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unmaskedagain · 5 years ago

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Worse than the Devil

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Hey Everyone, I got really inspired by the amazing response to my first fic Queen Of Mean. I decided to write a follow up. Its to Selena Gomez’s version of Cruella De Vil. I loved it when it first came out and it sent shivers when I realized it was perfect for my follow up.

Looking back the missing pigtails in the bluenette’s hair when she walked into class Monday morning, dressed like she just got off the runaway, flanked by Chloe at her side, should’ve been the first warning sign.

But in the class’s defense, it had been a crazy weekend. The fireworks that came with Ladybug’s video, Alya’s meltdown, and Lila being outted as a liar didn’t die down after class ended that day. No. The weekend had been filled out a never-ending stream of group texts, complaining of hurt feelings, nasty little liars, and why, or why wasn’t Marinette replying to their texts? Answering her phone? Didn’t she know they were sorry? Didn’t she know they needed their everyday Ladybug now more than ever? Alya in particular.

Alya, who had spent the entire weekend, nearly 24/7, trying to save her blog; defend her life’s work against the avalanche of criticism that had come it’s way; even the most loyal fans screamed of betrayal. She had released a dozen video explaining what happened and begging her viewers to understand that people make mistakes. Calling Marinette with no answer, texting her best friend for help only to get no reply. Texting Marinette that Lila was a dirty, rotten, liar in over a hundred different way, in over a hundred different texts; only to never get a reply; which Alya never understood. Marinette was right. Lila was a liar. Alya and Marinette should be teaming up to bring her down like their brought down Chloe; stand together like best friends do.

As Alya sat patiently at her desk, with Nino holding her hand in support, waiting for Marinette to arrive so she could find comfort in her bestie, never once did an apology cross her mind. Alya was too indignant, too self-righteous, convinced the Ladybug was victim-blaming. It wasn’t Alya’s fault. Her boyfriend agreed. Her entire class agreed. She just knew, soon, all of Paris would agree.

When Marinette casually strolled in, talking animatedly with Chloe about their week, she left the other students stunned. Gone was the pintails. Gone was the easy-going, simple, practically trademarked pink pants and grey flower decorated shirt. Gone was the happy smile that the students had always remembered was there to greet them and bring them cheer on a sour Monday, like the day was.

Instead, Marinette’s hair was down and flowing down her shoulders, longer than they could ever remember it being (though granted they hadn’t paid much attention to their once friend in last few months, except for giving her a few quick glares and sneers) and was perfectly coiffed with strands pullback in braids that would’ve made Daenerys Targaryen take notes. She was dressed in all black; a cropped leather jacket, a sparkly black halter top that tied around her neck in a pretty bow, her jeans black and skin tight, and killer high heels that would make most girls envious. The only color Marinette wore was the sliver bracelets adorning her arms and the classic movie star red lips she sported. Marinette looked a supermodel.

And if Marinette’s new look didn’t stunned them. Then the look on her face when she glanced at them sure did. Move over Hawkmoth, because if Marinette didn’t scare you, no evil thing could.

It was like the entire classroom went colder. Maybe it was because of the ice in Marinette’s stare, her curved red-stained smirk that screamed: beware. The way everything about her just screamed predator, alpha, top of the food chain. Queen.

Alya blinked hard. Nino blinked hard. Adrien blinked hard. Too stunned at the sight to even remember to badger the bluenette. She and Chloe, also dressed like a runaway model, flounced to the back of the class without a hello, a smile, a wave; anything friendly. It was like they were too insignificant for the girls to notice. If they had an ounce of luck still in their lives, that would’ve been so.

Unfortunately for them that wasn’t the case.

The girls were painfully aware of their existence; of every move they made over the week, every stupid text they sent, every false apology uttered. Because the downfall of the Ladyblog was just a taste of what was to come. At this point, Marinette and Chloe was just Spiders waiting for the kill.

“Girl, you don’t have to sit with Chloe,” Alya exclaimed. “We’ll make room, right?” Nino nodded quickly, eager to give his childhood friend an olive branch.

“Why wouldn’t I want to sit with Chloe?” Marinette asked nonchalantly. “She’s my best friend.”

What happened next was similar to what, Marinette, thought happened in movie; where the main character says something shocking at a dance, there’s a sound of a record scratch, and silence as all eyes turn to the speaker.

The smirk the spread over Chloe’s face, the glow that filled her, the thought of the havoc she was about to help commence practically made her purr.

“Best friend?” Alix asked, her pink hair pulled back and her face skeptical. “Last I checked, you were mortal enemies.”

“Last time you check was not long after Lie-La came to class,” Marinette retorted.

