking about getting up to go run the water when he all but whispers her name. “Can you tell me about your day?”

“Yeah, what do you wanna know?” She maneuvers herself until she’s sat beside him instead of in front of him. He cranes his neck to the side to look at her and she motions for them to lay back on the pillows at the top of the bed.

“Dunno really. Just wanna know how your day went. Like…” He pauses for a moment so he can focus on getting comfortable without messing up his still damp nails. “Like, what you had for breakfast, how the drive to work was, what you had for lunch, if anyone was rude to you, that kinda stuff.”

Once they’re both settled into the pillows, she looks over at him. “I had pancakes for breakfast, they were really good. I put chocolate chips on them.” She reaches out to push a stray curl out of his face. “Um, the drive was alright. I listened to your songs on the way so it made it go by a little faster.” She pauses, immediately regretting telling him that. Yeah, she’s supportive but sometimes she finds it weird to listen to his songs in the car. It’s a feeling that she can’t quite put a finger on, but she’s scared that he’ll find it even weirder than she does.

“Which ones?” He urges her to continue, not even batting an eye at the fact that she listens to his songs even when he’s not around. But really, now that she actually takes a moment to think about it, why would he? He listens to his own songs, so why wouldn’t she?

“Um, ‘Sweet Creature’ was first, and then I put on ‘Fine Line’ and finished with ��Golden’.” She reaches down to grab one of his hands. She lightly taps at the nail to see if it’s dry and finds that they’re completely set.

“Can we go take our bath now? You can keep telling me about your day there.” He basically whines out the words and she can’t help but chuckle.

“Of course, sweetheart. Come on.” She pushes herself up and out of bed and reaches for his hands. He gladly grabs onto her and lets her lead him to the bathroom.

“Thank you for this.” He stops right inside the bathroom door and spins her around and into his arms.

“You don’t need to thank me.” She mutters into his chest and he squeezes her tighter.

“Yes I do. You don’t have to do things like this for me.” She pulls back slightly so she can look at him.

“You’re right, I don’t. But I do it because I love you, H.” She runs a hand up his chest to the side of his neck. “And when you come home like you did today, I just wanna see you happy.”

“I love you too, baby.” He whispers before leaning down slightly to attach their lips. After a moment, she pulls back and moves away from him. He begins to pout before he realizes that she’s moving to start the bath.

He follows behind her and watches as she adjusts the water to the temperature that was just right for them to be able to sit in the bath together for as long as they wanted. She inserts the stopper into the drain and turns back around so she’s facing him.

“Can I undress you?” Normally when he asks that question, it doesn’t sound like he’s a little kid hoping to be allowed to get a new toy.

She nods her head and he closes the small distance between them. His hands immediately drop to the hem of her shirt. Before pulling it up and over her head, he looks at her again for confirmation. Her nod is all he needs to slip off the shirt and throw it into the counter. She hadn’t been wearing a bra, so he moves down to her sweatpants. Normally he would have taken a moment to admire her body, but that’s not what this moment is about.

After he slides her sweats and her panties down her legs, she kicks them off and moves to undress him. She takes her time unclasping all of the buttons on his shirt and carefully slides it down his arms. The shirt gets draped over the towel rack, as will his pants once they’re off. She may be ready to get into the bath with him, but there’s no way that she’s going to throw Gucci clothes on the floor without a second thought.

Before she goes to unclasp his pants, she reaches over and turns off the water that was filling the bath. When she turns back around, she sees that he’s already finished undressing himself.

“You’re so impatient.” She complains, although she’s not actually upset by it in the slightest.

“Just wanna be close to you.” He gives her his best puppy eyes and she immediately pushes him closer to the bathtub.

“Get in.” He does as he’s told, sliding through the bubbles and into the water. He makes grabby hands at her and she moves to get in with him. She steps into the tub and situates herself between his legs. Her back is to his chest and his arms instinctively wrap around her torso. The moment that her body relaxes into his she can feel him sigh in content.

She leans her head back against his shoulder and cranes her neck to try and look at him. “Feel better baby?”

“Much better. This is exactly what I needed.” He leans in and presses a quick kiss to her lips before pulling away and completely relaxing.

She takes a moment to admire how peaceful he looks. His appearance had done a full one eighty from the time that he had walked in the door until now, and she was glad to be the reason that he felt so much better.

She turns back around and gets comfortable before relaxing into his body.

As much as she hated seeing him stressed out and worked up, she loved having nights like these with him, and she’d never turn down the opportunity to pamper him.

Thank you so much for reading!! I hope you enjoyed it!! Again, don’t be afraid to reblog and leave feedback!

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shihalyfie · 4 years ago

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I’m a diehard 02 fan who does not want a reboot and never wanted a reboot, and here’s why

This is one of my few editorial-esque pieces, but this is something some friends and I have been discussing for a while, and given what’s going on right now, I feel like this needs to be said at some point.

Sometimes I feel like there’s a really massive gap between what 02 fans want (especially diehard ones) and what people think 02 fans want. I'm not saying that media should only be catering to hardcore fans, and if more casual fans of 02 or people who simply just happen to have a stake in the full franchise have their own opinions on what they wanted to see out of 02-related media, that’s perfectly fine, and they have a right to have those expectations. What I’m mainly writing this about is sentiments that talk about how Toei is apparently doing 02 a disservice or sweeping it under the bus by not rebooting it (which basically comes with an implication that giving it respect would mandate it being rebooted just because Adventure was), or talking about how doing a reboot would please 02 fans just by giving their favorite characters more rep. (Although, I suppose the simultaneous reveal of an actual 02-related movie kind of killed any grounds for claiming that the lack of a 02 reboot meant sidelining 02. You can’t really claim that they’re sidelining 02 when they’re making a whole movie, after all...)

Of course, I don’t claim to speak for every single 02 fan out there (so if you’re a 02 fan who doesn’t agree with anything I’m about to say, I apologize and hope I don’t sound presumptuous), and I highly doubt I represent the mainstream, but I felt I should input my perspective as a 02 fan who’s friends with a handful of other 02 fans, who have discussed this extensively and all have the same feelings on the topic, and why it’s kind of frustrating to keep hearing this kind of thing from people who assume that all fans of something should want to see more things that resemble them by default without any more nuance to it.

It won’t actually improve much that’s worth it

I’m going to be blunt about it: I think more people who supposedly want this 02 reboot are people who hate or dislike 02 than people who actually are fans of the series, because they’re doing this under the sentiment that “this was a bad series, so a redo would improve it.” You can especially tell because a lot of people acting like a reboot is in 02′s best interest are the same people being scathingly critical of the current Adventure: reboot right now, so you can see that this kind of mentality comes from people who clearly understand that a reboot won’t necessarily be something everyone likes all that much, and thus believe 02 is so unsalvageably bad that you couldn’t possibly make it worse. So you can probably understand why I’m not exactly patient with this kind of take.

If we are to be charitable, though -- if this sentiment comes out of a genuine feeling that 02 had missed potential that could be addressed by the reboot -- I want to ask everyone if they really believe that this theoretical reboot would be a net improvement, especially one that’s worth all the time and effort involved, and even more especially given the writing style that the current Adventure: reboot is employing. You don’t have to claim it’s a perfect series or anything to understand the sentiment that it held up enough by itself to not necessitate a whole anime series being made to do another take on it.

Something I would like to remind people who love to claim that 02 is such a despised series is that it made around 89% of Adventure’s revenue at the time it aired, and despite those who despise 02 being very vocal on the Internet, the actual mainstream tends to be very positive about it, especially in terms of anything to do with Ken (whom most reasonable people will agree had a character arc that deserves acclaim). So in other words, if you want to do a reboot, most likely you would want to do it without offending the base that likes the series already, right? (Especially since, you know, recent events have proven that upsetting the real-life 02 fanbase is actually a pretty inadvisable idea...)

Here’s the thing: Once you filter out most of the “scapegoat” reasons people tend to criticize 02, the one that’s generally the most agreed upon is how disorganized the plot gets in the second half. So this so-called ideal situation reboot would supposedly iron out all of the messy plot writing and make use of the “wasted potential” the series had -- but 02 was way more than just a narrative storyline with characters walking around in it, and when it comes to the reasons people were so drawn to it, they’re tied to the series themes about regrets and making up for the past, and about the unreasonable pressures that society places on children. That, and also the most important one, the central theme of human relationships, and the charismatic and well-developed (yes, really) characters. The so-called “messier” second half of 02 was full of payoff for a lot of what was set up in the first half in regards to its themes, and a lot of its subplots or character flairs are packed in really small nuances that are easy to miss on the first watch.

What this means is that 02 is a series that works off of a lot of delicate balances. Adventure could be “rebooted” because everything was very clear-cut and straightforward, which meant that you could change almost everything about the plot and still relatively adhere to the primary points of “kids gain self-awareness through a journey in another world”. (Like, I really hate to break it to those who put Adventure on a pedestal, but this is mainly possible because Adventure doesn’t really have much of a plot besides “defeat enemy” followed by “defeat bigger enemy”...) In the case of 02, everything regarding the story is, for better or for worse, much more deeply tied to the plot, the narrative behind the Kaiser and the traces of psychological horror laced into everything, and the second-half evolution mechanic, Jogress, has a lot to do with the developments related to the human relationships narrative. Moreover, a lot of the reasons that people call it “bad” for are deeply tied to the exact same reasons a lot of people like it -- that its takes on certain topics were heavily nuanced and unconventional, meaning it could cover ground that most media wouldn’t go anywhere near -- and so the series loses too much of its identity if those aspects are removed, even if it ostensibly seems like “streamlining” it.

So if you mess with one thing, a lot of it falls apart -- and in fact, considering the writing style that the Adventure: reboot is using right now, it’s hard to imagine that applying it to 02 would make it any better. Actually, it seems like it wouldn’t address any of the grievances anyone has with it to any substantial degree, and it’d be more likely to axe all of the stuff that were integral to 02′s identity, like the social commentary, or the heavy focus on human relationships, or the unusual sort of character nuance it employed, and...basically, we go back to the same question: is this actually worth it?

02 itself was about not having this kind of sentiment

The main reason most 02 fans get upset about the 02 characters not being included in Adventure canon-related things that should rightfully include them is that, quite simply, they’re part of the canon! In fact, most 02 fans like Adventure too, so they like the way 02 built on Adventure’s worldbuilding, and moreover they’re attached to the web of relationships between the Adventure and 02 groups -- 02′s additions to Adventure’s worldbuilding and the nature of what it established around the neighborhoods of Odaiba and Tamachi were not only added on but also deeply entangled with what was established before, so you can’t just act like none of it exists!

So this also means that once we’re talking about a completely different universe, absolutely none of this applies and there’s no expectations to adhere to any of this. The 02 quartet doesn’t exist in this universe? Cool.

Funny thing about 02: one of the biggest themes the story revolved around was “not getting caught up in the past, and moving forward with what you have instead,” so it’s probably pretty understandable that a lot of people who like 02 would be the type who wouldn’t be fond of rehashing stuff too much (and even more so it involves 02 itself), especially since being okay with 02 as a sequel likely means being okay with change in general. To make something really new out of it, you might as well...actually make something new out of it, or cover some truly new territory, instead of bothering with this whole reboot business, you know?

One thing you might notice about a lot of 02 fans is that they’re not actually all that fond of the idea of canon putting the group through more massive suffering or emotional ordeals after 02 compared to most. I mean, I think it’s pretty normal to enjoy your favorite characters going through emotional trouble, but the aversion to it often tends to be much stronger than usual, regardless of what country’s fanbase we’re talking, and even the official staff for Kizuna seems to have somewhat recognized that the 02 group is most in its element when in the context of fun and silliness. All things considered, this probably isn’t particularly surprising when you take into account the fact that “just being able to hang out with each other as casual friends at all” was considered such a blessing, and such a difficult goal to reach, that there’s a natural aversion to seeing them go through more emotional suffering again. The new trailer for the upcoming movie seems to have Daisuke in a relatively good mood (and even then, “please don’t make it too emotionally vicious for them” is a pretty common plea).

So if you want to talk about rehashing all of their old problems, seeing it all over again is just not very fun. It’s like holding Ken’s sins over his head again, even if it’s in a different universe; it just doesn’t feel right when the series itself endorsed the best possible outcome for these kids to be “to live happily and at peace with themselves, no matter what happened beforehand”. They worked so hard to get out of it, so to decide we have to do this entire rodeo again for the sake of doing it again, instead of trying something new is...well, it’s not that appealing of an idea, I have to say.

The real-life impact would be intolerable

It’s no secret that the 02 hatedom is a bit uncomfortably vocal about it, but what tends to be really frustrating about it is how many of them love to dunk on the series based on misremembering it. It’s fair that, if you don’t like a series, you probably wouldn’t want to watch it again, but as someone who’s spent a lot of years unpacking all the little details in the series and noticing that it’s much deeper than it initially seems on the surface, it’s honestly annoying to see “criticism” of the series that’s actually just dunking on it based on details that are genuinely factually incorrect (it’d be one thing if it were a question of subjectivity, but no, so many of the insults 02 often gets are based on things that legitimately did not happen in the series).

In the end, I admit that 02′s penchant for ridiculous subtlety probably worked against it a bit too much, and I’ve already covered its impact on how the series gets misread a lot. Thing is, this kind of subtlety was a thing in Adventure too, and it all leads to the unfortunate effect that a lot of people tend to forget what actually happened in Adventure if they haven’t seen it for more than a few years. With the current reboot right now, you’ll see people saying that certain characters are the same as they were in the original series, even though in most respects they’re actually the opposite -- because a lot of said people only remember them by the surface characteristics that seem to be similar.

So when you look at 02, and consider the fact that even official media -- including the official American English dub and V-Tamer -- has been a bit too prone to not handling Daisuke’s character tastefully and reducing him to traits that make him easy to dislike, you might realize that handling these characters improperly runs an extremely high risk of actually turning them into the flat, unlikeable characters that people tend to accuse them of being -- imagine Daisuke where his entire character is about fixating over Hikari and being impulsive, or Miyako being nothing but self-centered and selfish, or Iori being genuinely stoic and missing the nuances of constantly holding his emotions back. And making it worse is that this would basically solidify these negative perceptions of the characters even further -- because people, especially those inclined to hate the series, would take it as further evidence that the characters have always been like this, reflect it back on the original, and everything would really just become a miserable experience. (Those who are particularly inclined to be malicious against 02 would probably even claim a reboot to be “better than the original” no matter whatever it is, because of the belief that 02 is so incredibly terrible that literally anything would be better than it.)

It’s not my business to dictate other people’s opinions, but it’s already been a frustrating twenty years of dealing with this kind of thing, so of course I’m not going to be enthusiastic about the idea of putting up with more of it...

#digimon #digimon adventure 02

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normal-thoughts-official · 4 years ago

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Conversations You Can Have While Your Partner Ties You Up

Tom and Andy try shibari without supervision for the first time, and Andy is nervous.

Tom uses his best soothing technique: running his mouth.

Fandom: It Lives (Visual Novels)

Relationship: Andy Kang/Tom Sato

Additional Tags: Humor, Crack, Fluff and Crack, not smut!, not that there's anything wrong with that i just want to be clear, so no one's disappointed lmao, it's just the two of them bantering while andy ties him up, Tom Sato Has Strong Feelings About Yogi, Established Relationship, BDSM, Good BDSM Etiquette, because apparently bad bdsm etiquette is a tag and fuck that noise, dom andy kang, sub tom sato, altho again we don't really get into that but idk best to tag, way too many puns, they are very in love and it's disgusting, i am on my bullshit again, Almost No Beta We Die Like Uhh Bigender People

Read it on Ao3

It's the first time they're trying out shibari without an instructor supervising, and Andy is nervous. Tom can tell that Andy is nervous because his eyes keep darting to the safety shears way too frequently, and also because he whispered "God, I'm nervous" to himself several times while he was setting the gear.

Tom prides himself greatly in his Andy-reading skills.

Andy barely breathed while he was setting up the sleeve, making sure every single strand of rope was several inches away from the smallest articulation, checking and rechecking that he could put two fingers under the rope, and asking whether or not it was too tight every five seconds. All while holding his breath. Tom was scared he'd pass out from oxygen deprivation or something.

Getting to the harness part was a little better. For about ten seconds. The knots there are mostly decorative, but wouldn't you know, turns out Andy's perfectionist streak decided to kick in right then.

He's redoing the same knot for the third time when he starts to mumble. "Ancient Japanese art of being a pain in my ass..."

Ah yes, Tom thought to himself, grinning. A prime opportunity. "I thought it was you who was supposed to be the pain in my ass," he says.

Andy groans.

"Oh, come on, it was right there!"

"I realized my mistake as soon as it left my mouth"

"Me when you suddenly stop fucking my face."

Andy snickers, and Tom considers it a win. "Shut up," he says.

"Yes, dud- Sir."

"Were you about to make a BDSM joke and call me dude?"

"No. Yes. Maybe. Shut up!" Tom laughs, "In my defense, the horny and clown signals have been getting a little mixed up the last, like, five seconds."

"Why did that make me imagine you in a sexy clown outfit?"

"I'm just gonna go ahead and veto that idea right now."

"What, you don't want to explore clown kink?" Andy puts on his best Dom voice, "Honk for me, slut." He starts giggling.

"Andy, I swear to god, my dick's gonna go soft."

"Don't you dare!" Andy yelps, "I've been training for months to be able to tie you up like this and I will fuck you in Shibari, god damn it!"

"Yeah, no, nevermind, you're really hot when you're determined."

Andy smiles, "Oh, stop. Is that too tight?"

Tom tries to give him a thumbs up, then remembers that he can't and shakes his head instead. "No, it's good."

Andy nods in acknowledgement, then grins at Tom again. "Cool, so… Back to sexy clowns?"

"No clowns are sexy. They're terrifying."

"You willingly went into a haunted town."

"Yeah, and you know how many clowns there were there? Zero."

"So that's the criteria for our sexy costumes? Is, like, sexy zombie bear still on the table then?"

"I'm gonna ask you to take a moment to consider the words that are coming out of your mouth."

"I've never done that in my life and I'm not going to start now." Andy says, casually, then frowns. "Can you help me with this one?"

"Heh," Tom smiles, "sorry dude, my hands are tied."

Andy groans. "Will you stop making puns, you ass?"

"Heh, ass-"

Andy ignores him. "I meant, lift your hip a little bit."

"Aye aye, captain."

"This is virtually the same as 'yes, Sir', yet so different."

"Ooh, do I smell pirate roleplay?"

"You know what? We could get those old hats we used when we were kids-"

"Do you know where to get a sword? I very much want swords."

"Ooh, knife play but long."

"I need to make a swordplay pun right now."

Andy gives a little laugh. "Do you?"

"I'm just not inspired enough. Guess I gotta get better with my wordplay..."

This time, Andy full-on laughs. He needs to stop focusing on his knots for a second. Tom's grin is way too proud.

Andy bites his lip. "Come on, this is gonna take forever at this rate. Help me out for a sec."

"Sorry, my hands are-"

"Okay, if you make that pun one more time, I'm not letting you cum at all tonight."

"You promise?"

"Ugh. Punishing you is so hard. Let me rephrase that. If you make that pun one more time, I am letting you come tonight, just once, and then calling it a day, like this is vanilla sex or something."

Tom gasps. "Evil."

"Or maybe I'll make you say that Yogi is not that bad."

"You'll never take me alive."

Andy gestures to Tom's immobilized body, smiling. "Pretty sure I already have you."

"Oh no, I had the instinct to say something incredibly sappy and disgusting."

"Were you going to answer 'always'?"

"I will neither confirm nor deny."

"Well, that's a shame. 'Cause if that had been the case, I'd have said, 'same'."

Tom pretends to swoon as best as he can, considering he's almost completely immobilized. It mostly consists of tilting his head. "And they say romance is dead."

"You gave me finger guns when I first said 'I love you'."

"And you think I should be the standard?"

"Well, who else is it gonna be? Me? When you first said 'I love you', I said 'sweet'."

Tom smiles, softly. "It was pretty sweet, if you ask me."

Andy bites the inside of his cheek. "Shut up. I'm almost done, by the way."

"Nice."

"Not thanks to you."

"Okay, look, I know I'm not supposed to say that my hands are tied anymore, but in this case it's just, like, literally true."

"Doesn't mean you have to keep distracting me."

"Ooh, I'm distracting?" Tom wiggles his eyebrows, lifting his hips up a bit.

Andy laughs. "You know that, in this case, you're getting in the way of us having sex, right?"

"I don't know, man. I'm tied up, my dick is hard, you're touching me, you're smiling, that's a win in my book."

"You're only partially tied up, which is exactly my point."

Tom makes his best impression of Akon in I Just Had Sex, "Still counts!"

Andy snorts, but tries to compose himself. "So, what, once I'm done with this I can just leave you tied up and call it a day?"

"I mean, that'd be hot, yeah."

"Ugh, you're impossible."

"You love me."

"Don't change the subject."

Tom grins. "So you admit that you love me."

"I'm your boyfriend of three years."

"Don't change the subject."

It's Andy's turn to grin. "Of course I love you, you dork. Now shut up so I can finish tying you up."

"Aww, I love you too."

"Thanks, man."

"I'm sorry, did you just say 'thanks, man'?"

"Well, my hands are busy, so I can't finger gun."

"Will you let it go?"

"Very funny thing to say while I'm tying knots around your dick."

"Ah, you're right. In that case, tie me up harder."

"How am I supposed to tie you up harder?"

"I don't know, I just think it sounds sexier when you add a 'harder' at the end."

"Like, 'honk harder, clown'?"

"Now you're just trying to upset me."

Andy smiles at him, slyly. "Maybe I think you need a little punishment."

Tom grins in a way that makes Andy regret everything he's ever said. "Aww yeah, baby, I better start singing La La La, 'cuz I've been a Naughty Boy."

Andy can't help it. He bursts out laughing. "You dork!" He wheezes, face falling on top of Tom's shoulder as he laughs. Tom grins.

"See, that's the Andy I know and love, laughing at every stupid shit I say."

Andy giggles for a few more seconds, holding onto Tom's shoulders, before shaking his head to try and focus. He still lets out a little laugh every once in a while, though. "I swear, it's like you don't want me to fuck you in shibari," he grumbles.

Tom looks appalled. "This is slander."

"Then, like, get into ropespace and stop talking or something."

"I can't get into ropespace when I know you aren't, either," Tom grumbles.

Andy freezes. "What?"

Tom bites the inside of his lip, turning in the other direction. "You were nervous," he says. Then he nods in the direction of Andy's hands, "you've been a lot calmer since we started talking. You're almost done."

Andy looks down, actually realizing that Tom's torso is almost entirely decorated with knots at this point. "Oh. You're right."

Tom grins again. "So, see, by distracting you with my dumb shit, I actually helped us finish this quicker. And they say running your mouth isn't a talent."

Andy smiles. Lets the rope go. Throws his arms around Tom's neck and gives him a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you, love," he says, peppering kisses in his face. Tom laughs.

"You're welcome. Now finish tying me up so we can get this show on the road," he says, way too innocently. Andy grins, and pulls his hair.

"You're in no position to make demands, slut."

Tom's eyes flutter in bliss. He smiles again. "Yes, Sir."

#it lives #it lives in the woods #ilitw #tom sato #andy kang #tom x andy #andy x tom #tomdy #literally when will i stop #crack

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strwberrytae · 4 years ago

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So Long, Farewell, and Goodbye For Now -

“I don’t know how you are so familiar to me—or why it feels less like I am getting to know you and more as though I am remembering who you are. How every smile, every whisper brings me closer to the impossible conclusion that I have known you before, I have loved you before—in another time, a different place, some other existence.” - Lang Leav

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Hello, You ♡ Yes, You. You ethereal, beautiful being. I am writing to you with bittersweet yet wonderful news - depending on the perspective. I am writing this post to inform all of you that I will no longer be writing for this blog for the foreseeable future. What I mean by that is that I am not giving up writing forever, no. But my life has changed so much over the last two years, I do not see myself writing again for quite some time. But don’t worry! I will be back!

Below the Read More section, I have poured my heart and soul into the real reasons why I’ve made this decision. I warn you, it’s lengthy but it’s everything that has led up to this over the years. So, if you fancy, have a read. If not, I bid you farewell and wish you all the happiness in the world. Thank you for supporting me so far. I truly appreciate it and love you all very dearly. Now, if you wish to read it at a later time, I will have a link available on my page at all times for anyone who is curious. It’s a hell of a story if you ask me ~

Edit: Made by Me - also, a surprise photo at the end Warnings/Triggers: Talks of emotional abuse, depression, and suicide but also happiness and love -

When I first started this blog, it was 2016. I had been on Tumblr for over a decade now but BTS led me to writing passionately for 2 years. I was incredibly active and utterly consumed by this website. Not just for the writing, but I was so obsessed because of my friends and mutuals that I made along the way. Can I just say that I’ve met some incredible people on this platform - including my best friend and soulmate? Truthfully, the absolute best friend I have ever had. But more importantly, Tumblr was my greatest escape. I mean this website truly has been my saving grace through very dark times.

In that part of my life, I was in an extremely toxic relationship; by then, it was 6 years I was with him. He was emotionally abusive, had such a short-fuse temper, hated everyone I knew which led me never really seeing any of my friends after college, knew I was anorexic and did nothing to stop me, knew I had depression since we started dating and always argued it as if it wasn’t real, crushed my dreams and ambitions, mocked potential suicide attempts, expected me to just abandon all hope to ever leave home to explore someplace new or get a job that I actually love. He was...just the worst. Never hit me though, so I’m grateful for that. But sometimes I wish he would so it would have given me the voice I needed to get out of that relationship much sooner than I did. But regardless, because of him plus having a soul-sucking job that wore me down to the core, Tumblr was my escape. BTS was my escape.

I fell hard and I fell deep. I created a fantasy world within this world. All of my dreams, fantasies, desires, and hopes were poured into my writing. My imagination was running wild. My activity was through the roof because I was always on here day in and out, just pretending like the outside world didn’t exist. It consumed me...but I needed it. Looking back, it was pretty excessive. At the time, I seemed perfectly normal because everyone else was just as active and saying the same things and doing the same things. I felt a belonging, like I fit in.

But I hated the person I became. It took me getting yelled at, mocked, ridiculed, and belittled by my ex to snap me out of that illusion I built and back into reality. That was the roughest night that we had filled with lots of screaming on his end and crying on my part. He thought my obsession was sick. He thought it was disgusting. It all started because he found fake texts I had made with Jimin and Tae. Don’t recall the story it was a part of but he thought they were texts with the actual members… In my eyes, I should get credit for making them look so legit but he didn’t see it that way. He thought fangirling over men was essentially cheating. No matter how hard I tried to explain, he didn’t understand. But a part of his view was right. I learned that I was a bit too much into it and I really needed to take a step back from Tumblr for a while. So I did. I deactivated my account and disappeared for months. Also because he made me and threatened our relationship if I didn’t. Should have taken the out but ah well.

Just two months prior to this incident, I attempted suicide. Well, contemplated. Everything was planned out. Bought a hotel room for Thanksgiving night as I was working a super late shift until about 1-2am. My commute home was an hour long and I still had to come back to work at 7am. So I got a room. Brought a large amount of pills with me and I was going to call it. No notes written to friends, family, or loved ones. Nothing. I was done. Didn’t think anyone would miss me. I just figured the world would keep turning without me. I had thought about doing this several times before but this was my first time making plans for it. It was my lowest of the low. But then I met someone that night that changed my life entirely just in a 10 minute interaction of talking - nothing special. We’ll get to that later. But this person just gave me hope and to this day, I still can’t explain it. It was euphoric. I felt clarity. It was in that night that I thought I might hold out just a little bit longer.

And thus @strwberrytae was born - but it was far from the same. At first, I restarted the blog in secret. Why would I do this? Why would a 25 year old open a blog in secret? Well, two months after the awful fight, my ex proposed to me and I said yes. I know. Believe me, I know. I was scared. My depression was getting worse again. I no longer had an escape except for books. All I did was read so I had some sort of reality to be in besides my own. But returning to a brand new blog did not give the same satisfaction as returning to an old blog.

I worked so hard on my first blog and this redo, I tried to consider it as a gift. Perhaps this was a chance to start anew and rebrand myself. This optimism kept up for quite some time. Slowly, I added my favorite past works then added some new chapters. If you’ve been here with me since 2017, you would know that my appearance on Tumblr was still not the same. Then I got married in October.

An empty, loveless marriage that I regret to this day. Needless to say, my writing and activity on Tumblr was still practically non-existent as I was still too scared of getting caught. Even though he finally gave me permission to use it again because he could tell how miserable it was making me. Yes, gave me permission. Thankfully, it all ended after a year. I finally went to a therapist even though I hated them so much and all past therapists I had. She was pretty great. Within five sessions, I summoned the courage to break up with this guy. I was finally set free. Nearly 9 years together and I finally felt like I could breathe.

Unfortunately, although I was free, I had to live with the guy for about 5 months after the breakup. Which was beyond rough, believe me. Imagine someone writhing in pain and bawling their eyes out and venting non-stop about all of their faults and wrongdoings every single day. At the end of the day, as shitty as he was to me, he was my best friend too. We went through a lot of shit together and he did have some good sides to him too. So witnessing this was horrendous. Needless to say, I wasn’t getting much privacy either. Writing was not my top priority. Now it’s 2019 and things changed drastically for the better - and worst.

Remember the person I met in 2016 on Thanksgiving night? Well, that person is someone I crushed on every since that night. For 2 years. People, I’m telling you. He did absolutely nothing special that night. He didn’t flirt with me. He didn’t check me out. He didn’t do anything remotely to make a girl swoon but I was so drawn to him. The only word that could describe it was “cosmic” - beautifully cosmic.

Well in January 2019, 2 months following my break up, he came into my store one day. And my god did he look incredible. He was dressed head to toe in black - a fitted black suit at that. He even wore this long, designer jacket to match. Hair shaved on the sides with beautiful, thick dark hair on top. So tall - 182cm. A smile that could kill; quite literally. The canines are on point. He looked like a five course meal. That day, he definitely flirted with me. By the end of the week, we had our first date. Sadly, I also lost my job in the same week and was unemployed for a year because no one would hire me. I was laid off and one of my seniors took my job. Of course, they needed to keep me around for the holidays and then give me the boot. I was devastated. I hated that job so much as it only aided in fueling my depression but losing it was definitely an amazing thing. And! I survived on my savings and definitely didn’t spend my time writing. I had life to sort out last year - like from the ground up. No worries though. I got a job in February 2020 and I love it, so it’s all good, baby. Now I’m in the health field and feel like I’m actually helping people, which I love.

Now, here we are 2 years later and I’m engaged to the man. Someone who makes me smile everyday, believes in me, encourages me, let’s me be 100% myself, travels with me, taught me how to love myself, taught me to accept my body, gets me on a level that only my best friend could, and someone who goes above and beyond every single day to show me how much he loves me. Bonus, he welcomes my love for BTS with open arms, reads my writing, AND has even been sucked in himself to the fandom. Jungkook and Jimin, look out. You got another fanboy. I thought true love was impossible for me but I was very, very wrong.

He has shown me that I can be happy and I have finally experienced true happiness. When people ask how I’m doing, I don’t cringe and lie through my teeth. I smile and say that I am doing well because by George, I am. Everyone around me has seen me over the last two years and made the comment, “you look so much happier”. They meet him and swoon just as much as I do. Is he perfect? No, he’s not. He has flaws just like everyone else but he actually grows and learns from his mistakes to better himself. That’s what amazes me the most. Even if we argue, which is seldom, he refuses to let it go without resolution so we can always fix whatever the issue is. As we like to call it, we’re in-sync. In everything, we’re always so in-sync. I’m wildly in love, my dudes.

So, why am I not writing anymore? To put it simply, I’m happy and don’t really feel the desire to write anymore - at least not fanfiction. Even when I was super young, like elementary school, I used writing as an outlet for my dark escape. I wrote poetry primarily and by middle school, it turned to fanfiction for Supernatural, Simple Plan, and Panic! At The Disco. Along with a very long list of other bands and shows but anyways. I’ve been severely depressed since I was 15 and fanfiction put me in this hole that I couldn’t get out of. I relied on this method to help me get through all the bad shit I was dealing with. It was my coping mechanism.

Now? While depression never truly goes away as the lovely disease that it is, I am genuinely happy. Because of this, when I opened all of my past works and works in progress, I felt nothing but guilt. Guilt for not keeping up with my chapters or keeping my account active. I felt dread to have to escape in this world that I had created. I felt no joy or excitement. It was the strangest feeling that happened all in a matter of seconds. Thus leading to my final decision to take a step away from writing. Do I still love it? Absolutely. But now I think I’m going to re-route and focus my writing on what I love - reality. I’m going to get back into journaling and write essays about love and beauty as I’ve always loved to do. But for escaping into a fantasy world? I don’t know when I’ll be back.

Now I know what you’re thinking. “But you can write and be happy!” Nah fam. Writing has been my aid through dark times and now I mostly associate it with those dark times. And for once in my life, I feel this desire to enjoy reality and remain in it - with the exception of journaling here and there. Even daydreaming is difficult. It’s strange. I love my reality. This sounds like gloating now but it’s truly a remarkable feeling. When you’ve been battling depression for 15 years, it feels really freaking nice to say that I’m happy.

So that’s why I’m taking a break - in a very long, drawn out way. But my hope was that after this long story, you might understand truly why I am doing this. It would have been easier to just say that writing doesn’t bring me joy anymore but I feel that I owe more than that; especially because I really don’t know if I’ll write for this blog ever again. The last time I took a break, I disappeared without being able to explain myself and I wanted to do so now that I have the chance.

Ultimately, thank you to everyone who has stuck by me over the years. It’s truly been one hell of a rollercoaster. The friends I’ve made on here have seen me at my lowest of the lows. But hey! I’ll still be around. I just won’t be publishing or continuing any of my works anywhere in the near future. Seriously though. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. This website has helped me tremendously and I’ll never forget it. Besides, there’s lots of other exciting things happening in my life now so you’ll certainly see me pop in here and there to talk about it ♡

If you wish, you can message me for questions or anything you want to know. I’m an open book - at least about most things hehe. And don’t worry. I still very much love Taehyung and still wildly obsessing over how marvelous he is. Umf.

(here’s some recent photos of me as i rarely take selfies anymore haha. and a derp photo of me and the man i love >_< why is the cutest photo of him with the worst photo of me? still cute though hehe)

#me #personal #goodbye for now #no longer writing #bts writer

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ourladylennon · 3 years ago

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this is a stress rant and also I absolutely have to get these thoughts out of my head and onto something so that I can understand how I'm feeling. so pardon me.

I have some very mixed feelings about my latest tattoo experience and it has been incredibly, astoundingly stressful. For anyone who was interested in how it went.

and after typing out this whole rant and reading it back my advice is: ALWAYS make sure it is exactly what you want. ALWAYS speak up if you don’t.

I have a specific style, as everyone, but the style of tattoo I have is a bit of a niche that can be hard to find: geometric design with dotwork/pointillism/stippling techniques to create shading rather then standard fill in shading. This shading style is incredibly time consuming and taxing for the artist and I've had a lot of trouble finding people who specialize in this (and within my area).

I started with an artist about 3 years ago, whom was new to me but known to be good. Got my appt set up, he drew me an entire sleeve- it was absolutely gorgeous. Went through two sessions and his work is genuinely amazing. Clean. Precise. Detailed. Unique. I didn't vibe with him too great but it was something I kind of put aside. But without explaining the whole fucking mess that became, just know that our artist-client relationship fell through. This left me with only the beginning of my tattoo. The whole ordeal was really stressful and upsetting so I put down the goal of getting it finished to try and recoup. And I just continually hit roadblocks trying to find artists who are good at dotwork and willing to do it. Often times they live in other cities/states/etc. Obviously this involves meeting a new artist, trying to figure out if it's a good fit, driving out for consultations/redoing all that process- s t r e s s. Now with covid, it's even more difficult because almost every artist I've come across that I've considered has closed books. All of them being out of town which is fine because it would be worth it. It's expected.

But after three years of this go around of trying to find someone, I was getting really put out by the process and just wanting to get this thing going. (Mistake #1- or #2 technically cause fucking up w the first artist is where it all started and I do regret it to this day).

A new shop opened IN my town- a miracle!!! I started following an artist whose work I found to be particularly amazing. Clean lines, clean shading, artistic seeming. Didn't see any pointillism, but I just like kept seeing her work and thinking damn that's good. So I decided to reach out and told her this is what I'm looking for, a dotwork sleeve and here are some examples of the style I like. I specifically mentioned this and asked if they'd be interested in working on it because I know that dotwork is not everyone's thing. The artist replied and said they've been wanting to get into and would like to do that (we'll call this mistake #3. Do not assume the artist, even if very good at other things will be good at all things. Do not go to an artist wanting a specific style without having seen their work for THAT style).

At this point I sent over pictures of my current tattoo that we'd be adding onto for reference. In my mind this is what I thought would mean: "I am looking at what you have to see how to incorporate it into a new sleeve design and see how I can create a collaborative piece and mesh the two together." (Mistake #4: that was not the case. Do not assume. Anything. Ever.)

The appt date was relatively quick despite the fact that I figured she'd be booked out for quite some time (red flag #1: not because she wasn't busy. But because this was not a whole lot of time to come up with a design but I figured "Well she knows her capabilities better than I do and she wouldn't suggest it that soon if she weren't sure). In my previous experiences, the artist will send you a proof or have a separate appt to review the design. I never received an email with said design (red flag #2, in my personal opinion. But I thought I was just being...extra? Also just thought, okay I'll see it at the appt and it will be OK, right? <- mistake #5).

I show up, there is no sleeve design. (RED FLAG #3) There are two single mandala tattoos. Outlines only. No shading. I'd also like to say my style is much more geometric fractals than it is mandala. A lot of people find these interchangeable but...they're really much different. (RED. FLAG. #4). I genuinely did not see that coming. Maybe I'm wrong to say, but this was negligent in my opinion and experience. A sleeve design ensures that your finished piece flows, that it works together, you can see the whole picture, modify, etc. Especially with it being an addition to my existing work. Cannot stress how much of a red flag.

I'm wigging out at this point. I don't love them but I want this tattoo. I'm going back and forth thinking, "maybe it's just because the shading isn't filled in I can't picture it." (MISTAKE #6: trust your gut!!!). I tell her OK well I like this about this one and that about that one. She only nods and listens, where I was expecting feedback; perhaps an "OK well we can draw it on" or "I can rework it" etc. She didn't and I am too paralyzed to speak up. (Red flag #4)

Mistake #7: I accept it at this point. I pick between the two. She has to go resize it. I'm having a literal internal freak out and battle. I am someone who DOES NOT know how to speak up for themselves. In any way. EVER. For any reason. At any time. I am a fear based individual, in fact, I am nearly certain I have APD (avoidant personality disorder) and it effects me severely and deeply. To the point that simply speaking to someone can be hard for me.

But my brain was screaming you cannot do this! You aren't sure! This is for life! It's your body!! You HAVE to say something! (RED fucking alert)

She came back with the one design resized and my heart is thumping, my chest is constricting, the throat feels like it's closing. I make myself say it. I tell her I don't think this is what I'm looking for. I literally almost busted into tears trying to say it because I was so fucking terrified and overwhelmed. I've never been in a position where I genuinely wasn't sure whether I liked what I was looking at. She says you don't need to be sorry you should speak up this is your body. So immediately, I lost a lot of tension because of her kindness. I thought she would be angry or rude or upset, just because I'm fearful. She proceeded to kind of go in and shade in with a pencil on the stencil to give me a better idea and apologized that she should have had that prepared. I continue asking questions to assuage my concerns and feel....better....ish. she offers to redraw and reschedule but I went against my gut, gave into my desperacy to continue my sleeve, dismissed my feelings as being just my typical overexertion of fear and did something I NEVER do: turn my back on my instincts. (Mistake. Mistake #8)

She was pleasant and I genuinely enjoyed her, felt comfortable with her which is not something I can say about previous artists and that's a good chunk of why I decided to continue. I liked her, I liked her other work I've seen, I just thought that once the stippling was in that I'd see it was really nice. However, I am laying there and I'm like I do not feel poking, which is literally how dotwork is done. Dot by dot. I'd feel her do the tiniest bit of dot-dot-dot and I'm like OK OK I'm just not paying full attention and missing it. But then I'd hear and feel her shading- standard shading. I'm like why is she using a shading tip? I'm just confused honestly. I'm like I have no idea what the could be for, just assume it's necessary for something I didn't realize. But I can see because I'm laying and my arms at a weird angle.

I finally get a peek while she's pausing and its....not dotwork. It's not dotwork at all, in fact. It's too late at this point in my eyes. It was only partially done but what am I gonna do? Stop her in the middle and have an unfinished tattoo? And then what? (Try to) go to someone else to have them do dotwork and have a half unmatching tattoo? There was nothing I could do. So I resigned and accepted this as the consequences of my actions and ill choices. And that's honestly been the hardest part to deal with: I let this happen to myself because I could not speak up. The only person who could have stopped this was ME. And I could not do it. That's how deeply my issues of fear run. And that is terrifying, pathetic, sad.

I'm not saying I got the world's ugliest tattoo. It's okay. Just okay. In the words of RuPaul, meh. I don't want meh. I want astounding. And I didn't do what I needed to to make that happen or not happen.

I just have been in awe over the fact that I asked for dotwork and the artist expressed no concern over this, literally had my existing tattoo right above where they were working and continued to not emulate that style of shading at all. Most of this is my fault, 90% of it. But there was negligence on the artists side and I genuinely don't think they meant it to be. I just don't think they had enough experience, but they too should have spoke up if they didn't feel they could carry it out. They gave me no inclination that they could not or would not be doing dotwork. At any point. And I do feel upset that I don't think they put in the effort or care to work off my existing tattoo in their design, and in looking back, their design also does not look nearly anything like the designs I gave for example. It was my job to walk away and request a redesign or to cancel and I didn't. So in the end this is on me. And it has been very taxing on my mental state.

To end this shit show: the tattoo I just got costed half of what my first one did, while only having taking the fraction of time as my first and being less then half the size of my first. It is not nearly as clean, it certainly reflects their level of experience. The shop environment was not fantastic: it felt a bit like as if I had walked into a chain restaurant...but a tattoo shop. There were no private rooms, there were no tattoo chairs. They were literal stools and that's not...not professional or normal. And I chose to continue.

I'm faced with some really tough decisions moving forward. I am at least thankful it is relatively small ish and wraps towards my inner arm which makes it less visible. But I'm at a crossroads of whether I go through the whole mess of trying to find a FOURTH artist to try and finish my sleeve the way it was meant to be finished (dotwork, whole sleeve design etc) and make the best of it at the risk of having a fucking patchwork arm. Or I continue to work with this artist and see the design through myself (literally design it myself which I didn't want to do but it doesn't appear that I should leave this to them), so that at least the remainder of my arm is consistent shading and work.

And because I've made it sound like the tattoo is atrocious, be assured it's not trash by any means. It's just not what I wanted. Big sis learned a big lesson.

(the immediate center is bothering me the most. But I think it can be altered. Nonetheless. The skill/experience level shows, unfortunately. And you can certainly see the difference between the stipple shading on my first tattoo and the regular shading on the new one.)

I am trying to be positive and that's all I can do. I accept the results and I think it can be fixed to a certain extent, and I can only hope as I move forward that I make the right decision and that the end product is something I enjoy.

#aye aye aye children #it was a big lesson is all i can say #genuinely helped to get all this out #i was able to identify my biggest stressor of this whole experience which is a disappointment in myself first and foremost #but i have hope #and it will be okay #as my dear anon reminded me tis but a bump in the road #sorry for the huge ass rant but i have been having the worst anxiety over it and i do feel a lot better #and i am glad to get this off my chest and move on #it's like a resolution to move forward now #deep breath! :-)

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tenwoology · 4 years ago

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part twenty-six

part 25 • part 27

back to navi.

taglist: @orange-nimon-cross @tell-tale-taeil @stopitvpls @exfolitae @bts7aus @jaemingold @doyoungsarabbit @maricopia

pls let me know if you want to be added on the taglist. :)

note: hey, friends! this was supposed to be uploaded yesterday but my docs had a little bit of a problem. i legit got scared because the whole app won’t open and i thought my drafts got eaten. anw, all things good now! still i had to redo everything. i had fun making it tho! pls click on the music for more fun experience. also we got in @/jjyusmile’s monthly recs! if someone wants to cry with me pls hmu yaaay (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*.✧

length: 1k :: press play: give it back - cö shu nie

narration is under the cut.

it was as if it had the hallmarks of a hollywood scene. the two of you basking in the late afternoon’s golden hues, in a cafe with the view that overlook the ocean stretched out in the horizon. the sunlight glistened over the waters making it appear like a sea of diamonds. it was almost picture perfect.

because the best view you have here is your best friend, jungwoo. he sat across the table, in a position where the sun perfectly illuminates his face as if it had found a home on his skin. his cheeks dusted with light pinks.

memories of sunsets, cherry trees, and the images of your younger days played in your mind like a streak of old negatives. you were lost for a moment. only the crackling leaves beneath your feet became the piped music as the image of you and jungwoo running in an autumn day flashes. he was a lot skinnier back then, freshness of budding youth on both of your teen faces were evident.

“i can’t believe we’re going home.” he said and plopped himself on the table. “can we just stay here?” even though you can’t see it, you know he’s pouting.

“should we?”

he looked at you wide-eye. “wha—”

“i’m kidding. we can’t, you silly.” you said while a playful grin tugging at your lips.

jungwoo let out a whine and exhaled in exasperation as he took your hand. “okay. but promise me, we’re gonna go back here. just us.” he murmured softly.

you met his hopeful gaze with a welcoming smile. “we will. promise.” your thumb brushing over his knuckles in a delicate manner.

although, physic-wise, he’s gotten taller and beef up a little. a lot more fashionable now, probably because of the influence of his friends (which became your good friends too). but jungwoo, as the light and buoyant kid that he was, still surprises you that he had kept the same nature even after all these years. he’s a lot mature but he remain unchanged; still the outgoing kid that everyone seemed to love and adore.

you look at your hand that he was holding. you could feel the blossoming warmth in your chest that you anticipated not to crept up your cheeks. jungwoo’s affable demeanor towards you is something you’re already used to. however, it appears like fate has a way of fooling your entire being. now, all of his sweet gestures that he normally does, would be enough to make your heart race a thousand miles.

honestly, you wouldn’t mind doing this all day. no other person has ever give you the sense of comfort the way this man in front of you did. he could just sit there, do nothing, and he would still be able to send an abundance of happiness down to your feet up to your heart. jungwoo is just that person.

and maybe, it wouldn’t hurt to give him your heart.

you bit your lip, your gaze dropping to his face. and suddenly, all you could think about is that: he’s beautiful. the kind of beaut that invigorates you, incites you. a splendor manifested into a human being. he was ethereal.

“woo, can i tell you something?”

“hm? you can tell me anything, bub.”

“i…you know, i haven’t been a good talker. always setting my feelings aside, always ignoring it in hopes it would be gone overnight,” you sighed.

“it was a bad habit, i know. but i never grew up with a lot of friends, woo. being a foreigner made it hard, communication was hard, and i can’t even talk about things that bothers me with jun. because i don’t want to give him the impression of his sister being weak, that’s not what he deserves.” you let out a shaky breath and met his eyes. you can’t read what’s on his mind, though his eyes weren’t anything malicious but it had been marked with the utmost cordiality.

“to be honest, i don’t quite remember how the hell did we manage to get close–like how? seriously?” you chuckled. he did too. “just like that, you became part of my daily life. and i never regretted any single second of it. woo, i love every bit of it. because you never tried to be anything, you never tried to be something you are not. you never pushed me to say things and you…you were so patient to me, woo. even today, after all these years. you still managed to be the same.” there’s a desperation formed in your words, however, amusement topped it all.

“you bring so much magic and interest to my life, it’s insane, really! so, how do you expect me not to fall in love with you when you made me feel so good about myself to the point it convinced me that maybe, i wasn’t really that bad?”

your heart pounded inside your chest like an animal demanding to be released. and the butterflies in your stomach started going on rampage—or maybe they were lions, or elephants, or dinosaurs—nonetheless, it felt good. extremely.

his next reaction struck you dumb, though. “huh?”

“wow, and here i am, expressing my love for you and all i get is–”

“no! i…i’m just surprised, holy crap.” jungwoo’s ears were reddened, and his cheeks bloomed in the colour of vibrant pinks that looked so good in his fair skin.

“woo, i love you.”

“shit, say it again.”

“i love you.”

the words rolled off your tongue with fluency and if you could only taste it, they would probably tasted like chocolate and strawberries. he’s gaze never left you and truthfully, it’s starting to make you feel embarrassed too.

the confession was nowhere near perfect. it wasn’t even the most romantic. in fact, it was a love confession in the spur of the moment. but those mere words were enough to fill the void inside of jungwoo and all he could think about is his lips on top of yours.

“can i kiss you?”

you nod. and he slowly inclined his face closer to yours and just like that–his warm lips embraced yours. the kiss is a chaste one, neither the two of you were rushing. with carefulness and love, you take everything his lips could offer: the world; the heavens; the universe; everything.

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smolbeandrabbles · 4 years ago

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Common Threads - An Orson Krennic AU (Rogue One: A Star Wars Story)

@wltz-bby @happyskywhale

This will be a short series set across a number of parts.

Author’s Note: All credit, and I mean ALL credit, to Harry & Rob @ Stop Making Sense Podcast. They’re real ones! REAL ones. Thank you both for letting me write such a genius idea!

Basically this all started here on Instagram. And if you want to see where it’s going you’ll want 54:33-61:20 of this! Also please support these guys, they’re so great and so funny! Highly recommended! While we’ll have no central romance, we know how Krennic is so... there’ll be fleeting mentions of goings on.

Also it wouldn’t be my writing if I didn’t almost lose half of it due to microsoft word complications, would it?

Disclaimer: Star Wars & Rogue One characters places etc all not mine / There’s some call backs to Catalyst but they’re rather small / The idea certainly isn’t mine either in this case / lyrics not mine / I did bring my OCs into this.

Premise: When Krennic is attacked by a band of rebel insurgents and they get away with vital information, the Empire devise a rather unusual punishment...

Words: 3547

Warnings: Slight sexual references / Please don’t look at the timelines too closely / AU

_____ I know what I want And I'ma go and get it, I'm a number one, I know you won't forget it Keep my eyes on the prize, no surprise that I'm lit I be cruisin', you be snoozin' That's why you losin', I'm oozin' Confidence is boomin', boomin'

I ain't worried 'bout nada 'Less it Gucci, 'less it Prada 'Less it Dolce and Gabbana 'Less a trip to the Bahamas I wanna feel like I'm way up Stay lit every single day I wake up I ain't worried 'bout shit, you a parody Ain't no wonder why they all so scared of me I'm a rarity, I got clarity

---

Part 1: Stitched Up.