“Which is the last time you’re opinion matter to us,” Chloe added. “Or well to Mari here. I never paid you peasant any mind.”

“You can’t be best friends,” Alya jumped up. “You shouldn’t even be friends. I can’t believe it? After what she did to you?”

The other students nodded.

“She stole your design.” Rose put in.

“Bullied you for years,” Max said.

“Ruined your present for teach!” Kim added.

Alya nodded smugly at the class backing her up, and gave Marinette a bright smile and an expectant look that always used to work on cowing the other girl.

“Bygones,” Marinette sighed. “I forgave her. And we bonded over how stupid you were at believing Lie-La.” Marinette leaned back in her seat. “Besides it’s not like she ever called me a jealous bitch? Told me to check my sources? Ditched me a million times. Whispered mean words about me right in front of me. And even crueler words behind my back. Chloe would never do that.”

“You know who would?” Chloe grinned. ‘You.” She pointed at Alya. “And you.” She pointed at Alix. “And you!” At Nino “And you, you, you, you. And well everyone here really.”

“Chloe maybe be mean; in fact the greatest mean girl Sharpay,” Marinette smiled lovingly at the blond who preened at the praise.

“But at least I’m not a bad friend,” Chloe snipped viciously.

“Now Chloe that would imply I’m still friends with them at all.”

At the statement, students wilted into themselves. Their misdeeds weighed heavily on them. They had been so upset at Lila for lying to them, at themselves for believing her, kicking themselves for not listening to Marinette, they never once considered how Marinette felt about the whole mess. But now they knew, she wasn’t happy.

Little did they know just how furious the once sweet girl was.

The two girls turned their attention to each other.

“Wasn’t this week just amaz!” Chloe said easily. “Fashion shows are always just so spectacular.”

“Your mom is, like, the best,” Marinette nodded eagerly. “I still can’t believe we got to model.”

Chloe side-eyed the students, pretending they weren’t listening. “And why not? They were short. And just look at us. We’re beautiful. We deserved to be on that runway.”

“Runaway?” Mylène asked, awed. “You were in a fashion show.”

Marinette nodded, kindly, though inwardly smirking. “There are pictures from the show online. They’re trending.” So was Marinette’s social media accounts. “We got to model with Kate Upton and Bella and Gigi Hadid.”

“We’re all the rage!” Chloe stated. “Mommy’s thinking of making us the faces of her new line. We’ll be in next week’s issue of Teen Vogue.”

“I posted a few photos on my Insta,” Marinette shrugged. “You can look if you want, I guess.” It was said with a faux unsure, insecure, unassuming voice; a voice that even the most terrifying vampire bat could have even the smartest of victims dancing to it.

With that the girls went back to their conversation. Pretending they didn’t notice their classmates whipping out their phones to verify.

“WOW,” Rose beamed. “They do have pics with the Hadid sisters. Oh you look so pretty Marinette.”

“Dude is that Kendall Jenner?” Kim asked.

“Beyoncé!” Alya yelled. “Beyoncé was there. You met Beyoncé.”

“Chill,” Chloe snapped. “We didn’t meet her. We just waved. Jay-Z was there too btw.”

“Jay-Z,” Nino whispered in awe.

Before befriending Marinette, Chloe was have gladly lied and said they met the goddess, that was Queen Beyoncé. But Marinette wouldn't suffer liars. And hated anyone who lied about her. Chloe was smart enough to know losing Marinette as a friend would be costly to her; both personally and professionally.

The blond refused to toss away the blessing that was Marinette’s friendship. Not the like fools before her. They didn’t know what they lost. But Chloe would make sure they did.

It had taken weeks of slowly inching her way to being Marinette’s friend. The girl had been untrusting the blonde’s actions at first. But eventually, Chloe won her over, proved she could be a good friend, if not the best friend Marinette ever had.

And the best part? Chloe didn’t have to change. Granted she had to dull unsavory traits like lying and stealing but it was worth it.

“Tony. Stark.” Max gulped like he was just told Santa was in fact real. “You are in a picture with Tony Stark; Iron Man.”

“Pepper Potts wanted a vacation,” Marinette said. “Peter, their son, is a friend of mine. We met last summer when he was visiting England with his class. I was there with my grandma. We hit it off. He knew I was nervous about going on stage so he got his mom to come here so he could support me. It was just supposed to be the two of them. Until Mr. Tony realized and followed along. Swore up and down they were trying to ditch him,” Marinette laughed.

“Oh please,” Chloe huffed. “He was proud that his kid was hanging out with a gorgeous French model.”