The communications device rumbled across the table again, begging to be picked up. This time it annoyed her; she’d managed to ignore it up to now but if it interrupted the meeting one more time she was in danger of being thrown out. She pulled it from the table, glaring. The person on the other end of the line, who clearly needed her desperately, could have only been one of two people – and due to the frequency, she could easily narrow it down to one. Krennic. And if it was her boss, she’d find that highly ironic, considering he’d been the one to tell her how imperative it was she took note of every little thing said here. ‘I don’t want a single detail missed Lieutenant; do you understand me!?’ It continued to buzz on and off feebly in her lap as she listened to the group of commanders drone on and on… but at least it wasn’t disturbing anyone but her anymore. Upon exiting the meeting it rang again, probably for the billionth time, and she answered: “Director.” He seemed a little taken aback that she knew it was definitely him, “What took you so long to pick up!?” “I was in a briefing you told me to go to! And yes, before you ask, I made all your notes. I’ll send you a copy of them right away.” “Well forget about that, I have something far more urgent for you to attend to!” “Sir?” She stilled in the corridor, ready to run in whichever direction he commanded. Krennic’s voice lowered to a hiss, “This is very embarrassing Lieutenant, and I would prefer you kept it discreet. Can you get yourself to my place?” “Yes, Sir.” She waited for a further instruction, yet upon receiving none but “Good, and make it quick, Suraya.” and the click of a terminated communication, she supposed that the only thing to do was board a shuttle to his apartment and pray that his version of urgent was not ‘I need a suit for a ball tonight, and your help to pick one!’ …again. ***

Nothing appeared out of the ordinary when she stepped off the ship, smoothing out her uniform as she did so. Krennic was waiting for her by the door and ushered her in quickly – what could this have been about? Suraya’s question was answered before he’d even closed the door, “Oh… my…” Her eyes traced slowly from floor to wall to ceiling, but there wasn’t a part of his apartment that wasn’t ransacked. “…word.” She finished, not able to think of something better to say. Krennic stepped forward into the room, arms crossed and staring hard at everything before turning to her. “Rebels!” “…Rebels?” Suraya immediately questioned, “In your house? ON Coruscant?” That didn’t make any sense, “They wouldn’t dare!” “Well they did!” He indicated around, then waved her forward, implying she should join him. “How?” “That’s what you’re here for.” “I’m hardly a detective, Director… where were you?” His blue eyes lowered to the floor and he chewed his lip, face a little flushed – she could bet from embarrassment and anger. Therefore his answer was a little mumbled, “Not conscious.” Suraya couldn’t help stifle a laugh which turned his steely gaze on her, “The rebels knocked you out?” She scanned the room again, “Well did they break in, there’s no broken glass or forced entry?” “...No.” Krennic was hesitant, and the lieutenant knew she’d missed something, turning in a complete circle on the balls of her feet, she stopped as she eyed the bed. Bed sheets rumpled and his clothes strewn nonchalantly around, there was no evidence that he’d been with anyone, but Suraya knew better. “Where’s the woman?” “What woman!?” Although there was hesitation in Krennic’s voice again. She quirked an eyebrow as she looked back at him; there wasn’t a planet in the Galaxy that didn’t know about his reputation. Her look was enough to get him to confess. “She was here when I was blindsided, when I came to, nothing!” She doubted this account by the fact that, although Krennic looked fairly unscathed, there was a mark above his eye. He’d likely let them in and would never admit it. He grumbled again, “What kind of woman would just answer the door to the rebellion!?” Or maybe that was it, but Suraya doubted Krennic would have just let anyone else answer his door for him without express permission or command. “Did it occur to you she was a rebel?” The Director nearly laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation, then composed himself. “Nah. I would have known. Anyway, why would she?!” Suraya let her eyes linger on him a little longer than she perhaps ought to; “I dunno, if I got the opportunity to say I’d slept with you, I would. Your reputation does precede you, Director Krennic. Why not take the opportunity to see if the rumours are true?” Krennic flushed but automatically dismissed it, “No. There’s no way. Self-respecting rebels would never-! And I---” She kept her mouth shut for now, and pushed a scoff and a taunt back down where they belonged. “---No. No.” As he began walking across the floor, musing to himself, Suraya traced his footsteps. “Well, what did they take?” “Hm?” “If they’ve overturned everything here, then they were looking for something Director, what have they found? What was here?” “Most of my research is back with Galen at the Eadu facility. I suppose there are a few data packs… but that’s general Weapons Division stuff. And-” Krennic turned quickly, trying to figure out where he’d last seen his personal data pad. He wasn’t about to outwardly look flustered about this though, he’d been in little mishaps before and he’d always come out of them on the right side of things. This was just another one of those, Krennic told himself he had nothing to worry about. Something else was pressing on the lieutenant’s mind as she watched him move around, and Suraya wasn’t thinking as she interrupted him to voice it. “Where’s your cape?” Suraya wasn’t sure he wore it all the time. Did he wear it when he relaxed? There weren’t so many times she’d seen Krennic in civvies or ever had a reason to come over here, unless it was for an early morning pre-meeting briefing; by which time he was usually up and dressed. But he was certainly in his uniform right now – so, where was the most iconic piece of it? Then Krennic really did go red and in his attempt to stutter through a sentence, couldn’t, and had to sit down, running his hands over his face. Then it all clicked; this was what was so urgent. It wasn’t that the rebels had come here, upturned his place, perhaps stolen documents – Krennic was annoyed about that but he wasn’t bothered by it. The information he was about to impart to her was his top concern. “It’s gone.” He managed, muffled slightly behind his hands. Okay, but he had more, right? Krennic wasn’t the type of man to keep one copy of a uniform around, especially when he was so picky about tailoring. Those poor imperial tailors were yelled at if there was even so much as a stitch wrong. She was pretty sure that he’d even stood over their shoulders to watch them remake it after he’d sent it back. “There’s more than just one, isn’t there?” If there wasn’t, he at least had a rainwear version he could substitute until they made him another. Krennic just shook his head, but still wasn’t looking up. Suraya crossed to his wardrobe, pulling it open and immediately seeing the problem. She stepped back with a gasp. By ‘it’s gone’ Krennic didn’t just mean the cape, he meant his entire closet was empty. No uniforms, no finely tailored suits (that he spent who knows how many credits on just so he was on trend), nothing. There was a single note stuck to the inside of the door, which upon reading Suraya found was indeed from the rebellion – but also fairly unrepeatable. She untacked it and walked back to him. “…Well, that’s a story you’ll have to tell Uniform.” “They’ll make my life hell.” He protested, suddenly regretting all the times he’d had them redo his clothing over one stitch, finally taking his head out of his hands and looking up at her, “I can’t leave my house like this!” “At least you have a uniform, Sir.” Was the best she could do, and by the looks of it Krennic also had whatever he’d been wearing last night, so not all was lost. Still, Suraya knew why she’d been called here, “I’ll put an expedited request in for you.” He nodded, and opened his mouth to verbally agree, when there was another sharp knock at his door that demanded both of their attention. “Director Krennic! Open this door at once!” Her heart dropped and Krennic groaned, “This is just what I need!” He stood, turning back to his assistant, “I TOLD you not to say anything.” “I didn’t! It’s not like I knew this had anything to do with the rebels before I got here-!” Suraya would have hit him with her data pad if she thought it would get her anywhere. Krennic swivelled from the door to her and then back to the door, “Then how the hell does Tarkin know!?” Forced to play defensive she held her hands up, and said her next sentence almost hopefully, “We don’t know he does, maybe that’s not what he’s here for!” *** Krennic took the deepest of deep breaths as he cracked the door open, leaving Suraya to stand to attention on one side of the room, data pad behind her back keeping it dead straight, a trick she’d learned was pretty useful as a cadet. “Governor Tarkin, how may I assist you?” “Let us in, Director, my day is very busy and I don’t have time for this, particularly.” Tarkin was curt as ever, it didn’t help Orson’s mood. “Time for what?” Clearly Krennic’s feign of ignorance wasn’t making him friends. “Oh, out of the way, Krennic! We spotted some Rebel insurgents leaving atmosphere and on breaking down the contrails of their craft and fuel particles in the atmosphere, it appears they came from your apartment. Now I don’t wish to accuse you of treason, but if you want to confess it might make things easier.” The lieutenant found herself suddenly wishing Krennic hadn’t dragged her into this first, so she could be saved from watching these two argue again. The Director scowled as he was forced to open his door wider on the chaos of his apartment. “Oh dear!” Although as Tarkin waltzed in it was clearly only said as a formality, and the sharp smile on his face let Suraya know he was about to lord this over her boss. He was followed in by no less than five other imperials, all young looking protégés, eager to survey the scene for themselves. She would suppose even if they found forensic evidence, Krennic wasn’t about to be told of it, and it also didn’t look like they were about to be too careful with his remaining things. Once Tarkin had acknowledged her presence at the scene and turned back to Krennic, still scowling, Suraya made her way quickly across the room to kick Krennic’s discarded clothing under the bed. Maybe the kids wouldn’t put two and two together, but Tarkin certainly would. Rebels were scandals themselves without a potential sleeping-with-the-enemy situation. “It seems to be a bit of a mess you find yourself in, Director.” “It’s hardly of my own doing.” Krennic straightened, defensive, “There were far more of them than I, I fought back but was unfortunately blindsided.” “I see no evidence of force entry.” Suraya shook her head subtly as Krennic’s eyes flicked momentarily to her; if he wanted to go that way, he probably should have opened a window or the balcony doors or… something. “Well, no, as it turns out I let them in.” She couldn’t see Tarkin’s face, but his movement and the freeze of the others in the room said everything. Krennic’s eyes momentarily flickered in panic but he controlled it, “I expected to see my assistant returning to de-brief me on the meeting I sent her to this morning.” Suraya did everything in her power not to look pissed that he’d just thrown her to the wolves instead, with Tarkin immediately turning, but it was not her he addressed, “I believe I know the briefing the lieutenant attended, which you also therefore would have known did not finish until after the incident took place. Why would you expect her so early?” Krennic shrugged coolly, “Sometimes they end early.” This wasn’t untrue, of course, but it was a big bluff. It didn’t explain why Krennic wouldn’t have checked who was knocking. Also if Tarkin had the inclination to check the call log, it would show that the Director also began his tirade of calls after the rebels had left. Krennic, having become suddenly useless, was dismissed, for Tarkin to turn back to her. “Lieutenant. When you arrived did you notice anything out of the ordinary?” Suraya could see Krennic gesturing out of the corner of her eye but ignored him. “Besides the whole place being over turned, nothing Sir.” Although she tilted her head, before pausing, immediately thinking better of it. “Lieutenant?” It didn’t get passed Tarkin. “I just don’t understand why they would take the Director’s wardrobe, Sir.” The word ‘take’ obviously alerted Tarkin to something else, and his eyes darted around the room again, Krennic walked forward, clearly bumping Tarkin’s arm on purpose as he strolled to the closet to present evidence. You watched the Governor’s little smile widen in amusement, before he became serious again, “Well, well, Director. You better check they’ve not stolen anything important. Especially with the project you’re working on.” “Anything of significance is with Galen.” Krennic disliked how quick he was to address that point, he didn’t want Tarkin to know how irked he was. “Still, it would be best to check. I believe that your personal data pad will have been here along with some files. Something as significant as those would not have escaped the rebels notice.” Krennic’s teeth gritted, as he indicated back to the closet; “My WARDROBE is gone!!” Suraya was right, that was the most important thing to him. Tarkin’s eyes flicked to hers, and they shared the same exchange of exasperation, unable to quite comprehend why clothing was at the forefront of Krennic’s mind. “As I was saying…” She almost chuckled as Tarkin made it clear on what he perceived as important and it was not Krennic’s lack of uniform, “There’ll be consequences if anything is missing, Director! This is already a dire security breach.” Ironically Krennic thought that was a little dramatic, but simply grumbled to himself as Tarkin took his forensics team back and exited the apartment. The Director was just glad to get them out of his hair. “Security breach.” He muttered, “You’d think I handed them the whole damn Project Stardust!” Suraya sighed gently as she made her way back over to him, “For now, Sir, I believe we should figure out exactly what data has been taken. And report it up the chain as soon as possible, less Tarkin find a reason to return. Then we can get your uniform re-ordered.” He turned those blue eyes back on her, at least a little brighter at that idea than they had looked when she arrived, “Yes. Let’s… let’s do that.” *** It took a couple of days to overturn the damage that the rebels had done and take stock of what was actually missing. Krennic had retrieved his personal data pad, and they hadn’t managed to gain access to the most important discs in his desk. Nor his own weapon, thankfully. That didn’t mean data packs and other things of value weren’t looted. Krennic had to go through the ordeal of cancelling a lot of his access pips and cards – but they arrived fairly quickly from the Intelligence Bureau, reset. Suraya remained with him to assist the clean-up operation and order his uniform; this took a little longer to arrive and by the end of the second day Krennic was starting to get antsy. “What takes them so long!?” “Well you do have very exacting standards, Sir!” “Exactly! So they should know how to do it by now. Did I not specify clearly enough!?” She wasn’t about to answer that question. If his previous interactions with them were anything to go by the urgent note she’d placed on it was being wholly ignored and the Director would be constantly bumped to the back of the queue. She couldn’t say she’d blame them, either. On the morning of the third day, as they both anxiously awaited the results of their carefully worded email detailing exactly what documentation the rebels had stolen, Krennic received another knock at the door. “If this is Tarkin-” Suraya wasn’t about to tell him to keep a level head, but she did give him a look to tell him not to blow up. He opened the door to a woman dressed in civilian clothing, even though it appeared that she possessed rank pins. She had bright pink hair and light eyes and as she moved her hair flew as if she was starring in some kind of commercial. “Director Krennic? My name is Kora, I’m here about your uniform.” “About time it turned up!” He took a pace back in order for her to walk in, “Are you from Uniform? Next time you ought to tell them that when I say urgent, I mean same day-” Kora wasn’t done talking, and she turned back to him, saying rather bluntly, “Request denied. For letting the rebellion enter and steal documentation of the upmost importance to the Empire, YOU are going to star in a documentary about Empire approved businesses.” There was silence in the room for a moment and Krennic wore a half smile as he tried to work out if she was serious. Kora simply stared him down, and as the Director’s face fell, Suraya once again wished she wasn’t in the room. “No.” Suraya couldn’t tell if that was Krennic refusing or his own disbelief. Kora knew which way she was taking it. “Well it better be a yes before I go back, Director, or you’ll be in hot lava.” Krennic’s eyes widened and no one was under any illusions as to what he was thinking; “Not Mustafar again-!” There had to be a way out, he wasn’t about to waste his time on this! “This documentary will be of the upmost importance Director. Lord Vader and the Governor only hope that you will take it seriously.” Suraya couldn’t help giggling behind her hand at this. It wasn’t the being in front of a camera, it wasn’t the thought of doing a documentary on business – or fashion - it was that Krennic was being forced into this by a man he hated. Krennic cleared his throat, once more folding his arms as he looked back to Kora, giving her a single nod. “Very well, but there is nothing in my wardrobe that isn’t tailored to within an inch of its life and most of it is from high end shops, some of which are on Lexrul.” Krennic was a very big advocate of his home planet after all, so he’d expect at least one part of this documentary to take place there, “So you better have budget!” Instead of agreeing Kora simply smiled, in the same way that Tarkin had a habit of, “Oh no, Director, we’re highlighting small businesses that scrape by for a living, right here on Coruscant, to show our support and cater to all audiences.” Suraya thought that his face fell even faster than it had with Tarkin around, and she also didn’t think that livid covered it. “WHAT!?” “That’s the deal Director.” “It’s not much of a DEAL!” “It’s the one I’m giving you, I can take it elsewhere… and I’m sure that Lord Vader and Governor Tarkin would love to hear why you couldn’t do it.” The Director looked desperately to Suraya, but she wasn’t sure what she could say. How could, at her position, she possibly rescue him from what Tarkin wanted?

Realising indeed that his assistant wouldn’t be much aid to him, Krennic’s eyes fell back to Kora and he swallowed hard, smile feigning confidence - but also a little nervous. “Well then, I suppose I will accept your offer.” This time Kora’s returned smile was warm and sweet, “That’s great news, Director Krennic.” She took a step forward and extended her hand to him, “Well, as series producer and director, I’m very much looking forward to working with you. Welcome to the team.” Suraya bit her lip as she watched him step down to shake Kora’s hand, hoping he wasn’t crossing his fingers behind his back: this could be huge for Krennic if he used this opportunity wisely. Things were about to get interesting around here...

---

Thank you for reading! 😘😘

I really am SO excited to bring you the rest of this

#Director Krennic #Director Orson Krennic #Orson Krennic #Rogue One #rogue one a star wars story #188 #Ben Mendelsohn #You have NO idea how long it took me to name this damn thing!#I just have a list of fashion related things that I'm going to use as titles now.#I don't know if I'm 100% happy with this I think it reads as if she's the main character so I'll have to work on that in the next few parts #But also as she's the audience's character maybe I don't? Idk...#Remember when I talked about Sway 5 consisting of having a full on breakdown over losing the whole damn thing?#Well the same thing almost happened here - luckily word managed to eventually recover it #but I'm talking like almost breaking down in my kitchen over thinking so many classic lines were lost #honestly you just can't get an energy back when you write something all in one go and have that energy #So if this was a reader - you'd be Suraya obviously #But Kora is back!#And technically so is Suraya this is just a different version of her #And... well... it wouldn't be Krennic if I didn't attempt to bring Lorena into this later right

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quiet-onset · 5 years ago

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In The Wind

Pairing: Steve Rogers x black!Reader

TW: alcohol consumption, implied sexy times, a pinch of fluff and a fuck ton of angst

Word Count: 10.2k (this is the longest single fic I’ve ever written by like 4-5k words, i'm never doing this again lmao)

A/N: Broke = cacw discourse, Woke = using cacw canon to write angsty fics at 3 am. this is only kind of edited so it is what it is lol. Enjoy!

You weren’t sure if you regretted meeting him.

You didn’t know how you felt anymore. You knew you thought of him everyday. You knew that you longed to feel the warmth and heaviness of his body against yours. You also knew that you were angry, so damn angry for making you feel these things. For making you miss him, want him.

But did you regret him? You weren’t sure.

The first time you met shouldn’t have happened. Steve knew that. He should’ve been more careful. Checked more security cameras, spied a little better. But espionage was always Natasha’s expertise, and, for now, he was running it solo. So when he ran from the FBI in Hell’s Kitchen, he had no one to blame but himself.

He had been jumping from roof to roof, dreading the sound of the approaching helicopter. He knew if they got that spotlight on him, it’d be over. So, instead of jumping to the next roof, he dropped onto the fire escape, traveling down until he found an open window.

He climbed inside and pressed himself to the adjacent wall, heart pounding against his ribcage. He listened as the helicopter continued on, searching for him with no success. Just as he allowed himself to breathe, he heard the cock of a gun.

When he turned his head, there you stood, curls tied up with a blue silk scarf, shorts and a T-shirt two sizes too big, with a shotgun aimed and ready to fire. “Get out of my house.”

Steve took a step toward you, watching as you steadied your hand. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“I’m the one with the gun here, dude. So, unless you want a chest full of buckshot, get—“

Finally, you saw him clearly. His hair was a tad longer and he had the slightest bit of stubble, but he was still recognizably Steve Rogers. After all, the news had his and his friends mugshots plastered on every channel. You barely managed to part your lips for a gasp when Steve heard the thunder of footsteps come down the hall outside your door.

“Look,” He said, “I’m sorry, I just needed—“

Three solid bangs on your front door. “FBI, open up!”

You lowered the gun as you looked back at Steve. It was clear that he was trying and failing to come up with a new route of escape. Three more bangs, and you sighed. “One second!” You called.

You handed him the gun and quickly guided him to your bedroom. “Get under the bed and wait.”

He followed your instructions while you grabbed your robe and scurried to the door. You swung the door open as you brushed a stray curl away from your face. “Can I help you?”

Two men pushed past you and into your apartment as the first one spoke. “We need to inspect your apartment.”

“Do you have a warrant?”

“Are you hiding something?” He returned.

“Asking for a warrant isn’t an admission of guilt, agent.” You raised a brow. “Besides, what would the FBI be looking for here?”

“Steven Grant Rogers.” He eyed your living room suspiciously before continuing down the hall, leaving you to follow close behind.

“Captain America?” You snorted. “What would he be doing in some random woman’s apartment in Hell’s Kitchen?”

“You tell me.”

He walked into your bedroom, and your heartbeat sped up. You had no idea why you were putting yourself at risk for a stranger, but somehow, it felt right. Like you were doing what you were meant to be doing in that moment.

“Agent, I am not hiding Captain America in my fucking bedroom. Alright? I was getting ready for bed, actually, when you banged on my door like I was the one being arrested.”

He walked up to you, invading your space. He looked down at you, tried to make you feel small. It was a popular tactic, one you were used to. You watched as the other two agents came in and began to search. “We have orders to search every apartment. If you don’t want to cooperate, we can arrest you, too. Ma’am.”

“This might be news to you, but I have rights, same as you. You need a warrant to search my house unless I’m an immediate danger to the public.” You told him. “However, considering you’ve already searched my entire home, I suggest you leave now while I’m still thinking about not suing you.”

“Suing us?” He chuckled.

“I have some lawyer friends, same ones that put Wilson Fisk in jail. If they can get a life sentence for a man like Fisk, imagine what they could do with this story. Agent.”

You watched as they all stopped, including the agent who was just about to bend over to look under the bed. The agent’s brow twitched as he stepped back and gave you an indignant look. “That’s what I thought.” You said. “Feel free to come back with a warrant.”

Moments later, your front door was locked, and you went back to your room where Steve sat on your bed. You almost winced when you saw him in the light. His right eye was beginning to swell, his lip was split, and his leg looked like he needed stitches. He placed the shotgun beside him. “Do you really know the lawyers who took down Wilson Fisk?”

“Not at all.”

He chuckled and stood on his feet. You knew he was trying not to put too much pressure on his leg, but his scrunched brow told you he was failing. When he managed to steady himself, he saw the shine of concern in your eyes. “I’m fine.”

“You’re hurt.”

“Super soldier healing. I’ll be fine.”

“Let me help you.”

“You’ve done enough for me already.” He told you. “I know that couldn’t have been easy for you.”

“Easy?”

“I’m an Avenger, but I’m not blind.” He said sincerely. “America’s fucked up, and anyone who’s not white or rich gets the short end of the stick.”

You paused, surprised that he’d explained himself so outright. He seemed unapologetic about his statement, eyes only wavering when the pain became too much. A sigh with the faintest remnants of a smile passed through your lips. You walked a few steps over to your dresser and pulled open your drawer. Out of it, you pulled a bottle of whiskey and a first aid kit. “I’m already abetting a fugitive, Rogers. Might as well add aiding to the crime. Sit down. I’ll get some ice for your eye.”

Steve usually didn’t take well to orders. But you, you made something in him stir, if only for a moment. Some part of him that longed for someone else to take over. To make him forget about being an alleged criminal, about the friends that he’d lost. The part of himself that he’d lost.

So he sat down.

When you came back, you began tending to his wounds. Your hands were delicate as you tried your best not to cause him any additional pain. He almost chuckled at your caution and grace. In some dark part of his mind, he knew the damage he could cause you. Yet, you were the one asking every other second if he was okay.

“You know you don’t have to do all of this.” He said.

“I didn’t have to not shoot you either, but here we are.” You answered, tilting your head. You handed him the bottle of whiskey as you got ready to stitch the wound in his thigh. “You might wanna drink some of that.”

He chuckled, “Alcohol doesn’t really do anything for my senses.”

“Right. Super soldier, I forgot. Guess you’ll have to brave it.”

“Not the first time.” He let out a small hiss as you moved the fabric away from the cut.

Your eyes flickered up to him for a moment, catching the clench of his jaw, sharp and tense. “So you sneak into people’s houses to hide from the FBI often?”

“I was, um, handling some business in Hell’s Kitchen. Wasn’t paying attention, and they found me.”

“Wow. Steve Rogers outsmarted by the FBI.” You joked. He chuckled along with you as you finished stitching him up. You offered him the bottle once more. “It won’t get you drunk, but it’ll burn on the way down, and I have a feeling that’s what you really need.”

He looked taken aback for a moment. You imagined that not many people were so straightforward with him. He was called Captain for a reason, you supposed. Not many people told Steve what he needed to hear — that was why the Avengers was perfect for him. Nobody was afraid to tell Steve how it really was. But now, with him being a fugitive, lots of people were scared. Of him or of what he represented, he wasn’t sure.

But not you.

He took the bottle with a small smile.

“Well,” Steve spoke when the silence got a bit too loud for his liking. “I should be going. If that agent’s attitude was any indication, they’ll probably be back with a warrant. That’ll give you some time to get rid of the evidence.”

“Evidence?”

“My blood?” He chuckled.

You looked down at your hands and saw the faint tint of blood on them. You let out a short laugh and nodded, “Right.”

The way you looked at each other was far too comfortable for two strangers. Each set of eyes held a story. The ever-stretching line of inconceivable loss in his and the struggle to overcome social hardships in yours. Both your hearts were hardened in some ways, and you could both sense it. When it became too much, your gaze flickered to the ground for a quick moment. “Don’t pull those stitches, Captain. I won’t redo them.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He said with a weak salute. “Thank you.”

“Just don’t get caught.”

The next afternoon, the FBI would return with a warrant and search your apartment as you watched the news. The headline?

Captain America in the wind once more.

---

“I’ll be fine.” You slurred to your friend. “I can get upstairs just fine.”

Your friend, Heather, shot you a disapproving gaze as you hiccuped, the alcohol in your body starting to slowly wear off. She unlocked the car door with a sigh. “Text me when you’re inside.”

“Okay.”

“I’m not moving until you do.” She added. “And lock your door!”

“Alright!”

Although you stumbled up the stairs and eventually had to take your heels off, you made it safely to your apartment. The text you sent as you locked the door was incoherent, but you knew your friend would understand. You dropped your heels at the door and padded into your living room.

“Your window is broken.”

You gasped at the sudden deep voice that cut through the dark, only recognizing him when he turned on the lamp. There sat Steve Rogers once more. He looked up at you with a furrowed brow, noticing your glazed over eyes. You threw your phone at him for scaring you, which he caught easily. “You can’t just break into someone’s house and sit in the dark! That’s weird!”

“I couldn’t risk anyone seeing me.” He explained quickly. He stood, “Are you drunk?”

“What’s it to you?”

“You’re drunk in an apartment with a broken window. Anyone could break in. I did.”

“Yeah, which is still weird.” You hiccuped. “What are you doing here, Captain?”

He was at a loss for words. He didn’t have an answer. Not one that made any sense, at least. He couldn’t explain the feeling, but he couldn’t forget you. Your eyes were burned into his mind, your bravery forever in his heart. He tried everything to forget you, but nothing worked. Whether it was attraction, infatuation, or some feeling that could only be expressed in another language, he didn’t know. Still, he couldn’t tell you that. Especially not while you were drunk. So he settled for, “Steve. Call me Steve.”

You paused, crossing your arms over your chest. “Alright. Steve.”

Steve felt a shiver travel down his spine. He would never admit he liked the way his name slipped past your lips. He watched you stumble over to the couch and helped you sit down. “Happy drunk or sad drunk?”

You snorted, “Both.”

“Wow, two for one.”

“I broke up with my cheating boyfriend.” You explained. “I’m happy to be rid of that asshole, but it still hurts, you know?”

Steve nodded, holding back a chuckle as you burped quietly. You groaned and threw your head back as you realized you would probably throw up soon.

“He didn’t deserve you.” He told you.

You laughed bitterly, “I know.”

As if on cue, you stood and ran to the bathroom with Steve quick on your heels. He watched as you dropped to your knees over the toilet bowl and emptied the contents of your stomach inside. You pulled a few stray curls out of your face and held them back, praying you hadn’t gotten any vomit in your hair. You felt Steve’s presence behind you and sighed. “I’m sorry. You should… you should just go.”

But of course, Steve was never good at taking orders.

He marched up to your sink and found a few bobby pins before opening up your medicine cabinet. He found some painkillers for later and took them out for you. He quietly walked up behind you and softly cupped your hands with his own. You barely had the chance to protest before another wave of sickness washed over you.

“Let me help you.” Steve said gently. “I’m just returning the favor.”

You knew there wasn’t much you could do for yourself, and you couldn’t deny that you needed help. So you let go of your hair and allowed him to pin it back. His warm hands then fell to your shoulders as he spoke. “I’ll be right back.”

Moments later, he returned with a glass of water and some crackers he’d found in your cabinet. He sat with you on the cold tile floor, flushing the toilet as you turned away from it. He offered the glass silently, and you drank it in a few gulps. You looked over at him as he worked on opening the crackers. “You know, you’re good at this.”

He chuckled, seeing that you were starting to sober up. “You’re not the first drunk person I’ve taken care of.”

You took a cracker from the packet. “When was the first time?”

“You don’t have to humor me.”

“If I were humoring you, you’d know.” You scoffed playfully. “I want to know. At the very least, it’ll keep my mind off of the nausea.”

He shook his head with a short laugh as he took out a cracker for himself. “I was fifteen. My best friend Bucky told me he had a surprise, that I had to come over after school. I didn’t suspect anything until I saw the brown paper bag in his hands.”

“Wait, you’re, like, ninety. Isn’t this during Prohibition?”

“He always knew a guy who knew a guy.” Steve nodded with a smirk. “His parents were out of town, and his sisters only kept his secret because he let them taste it. I already had enough health problems back then, so I wasn’t really interested in getting drunk. But Bucky…”

“As drunk as me?”

“Oh no, much worse. Absolutely shit-faced.” A smile tugged at his lips as you laughed. He admired the way your glazed eyes lit up with happiness for those few mere moments. “I ended up in the bathroom with him all night.”

You smiled softly as you nibbled on another cracker. “He’s lucky to have you.”

Steve felt his chest tighten at the smile on your lips. His brain told him to stop whatever he was feeling. He had no business barging into your house, into your life. He had other things, bigger things to worry about. Yet, he sat here on the floor of your bathroom, worrying about whether you were going to vomit again or if you needed more water. It was stupid of him to let this feeling go so far, he knew. But he couldn’t help it. Not when you smiled like that.

He reached over to the sink and grabbed the painkillers, giving you two. “I’m gonna get you some more water. Keep eating those crackers.”

“Yes, sir, captain sir.” You gave him a weak salute. He saluted back with a playful chuckle before leaving to get more water, not sure if this behavior was your true self or the remaining alcohol.

When he returned, he found you clumsily taking off your makeup. “That couldn’t wait until tomorrow?” He asked, handing you the glass of water.

“No. Do you know how bad that is for your skin? I’m too pretty to damage my skin.” You chuckled before downing the pills.

Steve looked to the ground, making a quiet noise of agreement. He hadn’t expected you to stop drinking the water and ask him what he said. He was caught red-handed. “What?”

“What did you say?” You asked.

“It’s not important. I just…” He sighed. “I agreed with you. About you being pretty.”

“Oh.”

He shrugged. You’d have recognized the slight shyness in his voice if you were fully sober. “I’m not blind.”

It got quiet after that. You couldn’t help the way your mind was racing alongside your heart. The space between you both was so small. All it would take a gust of wind, a slight nudge and the space would be filled. And for some reason, you longed to fill it. As your thoughts caught up with you, you remembered that you’d just met him. He didn’t even know your name. The longing you had made no sense. Not to mention, you were still a little drunk and nauseous. You couldn’t act before you considered the outcomes. “Y/N.”

“What?” Steve’s brow furrowed.

“My name. It’s Y/N.” You stepped back and took a deep breath. “I just realized I never told you.”

“Right.” He mimicked your movements, putting a bit more distance between you. “You should get some rest.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I’ll, um, head to bed right now.”

Steve nodded once before giving you one last long look. He told himself that this would be the last time, that he wouldn’t give in to that insistent tugging in his heart. If this was the last time he’d see you, he wanted to remember. You watched him as he walked back down the hallway, stopping just before he entered the living room.

“Fix your window, Y/N.” He called.

You smiled. “I will.”

“Someone could break in and sit in the dark.”

“I get it, Steve.”

And just as quickly as he’d arrived, he was gone.

---

A few months pass before you see him again. And you have to be honest with yourself, you spend every second thinking about him.

You weren’t sure what it was about him. Sure, he was Captain America, but that didn’t seem to matter when he came through your window. In your apartment, he’s just a man. He’s just Steve Rogers. Sure he was on the run from every conceivable government authority, but he was running from more than that. It was like he was running from himself, from everything that made him Captain America. And without fail, all the running somehow led back to you.

It didn’t matter where you were or who you were with. At work, you’d see his smile in the reflection of your computer screen. When you were with your friends, you could hear Steve’s laughter as he recounted his childhood. Even on the few dates you’d been on, the only thing on your mind was Steve’s voice calling you pretty.

And that was the annoying part. You knew you were pretty. You knew your value and how much you were worth, but when he said it, it felt unreal. There were butterflies in your stomach, a feeling you hadn’t felt since you were a teenager. It was strange having such a visceral reaction to a statement you already knew to be true, but it wasn’t the statement. It was the man making it.

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.

You were walking home from a friend’s when two men in ski masks stopped you. Guns locked and loaded, they shouted at you to give them your wallet and phone. Your hands were raised in hopes that they wouldn’t shoot, but they simply yelled louder.

“Okay, okay.” You started calmly. You moved your hands slowly to your purse, digging around the bottom in a frantic search. You flinched as they told you to hurry up.

Suddenly, a man dropped down from a nearby fire escape. Steve.

As soon as he snatched the guns, Steve crushed the barrels with his bare hands. A fist flew at one guy’s face while you grabbed the pepper spray at the bottom of your purse and sprayed the other.

You watched as Steve kept going with a fierce look in his eyes. It was unlike anything you’d expect from Captain America. No, this was sheer rage. You marched up behind him and grabbed him by the shoulders, pulling him away. He only allowed it as the two men scurried away with blood dripping down their faces.

“Steve, what the hell?” You dragged him into a nearby alley. “What are you doing out in broad daylight?”

He ignored your questions and placed two large hands on your cheeks, tilting your head this way and that as he checked you for injury. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”

“Steve, stop it. I’m fine. What are you doing here?”

“I was on my way to your apartment when I saw those guys trying to rob you.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why were you going to my house?” You asked. “Why do you keep coming to my house?”

And once again, Steve was speechless. He couldn’t explain the panic in his heart when he saw you being held at gunpoint. He couldn’t explain the blind rage he felt as his fists collided with their bodies. He wanted to believe he had no idea why he kept coming back to see you, but he knew why. Despite his reputation, he was never great with his feelings. At least not these kinds. “Y/N, can we just.. Can we talk? Please?”

You sighed, crossing your arms. “Meet me at my place. And try not to make another scene. You’re a fugitive, Steve.”

He’d made it there before you, but was unable to get in. See, you’d taken his advice and fixed your window. So, he stood on the fire escape, hoping to God that no one would look and see him as he waited for you. When you got back, you rushed over and flipped the latch, pushing the window up with a squeak of the frame. “Again, what are you doing here in the middle of the day?”

“You fixed your window.”

“Yeah, you told me to.” You stepped aside so he could slip in. “Thanks, by the way.”

“Y/N, they were robbing you. You don’t have to—“

“No, not that. I mean, also that, but I meant thanks for that night a few months ago.”

His head dropped as he let out a weak chuckle. “I’m surprised you remember that.”

“I remember waking up with the worst hangover. I also remember the night before.”

“Everything?”

You nodded.

You could see the gears in his head begin to turn, giving you a moment to look over him. His beard was thick and full, and his hair was longer than before. Dressed in a black combat suit, you wondered where he just came from. He obviously had bigger fish to fry, so what kept him coming back to Hell’s Kitchen.

Then, without a word, he reached into his pocket and pulled something out before placing it on the table between you.

A cell phone. Albeit a very old one, but a cell phone nonetheless.

“I wanted to give you this.” He said, “For… emergencies.”

You stared at the phone, your brow furrowed, before looking back up at him. “Steve—“

“I can’t stop thinking about you.” His eyes were shut tight as he emptied his heart. “I don’t know why, but I can’t. No matter where I’m going or what mission I’m on, you’re always on my mind. I know it doesn’t make any sense, and I understand if it freaks you out, but I needed to tell you.”

“Steve—“

“And even if you don’t feel the same, just keep the phone. I wouldn’t forgive myself if something happened and you needed to contact me but couldn’t.”

You paused as he took a deep breath, finally opening his eyes. You looked at him expectantly. “Are you done?”

“I think so.”

You silently picked up the flip phone, chuckling because it was just so Steve-like. You opened it and realized that his number was the only one programmed into the phone. You smiled softly as you raised an eyebrow, “Does it work?”

“I just—” Steve let out a short laugh of disbelief. “Yes, it works.”

Steve watched as you pressed a button and held the phone up to your ear. You looked up at the ceiling, clicking your tongue as it rang. With a grin on his lips, he dug his phone out of his other pocket and flipped it open. “Hello?”

“I like you, too, dummy.”

---

Turns out, you changed the definition of emergencies only.

It had been four or five months since you last saw Steve. He’d spent the night after you both confessed to the feelings that you’d been repressing since the day you met. You helped him peel off the black suit he wore and showered with him. You helped him scrub off the blood that had dried into his skin, and he massaged your shoulders, tight and tense from the stress of your own life. And later, you’d both gotten into some activities that made you both need another shower.

But now, you were alone. Your place felt so empty without him. It was only one night, yet your whole life was changed. You were acutely aware of the sound his bare feet made against the hardwood floor. The warmth of his chest against your back as you slept in bed. The low timbre of his voice when he just wakes up.

Plus, it was the day before his birthday.

You knew how stupid that sounded. Steve Rogers was a fugitive on an international scale. He had plans to be in a different state or country practically every other week — he hardly had time to celebrate about being a year older. Yet, you couldn’t stop yourself from thinking that he deserved it. He deserved to do something as mundane as celebrate his birthday.

So, instead of using the burner for its intended purpose — emergencies — you called him.

And received no answer.

You sighed and snapped the phone shut. You held the phone against your lips as you thought through a plan. When you had it all figured out, you smiled, wondering if that was how Steve felt when he finally perfected a plan. You grabbed your purse and headed to the nearest grocery.

You strolled through the decorations aisle with your cart, stopping as you saw an employee, a teenager, removing something from the display. As you got closer, you realized what it was and frowned.

Fourth of July balloons with Steve’s shield plastered on them.

The employee saw you eyeing them and smiled gently. “Got a call from the owner himself to remove them.”

“Crazy, right?”

“Not that much.” She shrugged. “I mean, he did break the law.”

“Yeah, to do the right thing.”

“How do we know he was right, though?”

You stared at a picture of Steve’s shield and saw all it represented. Hope, justice, bravery — you couldn’t explain how you knew. You just did. “He was.” You told the kid.

The kid watched you stare aimlessly at the balloons. She wasn’t sure why you were so invested, she could tell it meant a lot to you. She pulled two packets out of the box and handed them to you.

“They were taken out of circulation so security won’t pick it up.” She explained. “Just don’t let the manager see.”

You looked over at her, not even realizing that you’d zoned out. You smiled at her and took the balloons before slyly stuffing them in your purse. “Thank you.”

Your smile returned as you gathered all your other supplies before walking over to the bakery. The man behind the counter smiled as you approached. “Last minute Fourth of July cake?”

You chuckled, “No, not Independence Day. A birthday actually.”

“What would you like on it?”

“Do you, um, do you mind decorating it with Captain America’s shield? Or maybe just red, white, and blue in general?”

The baker’s smile widened. “You’re the first person to ask for that this year. I’m glad.” He began gathering the frosting he’d need. “I don’t believe anything they say about him. He’s a good man.”

You smiled to yourself. “Yeah. The best.”

Meanwhile, Steve was in Philadelphia, trying to get some intel into Tony’s future plans. He just got back to the quinjet when Natasha called his name from the pilot seat.

“You’re never leading the mission again.” Steve teased her, touching two fingers to his split bottom lip as he stood just to the side of her seat.

“Afraid of getting a little banged up?” She chuckled.

“More like tired of it.” He replied. “Bucky and I have been taking all the beatings lately while you and Sam somehow always manage to come out unscathed.”

“You and Bucky should do better at your jobs then.”

Steve let out a little laugh as she lifted the jet into the sky and immediately turned on the cloaking mechanism. He braced himself above her head and looked out over the clouds. “So why did you call me?”

“‘Cause somebody called you.”

“What?”

“That mysterious burner you always carry around? It rang while you were in the field.”

His eyes widened as he reached for the flip phone, seeing the ‘Missed Call’ notification glaring back at him. He turned back to Natasha, “I need you to take me back to the city.”

Her brow furrowed as he began packing a duffel bag toward the back of the jet. “What, New York?”

“Anywhere is fine. I’ll get to where I need to be.”

“Steve, we’re supposed to be headed for Switzerland in a week—“

“Then, I have a week.”

“Tony and the feds will be on our asses soon if we don’t get out of the country.”

Steve turned to look at her and saw that she’d put the jet on autopilot. She was looking right back at him in that way that she always did. If there was anything Natasha Romanoff was good at, it was knowing when someone was lying, even by omission. But Steve was no victim of her skills. He was her best friend. And that worried look in his eyes? It scared her.

Steve sighed. “There’s someone on the other end of that phone. Someone I really care about. She’s the only one with that number and I told her to call me if there’s an emergency.”

Natasha shifted her weight onto her other leg, her hands on her hips. “Is she cute?”

“Natasha.” He smiled softly.

“Where can I drop you off?”

“Near Hell’s Kitchen.”

She turned on her heel and began punching coordinates into the navigation system. “I get to choose where we go after Switzerland.”

You arrived back at your apartment a few hours later, finally gathering everything you needed to pull off your plan. You smiled to yourself as you locked your front door and threw your keys onto the side table.

Suddenly, when you turned the lights on, a man emerged from the hallway, and you let out a loud gasp. You dropped the bags you had been carrying, only calming when you realized that it was only Steve.

“Steve!”

You stepped over the bags and raced into his arms. He wrapped his arms tight around you, cradling the back of your head in his large palm. He couldn’t help but release a breath of relief as he felt the comfortable weight of your body against his. He pulled away from you and held your face in his hands, eyes searching for any sign of injury. “Are you okay?”

“Steve, I’m fine. I promise. Why are you so worried?”

“You called me on the burner.”

Oops. You’d totally forgotten about that. You smiled sheepishly, “About that...“

“Y/N—“ He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, preparing for your explanation.

“I’m sorry! You were gone, and I missed you. Then, I remembered I had a way of contacting you.”

“It’s for emergencies only.” He scolded you.

“I know, I know. It’s just that I missed you a lot, and your birthday is coming up, and—“

“My birthday?”

You looked behind you at the bags you’d dropped on the ground. Steve followed your line of sight before spotting something that had fallen out. He stepped away from you to pick it up and inspected it carefully. His head dropped and hung between his shoulders, a quiet laugh spilling from his lips. “Captain America balloons?”

“And other non-Captain America stuff.” You added defensively. “Not the cake though. That’s got Cap all over it.”

“You got a cake?”

You gasped, “The cake!”

You ran to the bags and fished out the one carrying the small circular cake, frowning when you found it. The cake was still in one piece, but the frosting was ruined, mushed against the top of the container. “Shit! Ugh, none of this is going how I planned.”

You couldn’t see beyond the messed up cake, but Steve’s eyes had the softest look. “You had a plan?”

“I was going to have a little party. Blow up balloons, light some candles, have cake. And I was going to send you pictures so you knew I remembered and that I wished you here with me and,” You looked back up at him and saw the gentle look in his eyes, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He smiled, “No reason. You know my birthday is tomorrow, right?”

“I didn’t know what time zone you were in.”

He let out a laugh and slid his arms around your waist. He kissed you so gently, more so than he ever had before. There was no lust behind the kiss. No promise of anything more than his tongue sweeping across yours as he pulled you closer still. Nothing but care, adoration, and a little four letter word that neither of you dared to say.

When you pulled away for air, you rested your cheek on his shoulder, peering up at him as you wondered how he stumbled into your life. “What was that for?”

“For the party.” He pressed a kiss to the crown of your curls. “C’mon. These balloons won’t blow themselves up.”

---

Since that last visit, Steve had made it a point to visit you more frequently. Every two months, at midnight on the dot, Steve was at your window with his duffel bag, a small smile on his face. It was working well for you both, and his variation in changing locations kept the feds and Tony off his trail.

At least, that’s what you thought.

It was your birthday the next time you saw Steve, but it wasn’t exactly planned — at least not on your end. Bucky was flying the quinjet over the city, dropping Steve off so he could surprise you for your birthday. Then, Steve spotted a squadron of black vans. They didn’t seem to be following the jet, which was good, but they were following a route that Steve was all too familiar with.

“Shit.”

“What is it?” Bucky asked.

“They’re going to Y/N’s place.”

“What? How did the feds figure that one out?”

Just then, an object shot across the sky above them. It didn’t detect the jet thanks to Vision’s modifications, but they could very clearly see who it was. Steve glared at the hot rod red and gold suit as it flew further away from them. “The feds didn’t.”

You were lounging in bed, enjoying your day off from work when you heard a knock on your window. Your brow scrunched as you wondered why Steve would be here. Sure, it was your birthday, but he was scheduled for a mission today. Then you realized, he must’ve been lying so he could surprise you for your birthday. With a smile on your lips, you slipped out of bed and walked down the hall, prepared to give Steve the biggest hug you could muster.

Then the smile dropped. Because it wasn’t Steve outside your window.

It was Tony Stark.

He was in a suit, in typical Tony Stark fashion, the Iron Man suit keeping itself suspended just behind the rails of your fire escape. He knocked on the glass once more with a slightly facetious smile on his face. You walked up to the window and unlocked it, pushing it up for him. “Was there a reason you couldn’t use the front door?” You asked.

“Tony Stark, nice to meet you.” When you stepped back, he swung one leg over the window sill, then the other, stepping in and giving the room a once over. “Do you know why I’m here?”

“No. I’ve only ever seen you on television.”

“Does the camera add ten pounds?”

“It does something.”

“You flatter me.”

“I don’t.”

Tony’s eyes narrowed, amusement tugging at the side of his lips as he picked up a picture that sat on your mantle. “You sure hold a lot of animosity for someone you’ve never met.”

“I can’t imagine you haven’t experienced worse.” You took the frame from him as you replied.

“Aren’t you wondering how I knew to come here?” He asked. “How I knew to knock on your window? How I knew you’d answer?”

You stood silent, glaring at him.

“Really? You’re gonna make me do the whole monologue thing?” He asked, only to be met with more silence. He huffed dramatically, “Fine. I’ve been trying to track him for a long time now, Y/N. I’ve tried the internet, tracking the quinjet, cell towers. Cell towers were a big one. But I also know Steve isn’t stupid. He wouldn’t risk calling anyone while on the run, especially not on the fancy new phones we have today.”

“Is this going somewhere?” You watched as he paced around the room, trying to keep your heart steady. You still had no idea where this was leading, but you were sure he was going to tell you.

“So I figured, maybe he’d buy a burner. And lo and behold, he did. Janky flip phone, real two thousand five looking. But he paid good money to have GPS and the tracking number erased, so cell towers were useless. Until you.”

You knew he was baiting you into giving Steve up, into admitting that you knew Steve personally. Although you would never tell him about Steve, you were on edge as you thought about the many ways you could have left him vulnerable. Still, even as a thousand scenarios played out in your head, deep down, you knew that you hadn’t been anything less than discreet. The only way they could have known is—

“You had me tailed.”

“And you were a hard one to tail, I will say. You were very careful.” He admitted. “But that’s not how I learned about you.”

You watched as Tony fished through his pants pocket before pulling out a flimsy sheet of film, burnt around the edges. Something Tony had found in the aftermath of one of Steve’s crazy intel missions in a hole-in-the-ground government facility. He walked up to the table that stood between you both and slid it across to you. As your eyes widened in surprise, Tony knew he had you. It was a picture of you and Steve, taken on a polaroid he’d brought a few visits before.

A flip of the latch and he was in for the rest of the week.

You squealed as he lifted you off your feet, spinning you around. When he finally set you down, you pulled him in for a kiss, slow with the promise of something more. He chuckled lowly as he pulled away only for you to whine. “I wanna show you something.”

“Show me later.”

You swatted his hands, urging him to drop the duffel bag he’d been carrying, and led his arms around your waist. One long and very tempting kiss later, he was pulling away again. “Y/N.”

“I’m busy. Giving you my best work here.” You pressed wet kisses down his neck. Then, you settled on the spot just below his ear, always guaranteed to make him lose his mind. He had to fight the urge to throw you over his shoulder and take you to the bedroom, his hands clutching tight to your hips. Then, he pushed you back to an arm’s length and took a deep breath to calm himself.

“I’m gonna show you one thing, and then, I promise, I am all yours.”

You sighed dramatically, crossing your arms over your chest with a pout. “Fine. But this better be good, Steven.”

You watched as he quickly slid off a backpack that you’d only then noticed. Digging around the inside, his eyes lit up when he finally found what he was looking for. He dropped the backpack and showed you what was in his hands.

“A camera?”

“A polaroid.” He added excitedly.

“Babe, that’s a little old school. Even for you.” You chuckled.

“This is a newer model, thank you very much.” He said, shaking the small black camera for emphasis. “I thought about a digital camera, but that’s the issue. They’re digital. If someone got their hands on the SD card, they could connect you to me.”

“I don’t care, Steve.”

“I do.” He took a step closer. He cupped your cheek with one hand and caressed his thumb across it lovingly. “If I ever get caught, I don’t want them to find out you were helping me. You’d go to prison.”

It was at that moment that you came to a scary realization. You didn’t care if you went to jail because you’d be doing it for Steve, for what you believed was the greater good. That was when you knew you loved him. Neither of you had told each other, but the sentiment could be felt every time you saw each other. It was the spark between your fingers when you held hands. The way he’d twist your hair for you when you were too sleepy to do it yourself. The way you’d scrub blood off his body when his visit happened to coincide with a mission gone bad.

You both knew, but it was impossible to say.

“So,” You changed the subject. “You bought a polaroid instead.”

“That way, no one will know except you and me.”

“Our secret.” You nodded, your smile finally matching his. You grabbed his arm and pulled it up in the air as you positioned the camera where you wanted to be.

“Oh, so now you’re an expert in photography?” He joked.

“Shut up and take the picture.”