“Two gorgeous French models,” Marinette corrected. “The three of us got ice cream afterwards, remember? I can’t wait for this summer. Peter said we can spend of three weeks at Stark Tower; interning. PR for you. You’ll be amazing at it. God knows I could do, though.” She said glumly. Though her internship was going to be assisting the Pepper Potts on her day to day life.

“Ridiculous!” Chloe snapped. “Utterly Ridiculous. You know you can’t wait to get your hands on Thor’s cape to find out what material Alien princes use. Not to mention the plans I saw for a potential Captain America supersuit.”

Marinette crossed her arms, and huffed. “Hey that man is walking around dressed like America’s drunk prom date. Someone has to step in.”

“It’s a classic look,” Nathanial told them.

“It’s a crime against fashion,” Marinette hissed.

With that, the girls went back to talking about their weekend and bickering over summer plans. Or at least they tried to.

“You could’ve invited us,” Alya snapped. “Or at least told us.”

“Why?” Marinette asked. “We’re not friends. Why don’t you ask Lila how it was? I’m sure, she’ll happily spin you a yarn about how amazing everything was. And promise you’ll meet them next time.”

It was like a slap to the face. The entire class quieted back down; wishing the bell would ring already. And wondering where Miss Bustier was.

Unfortunately for the teacher, quite a few concerned parents and staff members had taken issue with how Bustier had been running her class. Bullying, students being constantly turned into Akumas, why Lila could miss so much school without it being a major issue.

“Don’t you think you’re being harsh?” Adrien asked. “They’re sorry.”

No, Marinette thought darkly. They weren’t. Not yet. But they would be soon.

“Okay,” Marinette shrugged, carelessly, inhumanly. “I don’t see why that matters. I accept their apology but it changes nothing. Sorry doesn’t fix anything. It doesn’t magically make every alright again. It’s no Ladybug charm. Let it go.” She warned.

While Marinette did have plans to bring down Adrien, they were for a later time. And when she did, it would be painful. And it would break him. Like he helped break her.

For months Adrien had stood by, remained silent as Marinette was made into an outcast, bullied, lost all her friends… when he knew. Knew Lila was lying, knew Marinette was just trying to help. After he promised, vowed to have her back. Instead, Adrien let them deface her sketchbook after Lila accuse Marinette of yet another bullying incident; destroying all of Marinette’s hard work. Despite knowing Marinette couldn’t have possible done what Lila said she had. He just let it happen, too afraid to stand up and tell the truth.

Adrien didn’t take the hint. Or didn’t recognize a warning when he heard it.

“Their hurting too!” The blond boy defended, outraged at how his everyday Ladybug

“How?” Marinette asked curiously, innocently reminiscent of the girl who had been their friend who had existed when the world was still a wholesome place. “You said it yourself it’s not like Lila was hurting anybody. At least that’s what you told me, remember? You knew Lila was lying since like forever and you’re just fine.”

It went silent again. Adrien paled. Marinette could barely stop the smile from slipping onto her face. If she wasn’t careful, they might combined their collective ten brain cells and catch on. See that she was a monster that should’ve never been released.

“You knew?” Nino asked in horrified disbelief.

Dozens of hurt filled eyes trained on Adrien. It was at that moment Ms. Mendeleiev walked into class. “Students, I’ll be filling in today and possibly for the rest of the week. Everyone in their seats. Class is about to begin.”

It was the smoothest devastation Chloe had ever witnessed and grew up with her mother and Gabriel Agreste as role models.

In few years, the blonde knew there would be few would who hesitate to call Marinette, or herself, the devil. Too stunned to realize just how much worse either girl was.

Chloe glanced at the girl who had become her best friend, and fellow mean-girl-in-arms. Marinette had her bluebell eyes trained on the chaos she had just unleashed, once again, on her fellow classmates.

A lessor man, woman would’ve shivered. Chloe had shivered and had nightmares the first time that gaze rested on her.

However, when time wore off the shock; Chloe realize she’d only see those type of eyes watching from underneath a rock.

If you weren’t scared of the New Marinette, then you hadn’t met her yet.

Look out world, Chloe thought. Long Live the Queen.