Tony’s eyes softened as you picked up the photo and relived a memory that he’d never be able to understand. He couldn’t say it didn’t hurt — hunting the man he once considered to be one of his best friends. His heart hurt as he watched you swallow down your tears and refuse to cry in front of him. He didn’t want to be the one to bring Steve in. Still, he had to be.

“Where is he, Y/N?”

“Screw you.”

“Just tell me where he is, and you’ll never hear from me again.”

You opened the drawer to the table and fished out the lighter you’d bought for Steve’s birthday party. You held the polaroid to the flame and watched as the picture burned to ash, gently tossing it in the waste bin. “You have no physical proof that I know Steve Rogers.”

“Y/N—”

“Get out of my house. Now.”

Tony looked at you, defeated and heartbroken at the same time. He acquiesced, stepping back out the window while telling his agents to meet at the rendezvous point. When he stepped back into the Iron Man suit, he gave you a nod. Even behind his mask, you could tell he had a backup plan.

Once he was out of sight, you remembered the emergency plan that Steve had drilled into you once it was clear you were getting serious. Pack a bag, get some cash, and leave town. “He’ll find me.” You kept repeating to yourself as you stuffed your clothes into a spare duffle bag.

When you were done, you picked up the burner and called Steve, sighing when it went straight to voicemail. “Hey babe, it’s me.” You cringed at your shaky voice. “It’s an emergency this time. Tony Stark just showed up at my house. He knows about us. I’ve packed a bag, and I’m getting ready to go. I don’t know where. But you’ll find me. Right?” You shook your head, pushing away any bad thoughts. “Okay. Don’t come to my place, alright? Someone’s probably watching. Just find me.”

Just as you hung up, there was a knock on your window. Worried it was Stark or one of his men, you ran to the closet and picked up your shotgun. Then the window slid open.

Shit, you thought, I forgot the latch.

You inched down the hallway, taking deep breaths as you held the gun steady. Suddenly, someone stepped out, your finger pulled the trigger. Your brow furrowed, though, as the sound was contained in the palm of the man’s hand, light splintering off of it. “Bucky?”

“You must be Y/N.” He smiled kindly. “Steve sent me. I’m gonna get you somewhere safe, alright?”

Meanwhile, Tony flew across the city to the rendezvous point, an abandoned warehouse on the Upper East Side. He’d gotten confirmation from his agents just a minute ago that they’d arrived and were waiting for him on the scene, yet when he got there, nobody was to be found. He stepped carefully around the back of one of the black vans, finding one of the agents passed out beside it. “FRIDAY, scan the warehouse for heat signatures.”

“There’s no need.”

When Tony rounded the vehicle, he saw Steve standing across the room. He looked different — a full beard, longer hair, a new black tactical suit that Tony was sure he didn’t design — and yet, he still looked the same. A glimmer in his eyes that Tony once mistook for self-righteousness. He now knew that was just Steve’s determination. “This is a pretty stupid plan, Steve.”

“It would be if it was a plan.” Steve shrugged. “I’m winging it.”

“That’s an even worse plan.”

“Something tells me I’ll be fine.”

“You know I can’t let you walk out of here.”

“You never let me do anything. I’m only here to warn you.”

Tony’s head drooped as he let out a low chuckle. “This is about the girl. You do know her.”

“Stay away from her, Tony.” Steve snapped. “I mean it.”

“You think I’d hurt her?”

“Of course not. But I don’t put you above turning her in.”

“She aided and abetted a fugitive.”

“I’m not having this argument with you. I know you just came from her house. From here on out, stay away from her. This is your only warning.”

Tony was thankful that his mask could not emote as surprise overtook his face. This wasn’t one of Steve’s idle threats that would amount to nothing like when the Avengers were first formed. Tony knew he was serious because he recognized Steve’s expression. It’s the same one Tony got when anyone dared to threaten Pepper.

It was hard admitting that he understood where Steve was coming from. But he did.

“And what if I don’t?” Tony asked, just to gauge his response.

Steve discreetly let out a breath of relief as he heard Bucky confirm that you were safe on comms. Looking back at Tony, his expression was a mixture of darkness and regret. “I’m not sure either of us wants to find out.”

Then, there was a flash of light that all but blinded Tony. When his eyesight returned to normal, Steve was gone.

In the wind once more.

---

Screw him.

After Tony found out who you were, Steve had taken to a safe house — a cabin in upstate Pennsylvania. It had been another favor from T’Challa. The king bought it under an alias and allowed you to stay in it until it was safe for you to go back to New York.

And to be honest, you couldn’t say you didn’t like it. It was kind of a neighborhood, multiple cabins built around one large lake. None of your neighbors actually lived there; they were more like vacation homes. Still, over the few years, you got to know them. It was nice, having that small sense of normalcy.

Not to mention, it was much easier for Steve to visit this way. He’d come in the back entrance from the woods and stay a week or two, maybe more if he didn’t have any upcoming missions. In fact, it almost became like Steve’s home, too. When he wasn’t on a mission or in Wakanda, he was with you. And though Steve was always the first to say he no longer craved the normalcy of family, he couldn’t deny that being there, with you, was like a dream. A dream that was so close but still unattainable.

He was reminded of that when aliens invaded Earth. For the second time.

He up and left in a hurry one day, rushing out an explanation about how aliens were after Vision for some unknown reason. Still, he assured you that he’d come back, and you nodded sending him on his way with a quick kiss of his lips. It wasn’t unlike any of his other missions.

The difference this time was that he didn’t come back. At least, not for a year. Then, he was at your door again. No warning. No call. No cuts or bruises. Just him in the navy blue combat suit, silver star viciously ripped out. Thick beard, pink lips, and a look in his eyes that could kill. That is, if you didn’t know him. But you did know him. More than he’d like to admit.

So yeah, screw him.

How dare he just show up at your door without so much as a call. Steve had never gone that long without not seeing you, not speaking to you. You thought you meant at least that much to him. Even so, when you saw his face, you couldn’t help but want to be back in your old, beat-up apartment, eating junk and talking about shit that eventually wouldn’t matter until the sun rose.

Your first thought, though, was to slap him. So you did.

He’d seen it coming. He watched your small, soft hand that he’d held in his one too many times rise toward his cheek. He knew he could’ve stopped you. His instincts told him to stop you. But part of him knew he deserved it. He’d become the hero everyone needed, but in return he was no longer satisfied with the man he saw in the mirror.

He was a shell. Smiling for his friends when needed, saving the city, country, world when needed. Or trying to save the world. But inside he barely felt anything.

One of the few things he did feel for stood right in front of him. That’s why he let you slap him.

You knew the hit would barely phase him. He was a super soldier after all. The only thing he could feel was relief. Relief in knowing that you were here, in the flesh. Relieved knowing that the woman he adored hadn’t vanished into thin air. So he crashed his lips against yours in a passionate embrace.

Surprised didn’t begin to explain how you felt. Still, you could hardly complain when Steve’s lips were moving so tenderly against your own after so much time apart. You were still angry — how could you not be? — but you still worried for him. It all seemed to be happening too fast. From what you saw on the televised memorials, he’d lost half his team, his best friend. You were starting to wonder if he should do this so soon.

You were finally given an opportunity to breathe when Steve started to leave a trail of kisses down your neck. One of his hands slid down your body and grabbed onto your thigh, hooking it around his waist. “Steve.” You called.

He hummed, finding and nipping at the spot on your neck that made you gasp.

“Steve.”

His grip only tightened, pulling you as close as he could.

This time, you spoke more firmly, pushing his head away, “Steve.”

He looked at you, his breaths coming out in huffs. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry.” You admitted as you caught your breath. “Are you sure you—“

“I need to feel something.” He said quietly. He seemed almost ashamed as he spoke. “I wanna be sad. I wanna be angry. God, I want to be angry. I'd at least have something fueling me. But I don’t.”

“You don’t what?”

“I don’t feel anything. I feel empty. Every time I close my eyes, I see Bucky turning to dust. Or Vision’s head caved in. Sam’s gone, Wanda’s gone. I just, I need to feel something, anything. Please.”

The look in his eyes was one you’d never seen from him before. Distraught, hopelessness was only a start. In the year he’d been gone, you had no idea what he’d been through. And, to some extent, you know how he felt. You saw some of your own friends and family on the memorial reels. You’d cried yourself to sleep more than once, wondering if you’d ever see them again. You knew that as bad as you felt, Steve probably felt worse because in his mind, it was his job to save them.

And he couldn’t. Didn’t.

So you pulled him closer and pressed your lips to his. Walked him back toward the bedroom. You took care of him, made him feel, even if only for a moment, when he was completely and utterly numb. And you laid with him afterward until you both fell asleep, no idea what the morning would bring for you.

You’d find out that the morning would not be much kinder. When you woke up, Steve was slipping his combat suit back on. He cursed softly when he realized you were awake, “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Right.” You huffed, your voice still groggy-sounding. “You just meant to leave before we could talk about what the hell happened last night.”

He sighed, “Y/N—”

“So this is what you do now? Show up and leave when it’s convenient for you?”

“Y/N, I’ve always been honest with you. You know that—”

“That you’re a fugitive? Half the fucking universe is gone, Steve. They’re not worried about you anymore.” You scoffed, sitting up and clutching the sheets to your bare chest. “You know what? For the first time, I thought I could be selfish, that you could be selfish.”

“I can’t.” His voice was barely above a whisper. He tried to veer away from the conversation as he glanced around the room and muttered to himself. “Where the fuck are my boots?”

“You’d saved so many people. So many lives kept safe because of you. And when you made one mistake in the eyes of the law, a whole lot of them turned on you. And you’d think that, of all things, would make you want to be selfish, just once.”

“I can’t afford to be selfish.” He replied. “People need me.”

“I need you, Steve.” Your voice was so quiet, so vulnerable, that it made him freeze. In all the years he’d known you, he’d never once heard you sound so helpless. Child-like, almost. “You were gone. For a year.”

“I know.” He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in. He came around to sit next to you, a comforting hand on your thigh as you leaned back on the headboard. “I’m sorry.”

“I had to watch my neighbors disappear into thin air. It was like everything was moving in slow motion, and for the first time in my life, I was terrified. Terrified because I didn’t know if I was next.”

“Y/N…”

“Then I saw the memorials. I lost my best friend, too. Heather.” You told him, a tear finally falling from your eye. “My aunt, two cousins, my nephew. They’re all gone.”

“I did everything I could.” Steve said, trying but failing to hold in his own tears.

“I know you did. That was not your fault. I know you would’ve given your life for the world.” Your brow furrowed as you looked over at him. You placed your hand over his, squeezing reassuringly. “That’s not why I’m upset with you. You didn’t come back to me, Steve. I knew you were okay, they said so on the news. I kept waiting and waiting, and you never came.”

“I couldn’t.” He wiped the tears from his face. Then, he abruptly stood from the bed. “I shouldn’t have come back here.”

“Steve—”

“It’s only hurting both of us to be here.” He quickly found his boots and slipped them on.

“Steve, stop it!” You slipped out of bed and grabbed your robe.

“Y/N, you don’t get it! I can’t do what I have to — I can’t be Captain America — if I’m always thinking about you!”

“Then tell me you don’t love me.”

His lips parted in shock as he tilted his head, eyes giving you a sad look. “That’s not fair.”

“Just tell me. That way, all this, this bullshit, will make sense.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

“Why not?” You chuckled bitterly. “It’s not like we’ve said it to each other anyway.”

“Stop, Y/N.” He shook his head and walked out of the bedroom, toward the back door. You were quick to follow him, staying on his heels.

“Say it.”

“Don’t.”

“Say you don’t love me, Steve.”

“Goddamn it, you know I love you, Y/N!” He snapped, turning to face you. “I love you, alright?”

Everything about that moment was the portrait of juxtaposition. He’d just snapped at you, sure, but he also just said the three little words that you’d both been tiptoeing around for years. He finally professed his love to you, but his eyes were filled with sadness, with regret. Steve may have been the hero, but the way he was looking at you made it clear that he was the one who needed saving. Not that he’d ever let you.

And to think it was him who initially sought to be a part of your life.

“Then, why are you leaving?” You asked, tears still falling from your eyes.

“I can’t be Captain America and the man who loves you, and I do love you. So much.” He stepped closer, ignoring his own tears. He placed his warm hands on your cheeks and pulled you close, resting his forehead against yours. “Because if it ever comes down to everyone or you? I’m choosing you.”

You wished the moment could have been more tender. But your heart broke at the thought because looking in his eyes, you knew it was true. You grabbed his wrists tight, afraid to let go. “So this is it?”

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

He pressed his lips to yours in a bittersweet kiss. You could taste both your tears on your lips, but it didn’t matter. Nothing else in the whole world mattered except for the feeling of his lips on yours because this would be the last time you ever felt it. You prayed to whoever was listening that you’d never forget the feeling. His soft lips nudging yours apart, the heaviness of his hands on your face. You hoped you never forgot what it was like to feel him, his weight, his heat, his joy, his sadness. Everything about him, you hoped it would be ingrained in your mind because even though it had only been a few years since you met, you couldn’t imagine life without him anymore.

When he pulled away, it felt too soon. He looked at you one more time, his eyes puffy and red. He memorized your eyes and your lips, the contrast of your brown skin against his pale hands. He slid his hands down your neck, to your shoulders, then your forearms, finally willing himself to step back. He looked like he wanted to say something, and you hoped that he would. But nothing came out.

With one last glance, Steve was out your back door.

In the wind. For good.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x black!reader #captain america x reader #captain america x black!reader #steve x reader #steve x black!reader #marvel x reader #marvel x black!reader #captain america fanfiction #steve rogers fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #steve rogers angst #angsty af #no one ever let me write a single fic this long ever again

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imgoingtohellsofuckit · 5 years ago

Text

Cocky Hero pt 2

I didn’t want to make this a series but I’m in love with Hawks soo here ya go

Hawks x Reader

Warnings - alcohol use, mentions of abuse (mention no descriptions or anything and its very brief)

Summary - Hawks can’t get you out of his head, lucky for him you can’t get him out of yours either

So there you are, waking up in the number two heroes bed. You're fancy gown from the party on the ground and makeup all smeared off. You look over to see Hawks holding onto you tightly. For someone so keen on hookups your surprised he's still holding onto you. Or even that you're still in his bed with him. You move pulling from his arms grabbing your clothes from the ground making your way through the room over to the bathroom.

"Oh man he really doesn't hold back," You say as you look at the deep purple marks along your neck. You sigh lightly. Deciding not to worry about it as you wipe away your makeup and pull your clothes from last night on.

"You want something more comfortable?" You hear from the door. You look to see Hawks smiling lightly as he watches you.

"Depends on what you're gonna put me in," You say.

"My clothes," He smirks. You roll your eyes deciding to look back to the mirror. "I'll grab you a hoodie at least."

"Fine," You say.

He moves pulling away from the door frame to his room. Returning a couple seconds later with a black hoodie.

"Thanks," You say as you pull it over you dress, "I'll call a cab. I've got to get to my house before I go into the office. I'll get this cleaned and mail it back-"

"Nah keep it," Hawks says, "you look better in it anyways."

"I can't keep your clothes Hawks," You say looking to him, "I'll just have an intern drop it off to your agency."

"You're not even gonna drop it off man thats cold," Hawks says.

"Did you get attached?" You say with a smirk.

"Attached? No more like I'm not used to not being the one in control," He says, "every other girl wants me to fly them home and to keep my clothes. Thinking it'll pull me back in ya know."

"I'm not like those girls Hawks," You say, "I have my own game. And I simply play it better than you."

"Do you now?" He asks.

"I guess that's for you to figure out," You say, "now if you'll excuse me I have to get ready for work." You grab your purse then instead of calling a taxi you just place your hand against the wall. Hawks watches carefully. Your quirk. It's portal something pretty cool. When he first heard about it the first time he met you he thought it was one of the neatest quirks he's seen. Making a portal you could move through going anywhere you need. He was surprised you never went into the hero career with a quirk like that. "Try not to miss me too much," You say looking back to Hawks.

"I have a feeling you should worry about your self," He says.

"Sure Hawks," You say before stepping through the portal. It closes leaving Hawks alone. He chuckles lightly.

"Shes... different," He says softly, "man I need to get ready."

So while Hawks was running around to get ready to meet up with Dabi and the League to work out that situation. You were getting ready at your own quick pace. Using that long distance portal exhausted your quirk meaning you wouldn't be able to use it to get to work. Which is fine you've travelled everyway to work so it won't be too much of a pain but still. You could push a bit and use your quirk... it's irresponsible but... it's better time management. You cave using a second portal to pop into her office.

"Wow you're here early," Impression says, "especially considering your company last night."

"Didn't I hear whispering that you went home with MT Lady?" You shoot back, "you have no room to talk." Impression chuckles.

"Sure I have no room to talk but I'm going to anyways," He says, "Hawks is such a man whore. I'm surprised you went home with him. I mean you had plenty of people all over you."

"Yeah but you didn't feel the energy between them," Kami says, "the sexual tension was suffocating. I thought I was gonna die."

You roll your eyes at the comment.

"Besides we all know that every single one of these events we've been invited to Hawks finds himself at her side," Kami says, "he either is in love with you or super attracted to you."

"Anyways," You say moving to your desk to pull out everything for today, "we have a lot of work to do... Kami you are missing about 13 accident reports, Impression you have been asked to speak at UA about hero etiquette to the first years. Have either of you seen Mimica? Because he misfiled a report and I had to track it down at the commission and redo the entire thing."

They knew it was time to work So the Hawks topic dropped and everyone focused on their own matters. Soon the day was over releasing them to their own lives. The others left but you remained back. As always you're gonna be the last to leave. Always needing to finish that last thing before you could go home. When you finally stepped outside onto the street in the thick dark of the night you regretted the extra portal this morning.

"Hey you need a ride?"

You turn to see blond locks and crimson wings. Hawks. But what is he doing here?

"No I was gonna take the train home," You share.

"Nah a pretty lady like you shouldn't be on the train," He says, "let me fly you home."

"I couldn't ask you to do that," You say, "seriously it's no big deal I ride the train all the time."

"I'm offering," He says, "come on what do you have to lose?"

You think for a second. What do you have to lose? You start to step towards him. But instead give him a smirk. Then you press your hand against the wall. A portal to your apartment pops up. You're definitely feeling the overuse but honestly to mess with this cocky bastard it's worth it.

"You're right I shouldn't use the train," You say, "well goodnight Hawks."

"Wait-"

You step inside before he can say anything else.

He looks back at the wall you just walked through.

"Man she's gone," He says, "thats a shame. I wanted to talk to her. Oh well."

Back at your house you collapse on your couch. Clearly exhausted. You see something on your couch and smile lightly. It's the hoodie Hawks lent you. You move grabbing it. It's super soft and it smells like his apartment. That woodsy scent that was all nice and piney.

My phone buzzes. I pull it from my pocket to see an unknown number.

Unknown- Impression gave me your number

It took a lot of convincing

A lot

Y/n - Who is this?

Unknown - Oh guess I should of said that

It's Hawks

Number 2 hero

Y/n - Why do you have my number?

Unknown - Had to know if you go home safely

Y/n - You shouldn't worry about me I'm stronger than your giving me credit for

Unknown - Remind me not to underestimate you.

Pretty and talented.

What's it like being perfect?

Y/n - It's adorable that you think I'm perfect but even I have my flaws

Unknown - likww what/?

augh

ugh sorrry harsd to tyep whjike

caan io vcaall you;

Y/n - I'm a really busy gal I don't know if I have the time

Unknown - :(

Y/n - You have five minutes" make it count

Unknown - :)

He doesn't hesitate. You move answering the call.

"Hello beautiful," He says. I can hear the smirk in his voice. "Miss me?"

"Not really," You answer.

"Wow brutal," He says, "is that how you handle all the trolls online? Or those bitchy reporters?"

"I take them down with more force," You reply, "swift, forceful."

"Mmm so you like fast and forceful?" He asks. You roll your eyes.

"Yeah you wish," You say, "can't last long enough can you?"

"Wanna test that?" He says, "I'm sure I'll make it worthwhile."

"You said that last time."

"And I kept my promise didn't I?" He asks.

"Sure," You reply, "if that's what you want to hear."

"Oh come on you seemed to like it last night~" He teases, "I mean come on I had you moaning so loud. It's a good thing I don't have any neighbors."

"You ever hear of faking it?"

"Don't mock me like that," He says, "you know I'm fragile."

"You are anything but fragile," You say, "by the way you have 3 minutes."

"Oh you're really timing me?" He asks, "you're brutal. How am I supposed to make you fall in love with me if you won't play along."

"Fall for you? Is that what you think is gonna happen?" You ask.

"Not if you don't play along," He pouts, "come on what is it that makes you not want to fall for me? I mean I'm hot. I'm good in bed. I admire the fact you are also hot and good in bed."

"Sorry Hawks but I don't fall in love like that," You shrug, "besides your not my type."

"What?" He asks, "how am I not your type. You slept with me. Aren't you like attracted to me."

"Physically," You cut him off, "but romantically you aren't the type I go for."

"What do you go for?"

"Mm hold that thought for another day Hawks... you are out of time," You smirk.

"What? No way!" He exclaims, "you're really gonna leave right now?"

"Sorry I'm a busy gal," You say, "try again another day~"

You end the call before you can say anything else. While you were entertained with your game deciding to move to your night time routine. Poor Hawks on the other hand was staring at your number clearly frustrated with you taking his chance from him. It's his game. He isn't the one who gets played. He's the player!

"She's so cheeky," He says softly, "well guess I have to just try harder."

And so his new mission is set.

"Impression I need those reports asap," You say looking firmly at the pro, "you're behind as it is and I need you to look at the kids from the sports festival. You know internships are important for rising heroes to bring attention to the agency so you want to bring in a few kids to work with."

"I hate to interrupt," Kami says approaching me, "but something came for you." You look over at her to see her holding a bouquet full of flowers. Roses.

"You hookup with someone last night?" Impression asks, "because they seem to be a bit of a simp."

"Not a hookup just a parasite," You say taking the flowers from her. You look at the card and your suspicions are confirmed.

Hey beautiful, you aren't playing the game right - Hawks

"Who's it from?" Impression asks. You show him the card and he just chuckles lightly. "Well now you'll know not to mess with guys like him." You sigh as you move to your desk. You place them carefully in the vase as the two heroes look at me.

"Is he just too attached or is it something?" Kami asks.

"He's trying to play my game," You say simply, "he wants me to fall for him. I want him to fall for me. He wants to be the player, I want to be the heart breaker."

"Two players hookup and now one of them has to finally lose," Kami says, "that's so fanfic. I love it."

"At least it makes my game more interesting," You say. You pull your phone out and send on message to the man.

Y/n - I like daisies more

Kami leans over my shoulder to see the message and smirks lightly.

"Wow you really are just playing him like a violin," She says, "that's exciting."

"Exciting or not it's my personal life and we are still on the clock. So back to what I was saying and Kami this involves you. Pick out the kids you want extend offers to by tonight so I can call the schools to set everything up. Alright?"

"Yes Ma'am," Impression says, "I'll get right on that."

"Yep," Kami says.

As they move off I sit down at my desk to start on my reports. I get through about half when my phone starts to buzz against the desk. I look down to see Hawks messaged me back.

Hawks - Do I at least get points for trying?

Y/n - No

Hawks - boo

ur making the game hard

Y/n - you don't have to play we could just return to our normal lives

Hawks - You don't want to play?

Y/n - I'll admit that I'm enjoying this game. It's harder this way. Which makes it so much more fun...

Hawks - Then it's settled we have to finish the game.

Y/n - Sounds good to me

I can't wait to win

Hawks - Well look who sounds cocky now

Y/n - I have to get back to work

Besides I'm sure you have to as well

Hawks - boo

You decide to put your phone away and go back to the reports. At the end of your shift Kami waves you down to to invite you to a club. You accept. Walking closely with her and a couple of the sidekicks. It's a impromptu girls night apparently. She had gathered a bunch of the ladies in the office and dragged you all into a club to unwind.

You swirl the vodka and redbull mix as you look over at her.

"Do you want to settle down?" She asks me.

"Settle down?" You ask, "no I really don't. I want to enjoy my youth not worry about some girl or guy that's also trying to figure their life out."

"What about that Edgeshot?" She offers, "you've slept with him a bunch and you said you like him."

"I like him the same way you like that booty call you keep going back to," You correct, "it's physical but he's boring. I want someone who's fun and hot. Someone who can keep up with me."

"Who does that sound like?" She asks.

"No one," You chuckle, "if I met someone like that I'd eat them right up." I sip my drink as she glares lightly at me.

"Okay okay so you don't want to settle down," She says, "you want this picture perfect person first try. Do you think we live in a fairy tale?"

"No," You say honestly, "but I know I don't want to date anyone until I find someone who sticks out. Someone who sees me as more than a pretty face ya know? Like okay take the guys I hook up with. They are fun and attractive. But they don't want the emotional stuff. Which is fine cause they are hookups. But if I wanted something real. Something long term. I'd want this person to connect with me on a spiritual level. Match my fast life ya know."

"You're too picky," She slurs.

"You're too boring," You say, "okay- as fun as this girls night is... I'm bored. Soooo how about bow tie over there?"

"You gonna take him home?"

"If he'll have me," You smirk. You stand flipping your skirt up to make it just a bit shorter then ruffle your hair lighter. "Okay how do I look?"

"Hot," She says. You nod.

"Perfect now come dance with me," You say. You take her hand dragging her to the dance floor. As the fast pace song comes on the two of you moving dancing together. Doing pretty much everything to draw attention of the guys scouting for a hook up. Some guy moves offering to by Kami a drink leaving you dancing with one of the sidekicks. Suddenly you feel a finger tap on your shoulder. You turn to see a familiar face. But it's completely out of place. "Hawks? What are you doing here?"

"You texted me," He says, "'come to Veil I need someone to party with'"

"That sneaky bitch," You say softly.

"What?" He asks.

"My coworker texted you," You explain, "she loves to meddle you know."

"So I was pulled into something?" He asks, "I can't believe I'm being used. What a shame I was super excited to see you cave. And well to see you like this." You chuckle lightly.

"Well if you're already here... I guess it wouldn't hurt for you to buy me a drink," You suggest. He chuckles.

"Well I'm not opposed to spending time with you," He says, "come on."

You lead him to the bar. Each of you order your drink then he hands his card over.

"You party on weekdays often?" He asks me.

"Only when someone else suggests it," You answer, "I'm not going to be the one who leads the decision but I will gladly take advantage of the chance. Do you normally send roses to girls you hookup with?"

"I hate to admit it but you're the first," he says, "you're the only one playing the long game. You'll take a bit more work."

"Will I?" You ask, "mother always said I was high maintenance."

"Really?"

"Oh yeah I always had to have the best growing up," You tell him, "you know I attended UA? It was for General Studies sure but still. And I went to UA's college."

"Wow flashy school," He says.

"Yeah well I had to get in even if it wasn't to be a hero," You share, "it was the best. My mother wasn't a fan on the fancy private school price tho."

"I can imagine," He says, "what does your mother do?"

"She was a baker," You tell him, "she passed my last year of high school."

"I'm sorry for your loss," He says softly.

"It's in the past," You say, "what about you?"

"My parents they aren't around," He says.

"I'm sorry," You say.

"Don't be," He says, "sometimes thats better."

"I get what you mean," You tell him, "pops ran out on my mom and I when I was in middle school. He was the worst. Alcoholic who beat on my mom and I. He died last year. And somehow to me thats better than having him alive."

"Ah tragic origin stories," Hawks says, "they really bread some great people."

"I know," You say, "cheers to that." You both clink your drinks together. You chug as much as you can. Hawks is slightly taken back but quickly moves to keep up. You set down the empty class and look back to him. "Come dance with me."

"Of course beautiful," he says smirking. You move dragging him onto the dance floor. Dancing to the fast song. He's all smiles as he watches you move. He can't tell if its the alcohol or if you are just that care free. But watching you move like you were the only person in the room was hypnotic.

After a couple songs he can't hold it back anymore.

"I hate to break the mood but- you're really making it hard for me to hold back," He groans.

"My place is down the street," You tell him, "one portal and we can be there in a flash."

"I'd like that very much," He says. You move taking his hand and leading him towards the wall. You place your hand on the wall and the portal opens.

"Last chance to back out," You tell him.

"I don't back out," He says. You smirk.

"Good," You say pulling him through the portal to your home.

#hawks x reader #hawks bnha #keigo takami x reader #keigo takami #my hero academia #my hero academia x reader #bnha #mha

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missmalice202 · 5 years ago

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Designing Your Melody: Chapter 10 - Composition

Chapter 01 - Chapter 09

The sun had set and stars were twinkling overhead when Luka finally dragged his tired body home. Stowing his bike on deck, he staggered down the stairs, falling against the wall on his way down when the boat rocked on a wave. Shaking his head to keep his eyes open, he was surprised to see his sister sitting on the couch, apparently waiting for him to get home.

“You okay there?” Juleka murmured, concerned. She watched from her perch on the couch as he walked over to sit next to her, shoes scraping lightly against the floorboards. Her eyes widened when he tossed his messenger bag on the end of the couch and collapsed into the cushions, closing his eyes as he laid his head back. “Rough day?” she asked with a dark eyebrow delicately raised.

He rubbed his face with one of his hands before cracking an eye open to look at his sister. “Ugh, it’s been a rough week,” he groaned. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around lately. Things are still crazy at the studio and I just don’t know what to do? I feel like I’m wasting my time because no matter what we come up with, it’s not what Mr. Roth wants and he rejects everything. I know Jagged is getting pissed off at wasting his time too, but there’s nothing we can do because Roth is the boss and has the final say on what is produced under his label. I want to just walk away and stop wasting my time when I know it’s all futile, but I just can’t leave Jagged in a bind like that. He’s refusing to give an inch when it comes to his music, and I respect his commitment, but when is enough enough?”

Juleka’s brow furrowed as she gazed at his exhausted face. He had been really busy lately. She hadn’t seen him all week and she was starting to get worried at the crazy hours he’d been keeping. “When is Vivica coming back from maternity leave?” she asked.

He sighed, lifting his head off the back of the couch so he could properly talk to his sister. “Not soon enough, honestly.” His shoulders sagged as he thought about the pressure he’d been under the last few weeks. If he were honest with himself, there were times that he regretted agreeing to being the studio guitarist on Jagged’s new song single. But, he wasn’t the kind of guy to deny someone if they asked him for help, so he’d see it through until the end. However, whether the end would be Jagged and Mr. Roth finally coming to an agreement on their ridiculous feud, or Vivica’s return to being Jagged’s main guitarist, he didn’t know. What he did know was that he was desperate for a break. “Don’t worry about me, though. What are you doing up so late?”

“Well…” she began, looking down at her hands clasped tightly on her lap, “I wanted to talk to you about something, but between you working so much and me working and trying to find time to spend with Rose, we haven’t been able to talk much lately.”

Luka reached over and gently placed his hand on top of hers. “You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

She laughed softly. “I know. I wanted to ask if you could take some time off on the 30th.”

“That’s all?” he asked, shaking his head. “You had me worried that something was wrong. You made it sound so serious.” He tilted his head as he looked at her. “What’s happening on the 30th?”

“I’m going to be walking the catwalk in a fashion show during Fashion Week,” she explained, her voice breathless in her excitement. “A friend of mine is having her first show and asked me to be her model.”

Luka rushed to his feet and yanked his sister off the couch into a hard embrace, his exhaustion forgotten in his exuberance. “Juleka! That’s amazing!” She giggled when he spun her around in a circle and set her back on her feet. “Why didn’t you tell me before? This is huge! I’m so proud of you.”

She hid her face behind the dark curtain of her hair as her face flushed. “I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d make a big deal about it.” She mumbled as she reclaimed her seat on the couch.

“Sorry, but I’m really happy for you,” he said with a grin as he sat next to her. “I’ll definitely make sure to come see you in the show.”

As they continued to talk about what they’d been up to since the last time they’d really talked, Luka couldn’t help but wonder if Marinette would be at Fashion Week. He’d make it a point to ask around after Juleka’s show and see if he could find more information about her. Especially since so far, he’d struck out on catching her at the bakery.

For the past week, whenever he had a chance, he’d stopped by Tom & Sabine’s bakery and sampled their wares. Sadly, every single time he’s been there, Marinette hadn’t been home, according to what her parents told him. At times, he couldn’t help but wonder if her mom had figured out the real reason why he’d started coming to the store so frequently.

It wasn’t completely fruitless though. He’d developed a fairly good relationship with the petite Chinese woman who had taken to giving him extra macaroons or pastries in return for his sudden frequent business. He felt a little bad about going there with ulterior motives, but he really would have gone there regardless of his desire to finally talk to Marinette. Their food was delicious and had become the highlight of his day if he found the time to visit.

Suddenly remembering the leftovers from his trip to the bakery earlier that day in his messenger bag, he reached over and grabbed his bag. Pulling the paper bag out, he tossed it onto his sister’s lap.

“What’s this?” She looked at the bag, and then opened it to peer at the pain au chocolat inside. “Oh, I see. You’re hooked, too, huh?” she teased.

“Too?” he asked, a little confused.

“The DuPain-Cheng bakery was famous in my class while I was in school. My friend would often bring in treats for the class from there and we’d all usually end up going there for lunch a few times a week.”

He chuckled. “I can see why. Their food is amazing.”

And with that, he bid his sister good night and retreated to his room, where the melody of the baker’s daughter lulled him into a restless sleep.

-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-

“Man oh man oh man oh man. Why did I think it would be a good idea to bead the entire bodice of this stupid dress? Yeah, it’s going to be gorgeous, but it’s such a pain in the ass! Why, oh why would I completely change the composition of the most important piece in my show only ONE WEEK before the show? The dress was beautiful before, but noooo, I just had to try to make it better. What is wrong with me??”

Marinette was freaking out. With less than a week to go until her show, she was in full-scale panic-mode. Her band-aid covered hands were a blur as she hand-sewed black seed beads onto the bodice of the dress she had designed for Juleka to wear for her show. Working fast, she hissed as the needle she recklessly wielded stabbed into her finger once again. Yelping, she dropped the needle and rolled back in her chair so she didn’t get blood on the fabric. Sucking on the wound, she glared at the dress, irritated at her own carelessness.

She set the dress aside, deciding to take a break. Her poor fingers couldn’t take much more abuse. She stretched her arms over her head to ease the ache in her back from being hunched over her desk for the past few hours, meticulously attaching bead after bead after bead. With a final withering glance at her dress, she stood up and walked away, sitting down at her computer chair instead. What she needed was a distraction for a little bit to help clear her mind. She grabbed her controller and turned on her console, ready to ease her irritation.

Glancing at her clock, she realized how late it was. With a shrug, she decided that if none of her clan mates were online, she’d just do some solo grinding for a little bit and then resume her beading.

When she brought up her friend list, she grinned when she realized that she wasn’t the only one online so late. She picked up her headset and quickly placed it on her head, smoothing her hair away from her face in the process.

“Hi, Viperion, how’s it going?” she cheerfully greeted her teammate, blue eyes sparkling.

“Ladybug, I wasn’t expecting you to be on tonight.” His soothing voice tickled her ear. There was just something about his voice that made her stomach flutter. He could be reading the dictionary and she’d still hang on to his every word.

“Same here. I haven’t seen you online lately. Have you been busy?” From what Alya and the others had told her, it seemed like she and Viperion had been playing an online game of tag: neither of them had been on at the same time for weeks, sometimes missing each other by mere minutes.

His heartfelt groan made her giggle. “I work for an unreasonable dictator, so yeah, I’ve been busy. I just want to get the job done and move on with my life, but nothing we do is good enough to satisfy the higher-ups, so we’re forced to redo everything over and over again.”

“That’s awful,” she agreed. “I’ve been pretty crazy myself. I’ve got this thing next week that I’m finishing up the final details of and I’m starting to panic.”

“Hm…” His soft hum resonated in her ear. “If you panic, you’ll make mistakes. Just calm down and you should be fine. And don’t forget, you can ask for help if you need to. I’m sure you have people in your life that you can count on to have your back if you need to.”

“Yeah, I know, but telling me to be calm doesn’t actually mean that I’ll actually do it,” she jokingly replied. “I’m bleeding all over myself at this point, which is why I’m taking a break and playing.”

“Wait, you’re bleeding? Are you okay?” The concern in his voice was palpable.

“Yes, I’m fine. I’m being dramatic, as usual.,” she reassured him. She explained that she wasn’t really bleeding, just pricked her fingers a few times. She giggled again when his relieved sigh filtered through her headset. He really was too adorable sometimes.

They continued their conversation for almost an hour before Marinette decided that her break had gone on long enough, refreshed from her interaction with the smooth-talking Viperion. “I’ve got to get back to work and if you’re as busy as you say you are, you should be sleeping, not wasting your time with me.”

“Spending time with you is not a waste of my time.” Her eyes widened slightly at his response. “In fact, I think it’s safe to say that it’s been the highlight of my day. Thank you, Ladybug.”

Heart thumping in her chest at his candid compliment, she murmured goodnight to him and signed off, staring at her screen without blinking as she replayed what he had said over and over again in her head.

She recognized the feelings brewing in her chest from her previous infatuation with Adrien. Marinette jumped up from her chair, knocking it over in her haste. ‘Nope, not gonna happen,’ she thought to herself. ‘I am not crushing on someone whose name I don’t even know!’

She thought she was done with this nonsense. She was a strong, independent, semi-levelheaded woman and she refused to lose her mind over some guy that she had never met. Yeah, she really enjoyed spending time with him online, and she’ll admit that when she saw his name highlighted on her friends list indicating that he was online, she always felt a tiny thrill creep up her spine. But he was just a good friend that she played with from time to time. He wasn’t anyone special. She didn’t have time for anyone special. She needed to focus on her career now, and not lose what sanity she had left chasing after a boy she knew nothing about.

Determined, she continued to talk herself out of the feelings she felt blossoming toward the soft-spoken boy.

Now needing a distraction from her distraction, she rushed over to her worktable and began furiously attaching beads to the garment.

But try as she might, she couldn’t stop his silky voice from echoing in her mind.

-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-

Chapter 11

*Thanks again for stopping by to read my story. I appreciate all of the love I’ve gotten from everyone on this. This is my second Fanfiction and probably the first one I’m going to finish. All of the likes and reblogs and comments help me keep going, so thank you all.

Special shout out to @s-n-arly for the fic recommendation post.

@write-for-your-life2, i’m not sure what a “tag list” is (I’m still kind of new to tumblr haha), but I tagged you in here, so hopefully you see this lol!

Next chapter will feature the fashion show and I’m so excited to show you what I have in store for these adorable dorks.

Until next time, my lovelies XOXO*

#lukanette #lukanette fic #lukanette february #mlvalentines2k20 #miraculous ladybug #miraculous fanfic #luka couffaine #marinette dupain cheng

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capnjay21 · 6 years ago

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bring walls down, hear my sound 3/3

Ten happy years after the events of 'the boy that stood by the sea', and Henry Cassidy is no longer the little boy he used to be. Unused to the unpredictability of raising a teenager, his sudden wayward behaviour becomes a source of mystery to all the adults in his life. When things begin to spiral out of control, Killian and Emma must decide what sort of parents, and partners, they wish to be - of course, where Neal Cassidy is involved, nothing is ever simple.

link to the boy that stood by the sea || ao3 || part one || part two

Rating: T A/N: So it's actually been two years since I updated this story. I'm not sure if any of my readers will still be around, or interested, but nonetheless I am excited to finally put the conclusion out into the world!

As it's been a while, I will reiterate the content warning for the last chapter which still applies - there is a discussion regarding a miscarriage Emma underwent a few years prior, which is an important event for her and Killian and in this narrative. As ever, please take care of yourselves, but I hope you decide to continue!

Now without further ado, here is my 13.5k finisher! (PS, I know Coney Island doesn't open in the winter, but please dispel that tiny bit of realism for this chapter!) Enjoy! <3

-/-

Henry has been in New York for four days.

Neal keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop, for him to decide to go home or for Killian to ring and demand that he be sent back to Boston — he’s more than aware he’s living on borrowed time. Truth be told, for the first time in a long while he really feels like he’s doing the parent thing, making sure the boy gets decent meals every day and leaving work early enough to come home and spend time with him.

In fact, he’s beginning to wonder what made this so hard ten years ago.

It was such a long time ago now, he remembers the sensations and emotions far more than how he actually behaved when Henry lived with him full time, before Emma had stolen his car and entered their lives. It had been such a colossal struggle, trying to balance his work life with Henry, all pushing boundaries and guilt, god, so much fucking guilt, until it had reached breaking point that night on a beach in Maine. No matter how hard he had tried, he just couldn’t reconcile the two things that he loved most, this little boy who had needed him there and this job, the only thing he had ever wanted before Henry was born. It had ended in him letting one of them go.

He doesn’t regret sending Henry to live with Killian permanently. That had always been the right decision. What he does regret is missing out on time spent with him; the lazy mornings and sun-soaked afternoons, the science projects and parent-teacher conferences. Neal never had a reason to go to the library without Henry tucked into his side, but then, he had to remind himself, it wasn’t like he’d been around enough to take the boy there when they were together. Although he gave both Killian and Emma a hard time on the phone after the yacht incident, he knows Henry had a better life with them than he could’ve ever given him.

He just can’t work out why. Now, it’s the easiest thing in the world. He can’t wait for the end of the day to come so he can be back at the flat playing video games, or taking him out to eat or touring him around the best attractions New York can offer. They’re making up for years of lost time, and he can’t bear to waste a single minute.

His priorities have shifted; he realises that now. Better late than never.

And god, it’s so much better.

If he could redo that decision on a beach in Maine, hell, every decision he’d ever made before that, it would not be the job that he would keep. Nor the boy he would lose.

That said, with this newfound clarity comes something else — maturity. At thirty-fucking-nine it’s about time. Henry is his son, sure, but four perfect days don’t make up for sixteen years of emotional and oftentimes physical unreliability. Killian is the one who had been there, Killian is the one who is probably sat at home in Boston worrying himself into the ground, thinking he isn’t worth it. Killian is the reason this boy is such a bright spark in Neal’s otherwise empty life.

Well. It doesn’t have to be empty. He just has to go home.

(And so does Henry.)

As long as he knows that, as long as he’s aware of it, it feels okay. But he doesn’t want to let go of this yet, these longing, desperate days. He wants to know how it feels to have everything.

“So, you got work today?” Henry says brightly around his cup of coffee, eyes wide and expectant.

It’s Monday. Neal has a conference in the morning, two meetings and a sales briefing.

“Nope,” he says, taking out his phone to text his assistant that he won’t be in. “Day off.”

“Wow.” Henry’s eyebrows have shot to his hairline. “I didn’t realise you had those.”

It’s not said bitterly, but it could well have been. It could have been and it would’ve been entirely fair. But Henry is sweet and good and always forgave him, even when he didn’t deserve it.

“Very funny,” Neal sticks out his tongue, setting a plate of scrambled eggs down in front of the boy. He reaches into the microwave and emerges with the cheese he’d melted ready to drizzle on top.

“Cheddar?” Henry queries.

“Gouda.”

The boy grins. “Good, I was just testing you.” He takes the bowl from him and begins to smother his eggs. Once he’s done, he uses a fork to begin mixing it all together. “So, what’s on the agenda for today then?”

It’s so easy, being with Henry like this. It’s so fucking easy, which is what makes this so fucking hard.

“Henry,” he starts, before hesitating. The tone of his voice probably alerts his son to the nature of what he wants to say, and he looks up from his breakfast. Neal merely meets his gaze sadly, lifting one shoulder in a half shrug. “When are you going home, kiddo?”

Henry’s face falls, and he looks younger than he has in four days. More like a little boy by the sea trying to make an impossible choice. “I thought we said no outsider —”

Neal shakes his head. “Not gonna work this time.”

They’ve spent days running in the opposite direction to their responsibilities, from the people who care about them — he supposes it’s a comfort, in a sense. In his quieter moments he’d always been afraid that when Henry became a man, he’d see nothing of himself in him; he just wishes he’d passed on a more redeeming quality than the tendency to ignore his problems with more conviction than he confronted them.

Whatever happened back in Boston, he has to face it. Neal can’t be the place that Henry runs to, as much as he wants days like this to never be over.

When Henry speaks, his voice is quiet, the furthest yet from the confident young man that turned up on his doorstep.

“Can’t this be home?”

A bachelor pad in the middle of New York City, the safe haven they’ve turned it into. Neal’s heart melts, if only under the weight of the knowledge that no, of course it can’t.

He smiles sadly. “You know I’d love nothing more.”

“Then let’s make it happen!” Henry urges.

Before Neal can reply, his cell begins to buzz across the countertop. For a terrifying moment he thinks it might be Killian, finally coming to hold him accountable, but the pair of them look over to see Tink’s name flashing across the screen. Neal’s stomach clenches tighter. God, he wants to be the responsible adult they all deserve, but fuck if it doesn’t make him feel like shit.

Wordlessly, he reaches over and turns off his phone. Henry watches the movement intently.

“Why aren’t you answering her?”

After all, they’ve already lifted their embargo on no-outsider-talk.

Neal readies himself to tell his son everything, but the words that leave his tongue don’t resemble the confession he had meant to impart.

“Do you remember that time I took you to Coney Island?”

Old habits die slow and brutal deaths.

Henry looks wary at the sudden switch of conversation, but he plays along. “I wasn’t big enough for most of the rides.”

The boy had only been eight, and a short eight-year-old at that, and the day had been such a dramatic failure that he couldn’t hand Henry back to Killian fast enough to break from the shame. Of course, Henry had babbled on about how amazing the cotton candy and the spectacle of the entire day had been, thanking his father profusely and Killian had looked suitably impressed. Neal didn’t dare confess to the contrary. Undoubtedly, Henry’s optimism and his father’s realism remember that day excruciatingly differently.

Neal shrugs. “You would be now, wouldn’t you?”

It’s a dare. They’ll see how long they can push this.

Henry grabs his coat, and they decide to keep running.

-/-

There was Emma, thinking her couch hopping days were finally behind her.

Thankfully, David and Mary Margaret’s couch is infinitely superior to any she’s put up with before.

Almost buried under an abundance of pillows and soft blankets as the white gold of morning begins to creep past the curtains, Emma is grateful she didn’t think to go anywhere else. Truthfully, the night prior is a blur. All she knows is it left a yawning hole in her chest, a dead weight that begged to be lifted but had settled rather firmly in the crevice where her heart usually lay. She’d gotten up to try and convince Killian to come back to bed, come back to her, and somehow it had ended with them spitting fire at each other about Henry, and then — well. Then it had been marriage and children and missed opportunities and apparently a colossally poor level of communication between them that she hadn’t even realised existed.

It’s exhausting to even think about. She feels emotionally drained, devoid of energy, and wants nothing more than to sink into the Nolans’ sofa and never emerge.

As a gentle knock sounds at the door, she senses this is not to be the case.

“Emma?” Mary Margaret pokes her head around the door, a tentative look on her face. When Emma merely grunts in response she slips inside, closing the door behind her with a gentle click. “I bring gifts,” she says, waving a mug topped with whipped cream in front of her as she comes to rest on the arm.

With great difficulty, Emma drags herself into a sitting position. “Is that cocoa?”

“With cinnamon,” Mary Margaret promises, and Emma eagerly reaches for the cup. “And cream. I thought I’d push the boat out for this one.”

“Please, don’t mention boats,” Emma grimaces, but thanks her friend fondly as she hands her the mug. Any kind of nautical reference is far beyond what she can handle right now. She takes her first sip and it’s warm, and heavenly. Mary Margaret had introduced her to the wonder of adding cinnamon to hot chocolate, but she’s yet to brew one that tastes even half as good as her friend’s.

Taking delicate sips from her own mug, Mary Margaret allows her this — a few peaceful minutes of silence, letting her make the first move. She’d never met anybody who treated her quite as tenderly as her, except perhaps Killian. With a jolt of nausea threatening to rise, she lowers her mug. Something was made tender by Killian last night, but it feels more like battle scars than hot cocoa.

“Do you want to talk?”

Emma sighs. It’s not as if she thought she could avoid this conversation (turning up with red-rimmed eyes on your best friend’s doorstep at nearly three in the morning did somewhat merit an explanation), but she was at least hoping to get in a few more hours of sleep.

“Not… really.”

Mary Margaret turns from where she is perched on the arm, angling her body towards her. “I take it you and Killian had a fight?”

Putting it mildly.

“It wasn’t just a fight,” Emma says tiredly, “it was the armageddon of fights. You could have measured it on the Richter scale, I mean it.”

Her friend’s expression twists with sympathy and Emma looks away, picking violently at loose threads on the blanket she’d been given. Even now, with her roots down and her life as settled as it’s ever been (the previous night notwithstanding) she isn’t comfortable with anyone, no matter how well intentioned, pitying her. It takes her right back to life in the system and teachers who were happy to condescend to her, but not to do anything about it.

Unaware of her ire, Mary Margaret continues. “What was it about?”

“Henry, me and him, just…” Emma waves an absent hand. “Everything.”

“Henry’s still in New York then?”

Emma nods. “And ever since he left — hell, before he left, with all that stuff with the yacht, Killian’s been totally… I don’t know, out of it. Not himself.” It feels good to tell someone, to hopefully find at least some validation in the way she’s been feeling; to have someone else recognise that things haven’t been right, Killian hasn’t been right, and it’s not all within her imagination. “And I tried to call him out on it and suddenly we were arguing about what terrible parents we’d make and the fact that we never got married.”

Mary Margaret’s eyebrows jump to her hairline. “Wow.”

Wow didn’t quite cover it, in Emma’s opinion.

“Bit of a one-eighty, right?”

Her friend hesitates for a moment, taking a small sip of her cocoa as she does so. “I’m not so sure.” At Emma’s surprised look, Mary Margaret’s gaze slips to her mug, as if trying to work out how best to put her thoughts into words. “Listen, I don’t know your relationship even half as well as you do, but it seems to me like… this is the first time you guys have ever really experienced each other without Henry.” She shrugs, a pensive rise in her shoulders. “The first time there isn’t a third variable to consider; it’s just the two of you. Maybe it’s just about finding a new rhythm.”

Emma turns over this new assessment in her mind. She’s spent weeks roiling in doubt, watching Killian slip further into himself, and last night had felt like the final challenge — she hadn’t been enough to bring him out of it, she’d just become collateral damage. Mary Margaret was right, throughout their entire relationship Henry had always been there. They’d fought before, sure, but they’d always had Henry to think of, and they’d never wanted to make the boy feel the way he had when she and Neal had been together. They kept everything as open and honest as they could, and she knew Killian always tried to explain things to him when they disagreed.

Their entire life together had been coloured by Henry. Wasn’t he their rhythm?

“After ten years of the old one?” Emma let out a long, uncertain breath. “I don’t know If we can, I feel like last night proved that.”

I just added it to the long list of things I was giving up because I wanted to be with you!