#Queen Mari AU.#Ml Salt #ladybug and chat noir #ml salt fic #ml spite fic #ml spite #adrien agreste #marinette dupen chang #marinette deserves better

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deathonyourtongue · 4 years ago

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Resurrection | 5

Summary: A ragtag team of Spec-Ops operators are brought out of retirement for all the wrong reasons. When the dust settles, only the best will be left standing. Pairing: Pablo Schreiber x OFC, Henry Cavill x OFC (listen, she gets with the whole team, okay? Don’t lie, you would too.) Word Count: 2K Warnings: Waterboarding. Dream sequence involving death and gore. A/N: I’m reposting this for a few reasons. Mainly ‘cause I’m done having my fics in two places, wanted to re-work the cover, and most importantly wanted those of you who weren’t following me back when these chapters were originally posted to be able to take it in from scratch. I’ve also cleaned up a lot of the text as far as grammar, etc. goes, so it’s more polished. ***ALSO: All the Portuguese translations are found in the links (read the address bar or the error that comes up when you click the link)*** Like what I do? Buy me a coffee (or a commission)!

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Gone are the suits and ties, and my heels are replaced by combat boots.

The safehouse we use for interrogations is across town from the one we stay at, and it shows. Far from the posh of Knightsbridge, Dagenham is home to the largest diesel engine manufacturing site in the world. Soot and oil coat everything and at night, the area is a ghost town; perfect for our needs.

On paper, all the governments in the room condem torture, but work in the business of terror long enough, and you know that’s all just to save face and keep the top brass’ hands clean. We’re not animals about it of course, but if Miguel wobbles a little in his seat, it’s only because we let Max drive and London roads are so winding.

“You know...We don’t technically have to take the bag off his head.” Flip murmurs, breaking the silence we’ve all been in since getting Miguel settled into his new surroundings.

“You’re absolutely certain he’s never seen you, darling?” Max asks me, his face set in concentration. The rest of the team look up for my answer and I nod.

“Positive. Besides, bag or no bag, if he knew me, he’d have recognized my call sign by now,” I remind them, relief shooting around the room as all the men recall that Miguel was privy to any conversation we had in the car, call signs included.

“Alright. Who’s going in with you?” Rick asks, finally moving from his position against the wall and taking a seat next to Flip who looks all too eager to get a crack at our soon-to-be informant. Knowing he’ll be a liability if he reads the tone wrong, I look around, my gaze resting on Max as I smirk.

“Beef. I owe him for nearly taking his head off earlier,” I answer, both Dom and Rick nodding their understanding. Flip looks somewhat crestfallen, but I know he understands. He, of all of us, is too close to the situation, and though I know there’ll be a time to turn him loose, this isn’t it.

Max and I both stand from our seats, checking our handguns as we move towards the blast door that separates us from Miguel. Taking a moment, we focus our gazes on eachother, silently getting on the same page so that there’s no chance of Miguel thinking one of us is weaker than the other.

With a nod to each other, I take a deep breath and open the door. Padded on the inside in order to mitigate any screaming or loud music we might use throughout our interrogations, the room is graveyard silent. Once the door shuts, Max moves with precision, turning the stereo on full blast, and I can’t help but smile at the song that comes on. While all of us are metal fans, it’s one of the most effective interrogation tools we have because those in the hot seat usually either haven’t ever heard metal before (and are immediately disturbed by it) or despise it to the point where they can only tolerate so much. EDM comes a close second, but in Miguel’s case, Metal is the right call as he flinches immediately. Catching Max’s eye, we can’t help but grin as we mouth along to the lead singer’s screaming, the song’s lyrics about lying and choking oddly appropriate for what’s about to happen.

I headbang along with the double-bass as I grab a five gallon jug of water, hoisting it over my shoulder and letting Max handle the towels as we set things up. When everything’s ready, Max moves into position, arms crossed over his broad chest, his trademark scowl firmly in place.

I count to three with one hand, and on ‘one’, pull the bag from Miguel’s head, immediately tipping his head back and holding it in place with my forearm as I dilate his eyes. Max and I both stay out of his line of sight for the few moments it takes for the drops to work, and once we see the tell-tale squint, we slowly move to our places.

“Miguel, ta com cara que tá com sede, meu amigo.” I open, one eyebrow raised, staying just far away enough to be little more than a faceless blur to our informant.

“Vai se foder!” He yells, trying and failing to get out of the restraints he’s in.

“Ah, que isso, cara. Não fique assim. A gente só quer falar com você,” I purr, playing the “Nice Girl” routine even though everyone in the room knows it won’t last long.

“Certo, é por isso que vocês me capturaram, colocaram um saco na minha cabeça, e me levaram a Deus sabe onde. Falar, uma ova!”

“Já aprendeu Inglês, seu cafajeste?” I ask him, hoping he’s picked up a second language since the last time any of our governments dealt with him, more for the rest of the team’s sake than my own.

“I have,” he says, his accent nearly a perfect facsimile of anyone who’s been born and raised in London. Max’s eyebrow goes up in mild surprise, and if I know my team, the rest of them are all pressed against the two-way mirror, intent on listening now that they can understand.