“We wouldn’t even be together if it weren’t for Henry, I know that much.”

Without Henry, her marriage to Neal would have just disintegrated with nothing to show for it but wasted time. Without Henry, Killian might never have entered her life. Without Henry, she might not have fought for her own little piece of happiness, she might never have recognised what she deserved.

Could she still do it without him?

“But if your relationship is so dependent on Henry…” Mary Margaret bites her lip. “I don’t want to say it, Emma.”

She doesn’t need to. “Maybe we shouldn’t be together at all.”

The mere notion of it takes the fight right out of her and she sinks back into the cushions. Her mind is abuzz with doubts and truths she refuses to acknowledge, and wordlessly her friend lifts the blanket and snuggles in beside her. Even in the midst of her heartache, her entire body warms as Mary Margaret wraps an arm around her shoulders and allows Emma to rest her head in the crook of her neck. She’s always been jagged edges to Mary Margaret’s softness, but maybe if she stays here long enough she can absorb some of her strength.

“I love both of you,” Mary Margaret says gently, “but your happiness is the most important thing. However you find it.”

I’m pregnant, she wants to tell her.

Instead she curls in closer, and begs the sun to stop rising.

-/-

“You look exhausted, mate.”

Killian rubs his eyes tiredly. “I didn’t sleep.”

Barely half an hour after Killian had informed the Rabbit Hole WhatsApp chat that he wouldn’t be coming in today without providing any further information, Robin had arrived on his doorstep armed with coffee and a full monty breakfast from the café down the street in his arms. Given the café down the street didn’t usually do breakfasts to go, Killian had regarded his friend with amusement and allowed him inside. It felt good to have somebody else in the apartment — it made the walls seem closer, the space not as empty as it had been throughout the night.

Currently, he sits only prodding at the meal hurriedly dumped onto a plate as Robin fusses around in his kitchen, filling two glasses with water before bringing them over. He had correctly deduced that coffee probably wouldn’t be conducive to productive brain function, not with how wired Killian already felt. Every time he shut his eyes he could see Emma, coat thrown over her dressing gown, the door clicking shut behind her. Sleep had been entirely unobtainable.

“Sounds like a hell of a bust up,” Robin says with sympathy, handing him the glass.

Dutifully, Killian takes a few large gulps. The liquid only gathers in his gut, churning, lending discomfort to his already turbulent, weary state. “It’s like I was floating above my body, you know?” he brushes his hair from his eyes, the strands greasy from being ruffled all night. God, he needs a shower. “I was watching myself saying these things that I didn’t mean and flinging them at her like — like somebody that isn’t me.”

Robin drops down into an armchair, watching him carefully. “Have you called her?”

His heart clenches.

“She asked me not to.”

“Well, you know women.” His friend’s mouth quirks upwards. “Whenever Regina tells me not to call her it’s only because she wants me to. Secretly, mind.”

Not Emma. Emma doesn’t play games. “Believe me; she doesn’t want me to call.”

The open hurt, the wide eyed-astonishment. The staggered look she sent him when she realised just what it was he’d said — all of it replays and replays unpleasantly like the scratch of a broken vinyl. Miserably, he stabs a rasher of bacon and shovels it in his mouth, not wanting to see the sympathy in Robin’s eyes. He doesn’t deserve it.

“Couples fight, Killian,” he offers gently, “it happens.”

He shakes his head miserably. “Not like this.”

Either Robin concedes or he just has no idea how to respond, the effect of which being they sit in silence for a few comfortable minutes. They both just watch Killian push the food around his plate with his fork, the only sound the scrape of the utensil against china. Fuck, he can’t do a single thing right. Henry, Emma — somehow he’s managed to drive them both away, and he has no clue how to fix it. At least he knows where Henry is, still safe in New York with Neal, but Emma? He could hazard a guess at her going to Mary Margaret’s, but she could just as easily have found herself in August’s apartment. A hot flush of jealousy unlike anything he’s felt in years surges up without his consent. August has never been a threat, Emma had assured him of as much the first and only time he’d ever gotten silly over it, but at that moment his every irrational thought is crawling for sunlight.

Gods, what is he doing now? Doubting her? What the bloody hell is wrong with him?

“Maybe it’s because of Henry.”

Wrapped up in his own thoughts, for a moment Killian had forgotten Robin was even there. At his bemused look, the other man shrugs and carries on.

“You know, him not being here. Perhaps your relationship has been about him for so long, it’s struggling now that he’s gone.”

Killian frowns. There’s some sound logic behind it, but it doesn’t sound right. It’s enough of an oddity to give him pause. “I don’t… I’m not really sure about that.”

“Makes sense, doesn’t it?” his friend continues, exuding a nonchalance that, if Killian is honest, slightly winds him up. “The only reason Marian and I stayed together so long was because of Roland. By the end, my feelings for her were built entirely around our son, it just took me a while to realise it.”

“But that’s different,” Killian insists, before he has a chance to even think it through.

Robin’s eyebrows raise as he lifts his glass to his lips. “How?”

“Because —” he falters, but the power of the words in his rebuttal surge forward regardless. “I love Emma. I fell in love with her for her, not Henry. Hell, she was married to my best friend. If I wanted something easy, some scapegoat for love, I wouldn’t have picked this.”

“But if it’s this hard,” Robin presses, shrugging lightly, “maybe it just isn’t meant to be.”

“I don’t believe that,” he says fiercely, sitting up straighter in his seat as he angles more towards his friend, agitation spurring his movements. “We should be together, Emma and I. All this — all this crap doesn’t change anything about how I feel.” In his distraction, one of his hands finds its way into his hair and runs through it, tugging sharply at the ends. “I love her. Her strength, her vulnerability — and I love her walls. I love being the one to break them down. It doesn’t matter that our journey has been slower than most, or more complicated than most, because we are always moving forward. We’ve fought for our love and we’ve won, and I am not giving up just because it got hard.”

If he had been paying attention to Robin, sitting on the opposite armchair, he might have noticed the way the other man’s grin widened, his eyebrows climbing closer to his hairline the more Killian rambles on. Once he’s done, Robin drains the rest of his glass and drops it down onto the table, spreading his hands.

“And you’re telling me this, because...?”

His friend’s mischievous expression is the only confirmation Killian needs that he’s been goaded into something. Still, he’s not sure he cares.

Robin helps himself to the remainder of his breakfast, while Killian practically falls over himself in his haste to get dressed and out the apartment.

-/-

After some persuading, Mary Margaret finally convinces her to eat something and even ushers her into some fresh clothes as the morning wears on. The frilly collared cardigans of Mary Margaret’s wardrobe aren’t exactly her style, but at least they fit — she’d left her flat in only a coat and her dressing gown, and although that worked reasonably well for her escape at two in the morning, she can’t imagine going back dressed the same way.

God, going back. Emma doesn’t even know how to consider it.

Unfortunately, with it being a Monday morning, Mary Margaret has a class to teach at Hopper’s Elementary and only has time to ensure Emma manages to force down a bagel before she regrettably departs, but David has the morning off and she is assured she can stay as long as she wants. The man seems to sense she isn’t in a particularly talkative mood, and keeps her company in silence after trading a few polite enquiries about Henry’s wellbeing — he’d been one of the first people they’d called when they discovered him missing, so it’s only natural he should be anxious to know the boy is okay. Grateful for the company, she answers his questions as best as she can without letting her heart seize too much.

After a few hours of warm distractions, watching re-runs of Friends on the Nolan’s ancient television set, the buzzer for the apartment goes.

David sends her a reassuring smile as he stands, heading over to the intercom.

“Who is it?”

“David?” Killian’s voice stutters to life over the static, and Emma’s chest tightens uncomfortably. “It’s Killian, sorry to disturb you. I was hoping — is, erm, is Emma there?”

David looks to her apprehensively, ready to take his cues from her. She doesn’t want to talk to Killian, not with her conversation with Mary Margaret so fresh and with so little time to prepare herself. Still, it would feel worse to lie. Emma merely shrugs, helplessly, and David scratches the back of his head

“She — uh, she doesn’t really want to talk right now, Killian,” he settles on, biting his lip.

“That’s — that’s okay,” Killian continues hesitantly. “I mean, it’s fine. Would it be alright if I just — talked?”

David turns to her again, but she doesn’t know what to tell him. She’s more than acquainted with how determined Killian can be when he wants to, and if she’s honest there are very few things she can think of that he can say that would be worse than the night before. It seems only mildly ludicrous to have their first interaction after the argument be over the intercom at David and Mary Margaret’s apartment, but she can’t help it — she can’t face him, not yet. Not when she is still trying to decide how she feels.

“I’ll just talk and she can listen, or — or she can not, if she doesn’t want to, but I’ll be here, outside, just… talking.” After a moment’s hesitation, David locks the switch that keeps the line open. Taking that as some kind of affirmation, Killian clears his throat. “So, uh, here I go.”

David, ever the considerate one, gives some weak excuse for re-arranging the shelves in his bedroom, but Emma’s arm shoots out to stop him. She could do with the support; she doesn’t want to listen to this alone in case she isn’t ready for what he wants to say. Without a word, David drops down onto the sofa beside her.

“I, erm, I didn’t sleep,” the voice crackles through the speaker. “Not a wink after you left, I couldn’t. That’s not relevant. Ugh, I, um.” He lets out a sharp, frustrated sound. “Listen, a friend helped me realise — or, he reminded me, I don’t know — that a man unwilling to fight for what he wants deserves what he gets. So maybe I deserve to lose you because I don’t know who I’ve been fighting for these last couple of weeks — because it hasn’t been you, and it hasn’t been Henry.”

He pauses, and Emma listens intently. David links their fingers together.

“I’ve been a damned fool, Emma, I’ve been a coward and I’ve let my demons get the better of me. It’s like you said — you said children need to make mistakes in order to find out what matters to them, but I’m prepared to argue that kind of self-education carries well into adult life. Because you matter to me, Emma. I love you. I have loved you since the first night you yelled at me and I love you all the more for continuing to do so when I’m being a prat. These past ten years have been the best of my life, and there isn’t a thing I would change.”

Emma shakes her head fiercely, reaching her hand up to cover her eyes as she knows they must be watering. He did want things to be different, that’s what he said. Apparently, he’d spent ten years giving things up for her, compromising for her, and the idea that she’d been holding him back from some great happiness is perhaps what had shaken her the most. They were in this together, that’s what she’d thought. Killian doesn’t stop, however, uncertainly continuing to speak over the intercom, the tendrils of his voice clutching tight around her heart.

“I know that, given my behaviour last night, you may believe me to be speaking in untruths, but I swear I’m not. Every single decision, every single moment has led us to where we are now and that place means everything to me. I’m not unhappy. I’m not unsatisfied, quite the opposite. And I’m sorry if I ever made you think otherwise.”

The speaker crackles, a little bit of distortion as he collects himself.

“I’ll never stop fighting for us. Never again. I — I hope you know that.”

Silence, and David pulls Emma close, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“So anyway, I guess, uh, feelings shared. You can go back to... Friends, I suppose, given it’s a Monday morning. Or maybe David and Mary Margaret don’t like Friends. I never asked. Bloody hell. I’m - I’ll go now. Just,” he sighs again into the speaker, “come home soon, my love.”

She slowly disentangles herself from David, and reaches for her coat.

-/-

After lyrically vomiting into the intercom system, Killian doesn’t really know what to expect.

He’d hoped, of course, for some kind of reaction or response, but he’s never been one to push for it where Emma is concerned. When it became evident that no answer would be forthcoming from the speaker, he had reluctantly stepped away; only becoming more embarrassed once he realised a man poking through his mailbox for a suspiciously long time had, in all likelihood, listened to the entire spiel. Face entirely aflame, Killian had departed the building out into the early Boston morning.

It had rained the night before, the entire street awash with muddied concrete and the stench of wet asphalt, but Killian isn’t ready to go home yet. Point of fact, he’s just declared he won’t be giving up on he and Emma without a fight, so returning to his apartment would appear to nullify the entire notion. He thinks about stopping somewhere for a coffee, but after patting his jacket down he belatedly realises he didn’t bring his wallet out with him. After Robin’s needling he had been so fired up that he hadn’t exactly considered that Emma might not be ready yet for what he had to say. He only knew he was desperate to say it.

For lack of a better idea, he sits down on the kerb.

Considering his options, he waits, staring out into the city traffic and remembering the first time they met, the distrust to the chorus of car horns and loud, angry pedestrians in front of Henry’s old school. It’s only a few blocks from here, where Mary Margaret works. He muses on walking there and back just to clear his head a little, to observe how much of it might have changed in the last ten years, but just as he’s convinced himself it would be a good way to procrastinate, the door to the building opens behind him.

His eyes lock with Emma’s, sparkling jade and bright with unshed tears, red-rimmed, and he immediately jumps to his feet. Uncertain of what to expect, he just waits for her to speak. When she does, it’s with a gentle tremble in her bottom lip, after she takes a shuddering breath.

“I don’t want to stop fighting for us either.”

When Killian steps forward to fold her tightly into his arms, she returns the embrace with equal vigour.

-/-

Luna Park boasted only a smattering of attendees, January not exactly a conducive time for regular theme-park goers, but the crowds were substantial enough to hide Neal and Henry from each other. They had spent over an hour amongst the rides, swapping only idle chatter and suggestions for what they should do next, a dead weight hanging over them like a cloud from the overcast day descending into the city. Neal knows what he has to say, Henry is waiting for him to say it. Their conversation at breakfast hovers between them, unresolved and deadly.

It's a stark contrast to how the last few days have been — at least he thinks it is. Maybe all along they were aware there was an expiration date on easy.

As the clock edges nearer to midday, Henry is leading his father through the crowd in the direction of the Ferris Wheel, boasting about how cool it would be to be sat on the top on exactly the stroke of twelve, but Neal catches hold of his hand and slows him to a stop. He suggests taking a break by the beach instead, and Henry reluctantly agrees; they both know what happens when they talk.

It isn’t the same as that beach in Storybrooke.

The breeze from the ocean stings with the sharp bite of winter, and the sand underfoot is far thinner and grainier than Maine had offered. Although almost deserted, the distant sounds of the park quietening behind them, a few gulls flock towards the edge of the coast, rising and falling with a flutter as the tide washes in, and out. It’s enough to bring back the memory of watching his boy ask for something he couldn’t provide, and it’s enough to spur him into action.

Henry stares out into the ocean, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable.

After a few moments they sit, uncaring for the way they disturb the sand.

“I am glad you came to me when you needed somewhere to go,” Neal starts, and it’s as safe a place as any. “That after all this time you can still trust me.” Even if he doesn’t deserve it. “But I do want to know why — and I need to know why because I trust Killian and Emma to be your home, to take care of you, and if they aren’t doing that then I can change it. Just say the word Henry and I will change it.”

Killian and Emma are twice the parents he will ever be, but if Henry breathes a word about not wanting to be with them — he would raise hell on earth to make it happen.

“They’re fine,” Henry says quietly, to Neal’s surprise. The boy picks up a stick from the sand and begins to push patterns into it. “They’re great, they always have been.”

Neal shakes his head, not understanding. “Then why did you come?”

Henry mimics his uncertainty. “I wanted — I wanted to get to know you. You as a person, as Neal. Not this… this thing that towered over me for years.” Neal swallows, and Henry finally turns to look at him. His chestnut eyes are round and as open as they have ever been. “You terrify me, do you know that?”

Whatever he had imagined Henry might say, it certainly wasn’t that.

The beach, in Maine. The rush and fall of the waves. He can hear himself responding to that very fear as if it were yesterday, and not ten years prior.

I’m sorry. Henry I’m sorry, I don’t want you to be scared. I’m an… I’m a massive idiot.

“You had so much power over me for so long,” Henry continues, and Neal realises how much easier it is to stare out into the sea than to truly acknowledge what his boy is saying. “I would have done anything to impress you, I agreed with anything you said. I wanted you to like me. I wanted you to want to keep me.”

Neal hangs his head.

“I love Killian and Emma so much, but you? God, I can’t even explain it.”

“I get it,” his father says quietly.

Henry finally turns to look at him, his mouth curved in a doubtful line. “Do you?”

“Henry, you could be describing verbatim how I talk about my old man.”

That family fucking resemblance he’d always been hoping for; there it was.

Neal knows how it feels to fight and fight when the other person isn’t fighting back. The realisation that he wasn’t, that he couldn’t, is what made him let Henry go in the first place.

“Tink is pregnant.”

Henry tenses up at his side. Neal’s gaze drops down to the sand, not realising he’d been curling her name into the earth with his finger. Fuck, he loves her. Like he’s never loved anyone. And this is how he’s treating her?

“She hasn’t told me yet, not officially. But I found her test. It’s why I’m out here,” signing up for every conference and meeting on the other side of the country that he could, “I’m scared shitless, buddy.”

Henry opens his mouth. “Dad—”

“I fucked up so badly before — you know that, right?” He’s almost afraid to hear the answer. “That was all on me. I couldn’t be there for you growing up because I wasn’t ready, I made shitty choices. I was selfish. And do you know what the worst part is?” Mutely, Henry shakes his head. “I gave up on us.”

The moment he’d realised just how tricky this balance was going to be, he’d given up. Maybe Henry had a better life because of it — he liked to think that. Of course, he’d never really know. Still, when he looks across at Henry now, a healthy boy with a heart the size of the entire state, it’s impossible not to recognise that something incredible has taken place.

He feels the humiliating sting of something behind his nose, so he turns his gaze back to the skyline and the gulls that sweep across the tide.

“And I missed the whole goddamn show. You’re perfect, Henry. You’ve never needed to impress me.” Neal tries valiantly to keep the tremor from his voice, but isn’t entirely certain he succeeds. “The fact that you’re sitting here, a whole person who can love and forgive as easily as you do blows my fucking mind, and it all happened without me.”

Henry shifts from where he sits, sending a scatter of sand up into the air.

“It wasn’t —” he starts.

“Not again,” Neal continues firmly. Determinedly. “Never again. I’m going to be there for this kid and for Tink, every fucking step of the way. I’m ready now and I — I think I needed you to help me realise I could do it. Thank you, Henry.”

When the silence stretches for a few, painful beats too long, he considers how he might have better phrased that particular confession. Once he looks over at Henry, the boy barely meets his eyes for a second before turning away, shaking his head as he roughly stumbles to his feet.

“I have to go.”

Neal blinks in surprise. “Henry?” He’s already halfway up the beach before he can stand. “Henry, wait!” Although he jogs back up to the entrance of the park, Henry’s signature scarf has already disappeared into the crowd.

Shit.

-/-

"When was the first time I yelled at you?"

Emma speaks quietly into his chest, although he can feel her smile in the curve of her mouth pressed against him. Killian edges the sheet further down the bed, baring Emma’s back so he can continue to trace absent star patterns into the slope of her spine. They speak only in low tones, neither wanting to disturb this bubble of peace they have finally won; warm, sated, and basking in the late morning sun.

He smiles at her question, pausing before answering just long enough to press a kiss to the top of her head.

“I’m surprised you don’t remember,” he says amusedly. “Let’s see. I came by to Neal’s apartment with Henry, we’d known each other for — oh, I don’t know. A few months, maybe more? I wanted to see if you could babysit because I’d been lumbered with an extra shift at work.”

“Oh god, right,” Emma shifts as she remembers, pressing her lips briefly to his bare shoulder. “It was the day Neal and I moved into our new place, and I was locked out.” She gives him an apologetic look. “I was such a monster to you, I’m sorry.”

Killian chuckles gently. “You weren’t a monster.” Emma merely raises an eyebrow. “Perhaps a little monstrous. But I got a free cake out of it, so you won’t hear me complaining.”

“A vanilla apology cake.”

“My favourite kind.” Killian tugs her closer and she obliges, curling her leg over his beneath the sheet. “You looked so beautiful that night. Sitting in the Rabbit Hole with Henry asleep on your lap. You were just — I realised you were everything I hadn’t known I wanted. Until you drove away to the home of my best friend.”

Instead of replying, Emma straightens up. Killian lets her go, hand drifting down her back to rest near her hip, and she bites her lip. Something she usually does when she’s uncertain. When her eyes flicker to his, he knows.

“Killian.”

Abruptly Killian stands, reaching for their discarded clothes.

“That’s a tone that suggests I’ll need pants for this conversation.”

She takes the shirt he holds out to her and slips it over her head. “I think if last night taught us anything… we’ve been misunderstanding each other for a while. So let’s just — talk. Communicate.” Killian re-joins her on the bed, pausing slightly to brush some of her loose hair behind her ear. It shines in the dusty sunlight. “That’s what healthy couples do, right?”

“Definitely needed pants.”

Emma laughs despite herself, but shoots him a look warning him to take this seriously. So he takes a deep breath, and after a few moments he decides to go first.

“I… love the life that we’ve built together. What I said today — I meant it. But if it’s possible to have it all with you, I do want it.” Emma nods, urging him to continue as she brushes a hand down his arm. “I want to move out of the city. Get a house somewhere. A white picket fence, a stunning view of the sea — I want that. I want to marry you, have a kid of our own, maybe two if it's not too late. I love you, Emma,” he assures her, “but I want to share more than just this place and a bank account.”

When he finally turns his gaze back to her, he can see the sad crease in her brow.

“And you assumed I wouldn’t want those things too.”

He hangs his head. “I’m sorry.”

“You hurt me yesterday.”

“I know,” he says quietly, reaching for her hand and bringing it to his mouth to kiss. “I’m so sorry. I was a fool, and I never should have kept these things to myself, let alone exploded at you. It was bad form.”

Emma watches him before nodding, firmly. “Okay.” He turns her hand over to kiss her palm. “I forgive you.” It lands with gravity, and a tension he didn’t even know he had been harbouring releases itself. “My turn.”

Killian moves to let go of her hand, but Emma holds on tightly.

“Six years ago, I was pregnant.”

Killian’s heart stops. “Love, you don’t have to —”

“I was pregnant and I didn’t tell you because I didn’t know how you were going to react, I was trying to find the right moment…” Emma winces, shaking her head. “And I left it too late.”

He wants to say something, anything, to find the right words to reassure her — but none will come. Instead he feels suspended, his pulse racing. They’ve never spoken about it out loud, not a single word. In moments he is back in the waiting room at the ER, confused and distressed and waiting for her to return, to tell him what happened, instead of letting him make inferences.

Don’t make me go through this again.

“We lost a child, Killian.”

She grips his hand tighter, and he watches as a single tear curves its way down her cheek.

"Our child."

It isn't like he hadn't known. From the moment he lifted her from the bathroom floor he had known, somewhere in his restless heart, the truth she refused to confirm. Knowing it, though, and feeling it; they had always been entirely separate entities.

Henry had been ten. As emotionally mature as he had always been, it had still taken him a while to come to the same realisation that Killian had the moment he left the hospital; that Emma wasn't quite okay. When he'd started to pry, Killian had packed him off on a three week holiday to California with Neal, at little protest from both parties. By the time he'd gotten home he had forgotten the whole thing, and Emma was almost back to her old self.

Killian hadn't allowed himself to consider, truly consider, just what had happened that day; in the months that followed Emma's accident he had forced himself to focus on her, on Henry, on his every effort to get their lives back to normal. Henry made it to school on time, Emma found herself spoiled by date nights, surprise gestures, anything to divert attention from the way she had withdrawn into herself. His iron focus had allowed him to leave his own grief behind and blame it on Emma's reluctance to talk.

That had been a coward's way out, and on some level he had always known that.

In his dreams, he did things differently. In his quieter moments, he had found himself down the dizzying path of considering the way things might have happened, if fate had been a little kinder.

(In his heart, a little girl turned six last June.

She had golden hair and eyes like forget-me-nots.)

Emma's nails dig into his palm and he is wrenched back to the present.

"I want you to understand something," she is saying, and he pulls himself back to focus on her words, "you can't predict these things. It was nothing you did, it was nothing I did. It wouldn't have helped if you'd known."

Killian feels a gasp of air dart for escape through his throat; he thinks he might have been holding onto that breath for six years.

Emma wipes her eyes with the sleeve of his borrowed shirt. "I'm sorry I never told you that.”

Killian nods silently. When he doesn't speak, she slides across the bed to him, and his arm instinctively reaches around her shoulders. "Okay?" she presses.

"Okay."

"But most of all I — I am so sorry for never letting you grieve. For closing myself off, for letting it go unsaid." He would catch her staring out of windows, not responding until the third time he called her name. More often than not he found her curled up with a blanket on the sofa rather than in bed beside him, the distance between them substantially more than a couple of rooms apart. “We should have done this together.”

“Aye,” he murmurs, and he kisses a tear from the corner of her mouth, “we should have.”

They talk for a long time after that. For how long exactly, Killian couldn't say, he only watches as the sun slowly sinks to kiss the top of the Boston skyline, casting longer shadows across the bed. Their bed, their life. The life that had taken a decade to build, with a foundation far stronger than the demolition attempted the night before.

“We’ve been doing this all wrong,” he whispers into her shoulder, as the afternoon fades into beams of orange light.

Emma turns to him curiously. “What do you mean?”

It’s with determination that he faces her now, with the fight that had left him the moment he awoke to find Henry’s untouched bed.

“Let’s go get our son.”

-/-

It’s just gone 8pm by the time Emma’s beaten up bug has gotten them to New York, and Neal had been frantic as he opened the door to them.

“He’s gone,” he had said, “he won’t answer his phone. I’ve already called the police.”

Although her stomach had plummeted, her steadfast grasp on Killian had been all she needed to keep a level-head. If she paused for one second to consider the multitude of disastrous scenarios that could have happened to Henry after he left Neal on the beach she’s certain the sheer power of that tide would overwhelm her — perhaps the same could be said for Killian. Perhaps it was a testament to how far they had come over the last twenty-four hours that he immediately took charge, barking orders for Neal to check the public library one more time while he and Emma combed four blocks in every direction from his apartment.

For all his absence over the last few weeks, his confidence is like a sedative to the swell of panic within her.

She can’t stop thinking about the time the boy had vanished as they watched the Christmas lights turn on. Only that time Emma had miraculously found him happily perched on a hotdog stand, waving about his new light up sword and pretending to be King Arthur to the amusement of the vendor.

(Enquiries were made at various stands she came across. None had seen a lanky brunette in his teens skulking about.)

Her phone buzzes, and Emma reaches out a hand to give Killian pause as she checks, hoping it will be from Henry but certain it’s from Neal.

Nothing at library. No1 seen a kid. Whats the plan??

“He’s not there,” she winces. If possible, Killian’s expression turns even grimmer. “Now what? We’ve already checked all his old haunts.” Henry hadn’t lived in New York for many years, not since Neal had moved to California, so their best idea had been his favourite places to go when he was much younger.

Killian rubs his face with one hand, and it’s that moment Emma realises how unbelievably tired he must be. His eyes are tinted red and rimmed with dark circles, and exhaustion has aged him beyond his years. Even his skin appears sallower than normal. Guilt claws at her when she considers he was probably up half the night much like she was, and she can’t help but feel responsible.

Emma reaches for his hand, squeezes tight. “Maybe we should head back to Neal’s apartment. He’s bound to head back there eventually — and if his phone is dead then it’s better we’re there.”

“If something unspeakable hasn’t happened to him already.”

Unspeakable is certainly the word for it.

“This is my fault,” Killian laments, “if I hadn’t been so bloody stubborn he could have been home days ago. I’m a sodding idiot.”

“If you are then we all are,” Emma insists. “Henry is our responsibility.” Not just Killian’s, not just Neal’s. Theirs. “And we’d be better off just working as the team we should’ve always been instead of wasting time blaming ourselves and each other.”

Somewhere along the way they had splintered, and the fractures had found their way to Henry — the very storm they had believed they were protecting him from had found its epicentre in their insecurities and their inability to communicate. The only thing left to do was make a course correction and continue to try their best. Realise their mistakes, move forward.

Pray they aren’t too late.

“I just wish we’d come here sooner. I wish I hadn’t driven him away to start with.” He sighs heavily, turns back the way they’ve come. “But you know what they say, if wishes were horses—”

“Beggars wouldn’t bother making wishes?”

Even as she says it, the lightning bolt of realisation crashes into her with a force that has her tugging back on Killian’s hand to stop him in his tracks.

She knows exactly where Henry is.

-/-

Even at night, the plaza is packed with people. Tourists huddle together and alternate between staring up at the entrance to the library, lit with large floodlights that winked in and out for a display, and watching the fountain spurt behind them. Many stand at its edge, offering pennies into its depths for the opportunity to ask for something in return.

It’s no wonder Neal would have missed him as he charged into the building — he’d never really known Henry to be more interested in what the waters might offer than the curling pages of a beloved tome, but Emma remembered. At a time in the boy’s life when she hadn’t really known how much she could lay a claim to, this spot had been theirs. Fleeting, gentle, but full of hope.

The three of them scan the crowd frantically — and it feels as if they all lay eyes on him at the exact same moment. Henry is perched on the edge of the fountain, hands gripping the stone on either side of him, body angled towards the water. An immense wave of relief rushes through Emma once she recognises him, and she considers how achingly long it feels since she saw him last. So much felt like it had changed even as she tried to claw her way into keeping it the same.

Killian takes her hand; she knows he must sense it too.

His lips part as they approach, a deep breath being drawn in. Yet it’s only a soft word that comes out. “Henry —”

“What the hell were you thinking, running off like that?!” Neal brushes past them furiously, and Henry visibly starts at the sudden intrusion on wherever his mind had been wandering. It’s a staccato movement that pulls him right back in front of them. “I have been worried out of my mind for you! You could have been kidnapped, you could have died, anything could have—!"

Neal cuts himself off for the sheer horror of it, and Henry takes the pause as an opportunity to bite.

“You’d have noticed, then?”

It’s light, but it’s a thinly veiled accusation. For a moment Emma considers that there is more to the past few days than Neal has told them.

Neal, for his part, appears to stifle a retort. His hands clench and unclench at his sides.

He settles for a warning. “Don’t you ever do that to me again.”

Henry lets out a puff of air, a frustrated noise, his body angling away from his father in a visible snub. As his eyes start to sweep the crowd Emma can feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand to attention, as the boy’s gaze lands on she and Killian. If he is surprised he does a good job of hiding it. It lasts scarcely a second, his eyes flickering first from her to Killian, before turning determinedly back into the fountain.

Killian, after squeezing her hand once, lets go.

He closes the distance and sits beside the boy.

Henry flinches away, shuffling an inch in the other direction.

“Please, just leave me alone.”

“I want to talk.” Killian’s response is quiet, but firm.

“I don’t.”

“Henry…” Neal admonishes from his position at the side, and Emma finds herself frowning at the tone — since when did Neal become that parent? The one advocating respect and chastising for the contrary?

It doesn’t feel — earnt.

Maybe she is being unfair.

Henry looks up at him sharply, eyes narrowed. “You don’t get a say in what I do.”

Neal gapes for a few moments, before his expression sinks into something apologetic he directs at Killian — Killian acknowledges the attempt with a barely perceptible nod, but his attention is entirely on Henry.

“I’m sorry.” In the piercing January air, his words turn to ghosts. “For the things I said before. They were spoken in anger and not a day will go by I won’t regret them.” For all his sincerity, Henry continues to stare forcefully into the water. Emma had always found Killian impossible to ignore, not when he was light and soft and steady, but the boy doesn’t appear to have much trouble doing just that.

“Will you look at me, please? Henry?”

She watches Henry not even react, lashes low and downcast; watches the concerned edge begin to furrow Killian’s brow, his confidence rapidly deteriorating, and she’s about to step in when suddenly all she can think about are the gimmicks they would use when Henry was a kid. How one time he refused to listen to any instruction from either parental figure unless it was spoken like Yoda, how they’d adopted it into their every conversation until Henry frustratingly couldn’t get any help with his homework without talking in circles and he’d begged them to stop. How they had begun starting every sentence with ‘please’ and ending them with ‘thank you’ to freak Neal out by pretending new Massachusetts state grammar laws demanded it.

Emma considers these, and reaches into her jacket for her cell phone.

Moments later, Henry’s pocket begins to vibrate. Once he pulls out his cell and frowns at the screen, his shoulders twitch, as if he were resisting the urge to turn and face her. After a few pensive seconds he slides his thumb across the screen and lifts it to his ear.

“It’s the glass, isn’t it?” she says immediately.

Henry’s pause is dubious. “Excuse me?”

“The partition,” she continues, “the reason you’re not hearing us. We have to use the phones or we can’t talk through the glass.”

The boy’s shoulders drop and she hears a long exhale through the speaker, like a breath of laughter. He understands.

“I’m not in prison, Emma.”

“You got arrested, didn’t you?”

“And you think I’d waste my phone call on you?”

Emma smiles although she knows he’s not looking. “Wentworth Miller was busy.” She doesn’t want to lose this brief bite of connection, so she hurries to continue. “I used to bring you out here when we were in NYC together, remember? I’d tell you to wish your problems away.”

Finally, Henry turns. His gaze lifts and his eyes lock on her. He’s hurting. She can see it. Can feel it in her bones.

“Yeah.”

“Did it work?”

Henry lifts his shoulder in a shrug. “I don’t have a penny.”

Without a word, Killian rummages in his pocket and finds one, holding it out to him. After a moment, and watching only his outstretched hand, Henry takes it.

“Talk to us,” Emma pleads.

The seconds extend like an unfurling bloom; slow, and heavy with anticipation.

Then, by some miracle, he begins to talk.

“It was so easy before. Making wishes, I mean. I know you probably thought I was wishing for a new bike or a trip to Disneyland or… I don’t know. Stuff kids want.” Like raindrops, what begins as a few drops slowly develops into a downpour, as he turns the penny over and over in his hand and keeps his gaze firmly fixed upon the water. “And don’t get me wrong, I wanted those things. But I didn’t wish for them.”

Emma doesn’t want to interject, but she had never felt as if he were wishing for something as trivial as a bike. Not when he had held those pennies in his tiny hands like they were precious stones, as if he carried more value in his palm than a thousand gold bars. Henry had always been wishing for something more profound — she had known it like she knew the curve of his smile.

“Wishes were too — too important for those things. So I did what I’ve always done,” Henry scratched the back of his neck as he paused. “I listened to you. All of you. None of you ever stood by the fountain like I did, and it didn’t seem fair, so I listened to your wishes so that I could make them for you.”

He hadn’t understood half of them at the time, he says, but he lists a few — for Neal to close an important deal, for Killian to find the perfect birthday present for Liam, for Emma to catch the ‘bad guy’ she was looking for. Emma watches, stunned, as he lists the exact conditions of a case she had decided to gently let Henry in on that she had forgotten completely about; it was near on seven years ago that she had sought out the bail jumper Ryan Marlow, but here Henry was pitching her the particulars in perfect detail. Henry, who had been wishing ardently for her success at age nine, with a penny she had picked out of her purse.

“Happy endings,” he says quietly, “over, and over, and over. I was obsessed with them.”

A beloved tome, the curling pages of Once Upon a Time clutched tightly to his chest for years.

He doesn’t have to remind them.

“But to me, a real happy ending needed certain… well, conventions, I suppose. A wedding, a kid, a perfect home in a castle in the country.”

Killian’s words ring in her mind, and as if he knows the direction of her thoughts the man’s eyes rise to meet hers, and she notes the usual brilliant blue has been usurped by a duller, ashen colour. She feels the same tight clutch inside she knows he must, a softer yearning, the paralysis of something sweet and sad all at once.

A white picket fence, a stunning view of the sea.

How alike the pair of them are, even now.

Henry’s brows have knitted together. “I’m not a kid anymore, I know — better than anyone — that the world doesn’t work that way. But in a way, none of you got any that. Hell, you and Killian have been together for a decade and you still live in Killian’s bachelor pad. And then I realised the common denominator.” His shoulders appear to quiver, and Emma notices a muscle in Killian’s right wrist twitch, as if it had wanted to reach out to him. She herself wants nothing more than to rush forward, wipe the concerns away from him as if he were six again and had merely scraped his knee. “You’ve spent so much of your lives putting me first that the most you hoped to wish for was less traffic at the intersection on 23rd Street. And that just — it just —”

He is mute for a moment, words slipping out and away before he can form them, and Emma realises with a jolt that what she had mistaken for a kind of melancholy was in fact fury. Henry trembled with minute rage; at the penny in his hand, the fountain in front, at the stars concealed by the dark curtain of night above them.

“God, it was so frustrating to realise. Mortifying, even. And every good thing you did just made it worse. Every kind word, every thoughtful gesture.” He lets out a heavy breath. “It was like drowning in lukewarm water.”

So he stayed out late with some friends. He walked the length of the wharf, twice, before picking the prettiest, sturdiest yacht he could find and barking instructions for how to get it out of the harbour for those who dared to follow. For the wild, outrageous, cleverness of it. For the joy and the heartache of nostalgia and the wind in his hair and the way Violet Mogan’s cheeks had flushed when she laughed.

For the way that Killian had arrived at the precinct, powerful yet immensely disappointed.

Got everything? He had asked, quietly. Let’s go.

“I just thought if I could get you to stop looking at me like I hang the sun, then it might not be too late for you to build something together. Not a castle, maybe, but something just as strong. And I have Dad,” he flickered his gaze at the other man, before dropping it back bitterly to the penny in his palm. “Or I thought I had Dad. Turns out my wish for him was the only one that came true.”

It’s a quill, Daddy says it’s magic. It’s for telling stories. He says I have to write him a happy ending.

“Just a little too late for me.”

There is the chime of nail on copper, and in the space of two heartbeats the penny arcs into the fountain with a gentle plop.

No one seems to know what to say.

Henry drops the phone from his ear and jabs at it with his thumb, cutting off the call with Emma. She had forgotten they were still connected that way at all, how rapt her attention had been on him.

And all she can think is — what an idiot.

She realises she must have said it aloud as all three of the men before her startle; Henry from his perch on the fountain, Killian from beside him and Neal standing a few feet from them.

Hastening to clarify before more hurt feelings are thrown around, she doubles down.

“I just mean — Henry, your logic is way off. We’re your parents.” All three, no matter how distant. “We are always going to look at you like you put the sun there, even when you’re at your most bratty. That’s love, kid. We love you.” It was easy to say, now, easier to admit than it had been for most of her life. But then, this was the boy who had taught her how to do it. “Nothing you can do will change that, not boat stealing or,” she scrambles for something else, “or even hanging out with that little shit Malcolm.”

“Language,” Henry responds instinctively. At Emma’s exasperated stare a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. They thought they had been losing Henry — in that instance she realises he had been there all along. “He is a bit of an asshole.”

Emma crosses the distance between them, kneeling down in front of the boy and taking his hand firmly. Perhaps on another day he would’ve been embarrassed, a sixteen-year-old holding hands with an adult like that, but in the force of the last few days he just clutches her back tightly.

“But you’re right,” Emma continues seriously. She won’t do him the disingenuity of trying to claim a falsehood now. “There are steps Killian and I haven’t taken. Important ones. As it happens, we’ve been misunderstanding each other for a long time now.” With her free hand, she reaches for Killian, finding his fingertips already reaching back for her. “But that’s nothing to do with you. Do you get that?”

Henry nods, but the movement is hesitant.

“I mean it, kid. Look at me. Do you understand?”

He does. A visible weight seems to lift. Maybe he just needed someone to say it out loud.

To her surprise, Neal settles down on his haunches beside her, gentle in a way she is unaccustomed to seeing from him. Like he can sense the gravity of a moment and he doesn’t wish to disturb it — like a beach in Maine, and a little boy who had asked so quietly for what he wanted that his father had given it without reproach.

Turns out my wish for him was the only one that came true.

“Henry,” he picks up where Emma has left off, “I’m — you clearly needed someone this week, and all you got was this giant… playmate.” He considers himself with an air of obvious frustration. “And then I made it worse. You’ve never needed to try hard for me, you know that, right? You’re number one.” He lifts a single finger to illustrate it. “You’re number one. And about earlier…”

Emma does not know what happened earlier, Neal had been light with the details; just that they had been at Luna Park and Henry had run off. Whatever it was, the weight is palpable as Henry stiffens a little before her.

“You left before I could finish. Yeah, I’m going to be a dad again, but you know what that means? You’re going to be a brother.”

Henry blinks; like he hadn’t even considered it.

“And that was something I was really hoping you’d want to be.”

Neal bites his lip, waiting for his son’s reaction.

He needn’t have worried. Henry was warmth, and love, and he always would be.

“I do,” he said, then softer, “I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” Neal smiled ruefully. “I always am with you.”

The air bristles with something unsaid, and Emma stands. Maybe Neal also senses it because he too moves away, and as casually as she can she looks to Killian now for his thoughts. Silent as he had been throughout the exchange, his mood is difficult to read; Emma can identify some of the reactions she had seen, remorse, sadness, pride, and she leans on the turmoil she knew had been churning inside him since the first moment they had found Henry gone. But he has fortified, this she knows. He just wants to put them all back together.

Henry, perhaps in contrition, almost refuses to look at him.

If Killian takes offence he doesn’t show it. Instead he smiles, a watery, delicate thing.

“You’re my best friend in the whole world, bug,” he says. “I’m half a man without you.”

Henry’s eyes shut tight and for the first time, Emma can see a bead of emotion roll down his cheek.

“Please come home.”

It happened so quickly that she almost didn’t see it; but the next moment Henry was in Killian’s arms, shaking and murmuring apologies into his shoulder. The older man was shushing him as if we were a child again, assuring him all was forgotten, and his relief was palpable in the manner with which his fists clenched into Henry’s coat and the tightness of his eyes pressed closed, supressing a stronger tide.

Emma looks down, the moment almost feeling too private to intrude upon, and Neal does the same. Unconsciously her hand lifts to her stomach, to the barely perceptible swell that has begun there; she has to tell him, but not now. She wanted to let him have this first. He deserved it

“What I said,” Henry croaks, and from the corner of her eye she can see he has pulled back, has his hands resting on Killian’s shoulders and is looking at him directly. “What I said before I left —”

You are not my dad!

“You are,” he nods determinedly, wiping at his eyes with his sleeve. “In every way that matters. You are. I’m sorry.”

Killian simply pulls him back in, closer, and the night feels just a little bit brighter.

-/-

A rerun of Jurassic Park is the only thing on the TV by the time they make it back to Neal’s apartment, most of the selection near midnight having dried up considerably as most prepare for bed before work the following day. Arrangements are made, and rather than attempt the near four hour drive back to Boston tonight Killian and Emma had volunteered to take the sofa while Henry spends a final night in his old room. However, the unspoken word among them is that none are quite ready for sleep yet, and had switched on the television for wont of something easier to focus on — something light, something arbitrary — something with a few more scales than the monsters they had been battling away today.

Killian sits with his arm around Emma, Henry on her other side leaning against her and slumped across the remainder of the sofa with his gangly legs stretching for the arm of Neal’s chair, where his father has been poking at the holes in socks much to the boy’s exasperation.

“Honestly. You know you don’t have to wait for Killian to buy you socks anymore, right? If you go to a store they’ll actually give you some in exchange for those green wrinkly notes.”

Henry snorts. “I don’t have any ‘green wrinkly notes’. When did you think I’d have time to get myself a job in between all my community service?”

“Nice try,” Emma says, “it was only twenty-five hours, and the last I checked you were nearly done.”

“Only twenty-five hours? Did you pay off the judge or was this just a really shitty yacht?”

“Can we not debate the particulars, please?” Killian admonishes. “I’m trying to watch the folly of man and a twenty-foot lizard tear devour a bloke on a bog.”

A brief pause where, suitably chastened, they realise it’s probably not appropriate to be making so light of the whole thing.

“And it was a Pershing 80 he stole, anyway. Even a used one would go for over two million dollars.”

At the indignant looks and protests from the others, Killian merely grins and shrugs, holding up a hand to shield his face as Henry flings a cushion over his shoulder in his direction. Emma declares that she’s going to the kitchen for more popcorn, and just as Neal asks her to get him a portion his phone rings. Killian catches a glimpse of the screen before he picks it up.

‘Tink calling…’

He offers an apologetic smile to the pair of them as he heads out into the hallway, his voice briefly floating back towards them even as they try and pretend their ears aren’t pointed towards the sound.

“Hey, baby. Yeah, I’ll be home soon — tomorrow, even. First flight I can get. It’s been a bit of a crazy week. For you too? That’s great. I can’t wait to…”

It trails off into a low murmur as he shuts the door behind him.

Killian watches Henry carefully for his reaction. The news that Tink was pregnant had come as a shock to all of them, not least to Killian, but it had clearly had a profound impact on Henry as it had only contributed further to his spiral. He seemed calmer now. A small smile had pulled at the corner of his mouth as he watched his father retreat into the other room, something proud and full of warmth. Maybe Killian can relate to some of what he must be feeling.

They had all waited a long time for Neal Cassidy to grow up, Henry most of all; maybe they were finally seeing it happen.

Henry turned back to the film, and Killian tossed the cushion back onto the boy’s stomach to get his attention.

“So,” he starts brightly, to the backdrop of little Tim’s daring rescue from the jeep trapped in the tree. “What’s her name?”

Henry pretends not to understand, but Killian knows he does. It’s something of a relief. He can still read this boy like the book of fairy-tales he used to tote around in his oversized backpack.

“Who’s name?”

Killian raises his eyebrows suggestively.

“Well if it’s dating tips you need, lad, I know my way around women.”

“Oh god.”

“Not so long ago I was just like you, young, spritely, ready for my first brush with a lady’s—”

“Stop, do not finish that sentence.”

“Charms,” Killian concludes, feigning an aghast look at what Henry might have presumed. This earns him another cushion to the face.

It’s such a relief, to be able to needle Henry in such a way, back to the easy companionship he had enjoyed for most of the boy’s life — but it feels different, too. Not exactly negative, he decides, but a change has certainly come about. Perhaps they could never make it through something like this entirely unscathed, but he realises as the moment passes by that there will be some things Henry will choose not to confide in him. An odd notion. There had never been anything Henry couldn’t tell him before.

But to his surprise, he felt that that would be okay. He was growing up, and it was about time Killian realised it. He couldn’t cart him around on the back of his bike to a museum anymore, but they could find their peace in other ways; like he and Emma, their rhythm would change but it could grow and blossom into something even better if he just let it. For the first time he is almost looking forward to what the next stage of Henry’s life might bring them, instead of longing for the treasures the past had held.

“Violet.”

Killian glances over in surprise, observes that Henry’s ears are scarlet as he keeps his gaze fixed on the television screen.

“Her name, I mean. Violet.”

Killian smiles, although Henry can’t see it.

Maybe he’ll get to keep the little boy by the sea just a short while longer.

Deciding not to put Henry through any further embarrassment, Killian stands. “That’s a lovely name,” he tells him, and leaves the door open for him to talk about it any time he wishes. “And I’m sure she thought your Grand Theft Marina was very impressive, if nothing else. I’m going to go see about that popcorn.”

He leaves Henry in the sitting room, passing Neal quietly in the hall before crossing into the kitchen. Emma is there, watching the microwave humming as whatever is inside rotates slowly. She turns to watch him as he enters. Dropping a quick kiss to her temple, he reaches past her for a couple of glasses and a bottle of wine from the cabinet. Neal’s taste for wine had grown over the last ten years, but he had still never quite acquired a taste for Sauvignon Blanc the way that Emma had — those he kept around for her, for special occasions, and Killian quite felt this merited a glass or two.

Pouring three glasses, two for himself and Neal, and just as he was about to pour the third Emma blurts out to stop him —

“I’m pregnant.”

Killian freezes. The microwave pings its conclusion loudly into the kitchen.

“So, uh, no wine, I mean. None for me. I’ll just, um, I’ll have juice. Or whatever Henry’s having. Do you think Neal has coke? I’ll just go ask—”

“Wait just a —” Killian blinks, “you’re —?”

She nods, biting her lip.

“I figured I’d be better off not waiting for the perfect moment anymore and just… picked the next one.”

Killian can’t wrap his mind around it. She’s pregnant. The thought spins back and forth around his head, ricocheting heavily and sending him spinning. For a moment he almost imagines the room swimming out of focus, Emma standing uncertainly by the microwave looking to him for his response — for his approval or, if the way doubt flickers across her expression, possibly his rejection. Through every dizzying sensation its that which pierces through, and before he can even consider his own feelings properly he is in front of her, dazed, kneeling and pressing a kiss to her stomach.

Elated, he decides.

Elated is how he feels.

It’s almost impossible to comprehend. Unbridled joy bursts forth inside him and he is invincible — Henry in the next room, howling with laughter at something Neal had said, Neal, growth and hope, and Emma. The only woman he would ever wish to bear his child, forgiving him, cherishing him, giving him the only life he had ever wanted, and more life beyond.

Emma’s fingers tangle in his hair as he kneels before her and he thinks he is trembling, breathing deeply as a few tears roll down his cheek. He doesn’t even think to be embarrassed, it’s been such a long, long road to get here. Her fingers squeeze and he looks up, as always awed by her and her strength. Through everything that had happened over the last few days, she had been carrying this knowledge with her with a steadfastness and fidelity to her own spirit — even when he was at his worst, she had not let him deter her when she had far greater things to be frightened of.

She’s crying too, he can see that. And as if she can read his thoughts, she murmurs, “I’m scared.”

Killian shakes his head. “I’m not.”

He stands, brings her hands to his mouth and kisses each one delicately.

This, he has to make sure she knows.

“I know we face an uncertain future, but there is one thing I want you to be certain of.” A press of his lips to hers and he is unconquerable. “I will always be by your side.”

She breathes out, deeply. “So — you’re happy?”

“Irreparably.”

At this she laughs, and his heart still melts at the sound. He tugs her in for a strong hug, lifting her off the ground and her joy is as palpable as his own. She peppers kisses across his jaw and he whispers that he loves her, and his reward is a smile the breadth of the sun. They hear Henry from the next room calling them in for his favourite part, the ascent over the electric fence, and he sets her back down. After reaching past him for the rapidly cooling popcorn, Emma gives him a final wink over her shoulder and departs back to the sitting room.

Pregnant.

He wants to dance on the countertop and yell until his throat is hoarse and run a thousand miles just for the thrill of it.

As he follows, the scene in the sitting room makes his bubble of happiness only swell; Henry catching popcorn in his mouth with the same enthusiasm as cherries thrown across the bar in the Rabbit Hole, Neal acting as pitcher with the bowl of popcorn and Emma choosing opportunities to intercept. There is something decidedly special about it.

There needn’t be castles, or weddings, or meadows upon meadows of wildflowers. Nor swords, magic, dwarves or palaces made of glass. No, Killian decides, none of those ornaments or flourishes are needed — happy endings are far from how they appeared in Henry’s storybooks. He has his own suspicions now about how they present themselves.

In unremarkable, fugacious moments. In the gentle shapes of people who love, are loved, and continue to be brave.

Happy endings, the real ones, look a lot more like that.

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