“Good, so we’ll do this in English, ‘cause fuck you,” I tell him in no uncertain terms, moving into his space so he can confirm that the woman he wanted to bang at the party is the same one who’s now holding his life in her hands.

With everyone in the room discreetly mic’d up--including Miguel--there’s no need to turn down the music, and I use it to my advantage, wanting him as disoriented as possible so that he’s not focused on his words or the thoughts behind them.

“Three weeks ago, right here in London, two of our own were killed by a bomb that has your signature all over it. Wanna tell me who you sold that bomb to?”

Miguel laughs, a dry throaty sound that comes from too many cigars, and too much time around toxic chemicals; if one of us doesn’t kill him, I know for a fact cancer will get him in the end.

“I sell bombs to many people. How am I supposed to remember who I’ve sold to a month ago, puta?”

I don’t have time to react as Max lunges in and connects with Miguel’s jaw in one of the most vicious right hooks I’ve seen him throw in a long time.

“Talk to her like that again and I’ll dislocate the other side, y’cunt.” Max growls, teeth bared mere inches from Miguel’s face, leaving no room for interpretation of just how pissed he is. Without another word, Max takes Miguel’s face in his hand and relocates the joint he popped out, a scream coming from our informant as soon as he can open his mouth.

“See, Miguel, I’d like to think you’d remember, because this particular order had your initials on one of the plates, and I know you only do that when your order is for a single explosive device. Mass orders go through the factory, but the custom pieces, well...You’ve gotta take pride in your work, right?” I’ll give the man props, because if he’s searching for a lie, I can’t tell. His face stays unreadable apart from the discomfort from the light.

I shoot Max a look just as the song switches over, and he nods.

“Fuck this.” He barks, flipping a switch on the wall that immediately sends Miguel’s chair back into a 45 degree angle, the back legs hinged to the floor so he can never truly fall back, but feels like he’s going to, just the same. With the lights directly in his line of sight, I can’t keep from smirking as I hear Miguel hiss and try to cover his eyes, the steel shackles on his wrists clanking loudly and only causing him more pain.

“What is it, Miguel? Lights too bright?” I ask as I move to grab the first neatly folded towel from the pile. “Don’t worry, I got you.”

Pressing the towel firmly against his face, I stand out of the way as Max pours the water from the jug. We both count silently in our heads, Max stopping at exactly the right number as I flick the switch to bring Miguel upright once more.

Our informant coughs and sputters, screaming every vulgarity I’ve ever heard in Portuguese before spitting in our general direction.

“THERE WAS NO NAME! IT WAS PURCHASED BY AN ENTITY!”

I roll my eyes, annoyed that a man who once gave up an internationally-wanted terrorist is now spewing bullshit about an entity.

“So you sold your shit to a ghost? ‘That what you want me to believe?” I ask, feeling my own anger start to rise. I grab a fresh towel and Max and I repeat the process with surgical precision. It takes Miguel a little longer to cough up the water he’s swallowed, but when he’s finally able to speak, his voice is far more defeated.

“Yes, in a manner of speaking. The entity I sold that bomb to is known as Cenere. I get a call with a location, date, and time for delivery. I get the specs sent via encrypted email, and when the time comes, I deliver, usually to a lock box in the middle of nowhere. That is all I know.”

Max looks at me and I know he’s itching to hit him again. I shake my head, squatting down in front of our informant so that he can see me clearly.

“Is there anything else you want to tell us that may be important? For example, the location and date of the last delivery you provided for this entity?” I enunciate every word, my tone making it clear that I’ll be the one hitting him next if he tries to lie or get smart again.

“L-last delivery was in Roma, by the Colosseum, a week ago.” He answers, still hoarse from inhaling water.

“So whoever these people are, they’re planning another bombing,” I say, feeling the room behind me start moving; Rick and Dom looking up information, Flip packing our gear. We don’t have a lot of time.

“Y-yes. The bomb that killed your amigos was delivered exactly two weeks before it detonated. That’s how they always do it.” Miguel adds, giving us an even narrower timeline to get to Rome.

“Cut him loose,” I sigh, wishing Miguel could give us more to go on besides a location we’ll be getting to with zero prep time and even less information.

Max moves towards him, a wolfish grin on his face. I close my eyes, knowing exactly what’s about to happen.

“I sincerely hope someone strings you up by your balls and cuts them off with a piece of paper. This is for everyone you’ve had a hand in massacring. Especially my friends.”

I don’t have to look to hear a few of Miguel’s teeth rattle to the floor.

The room is starkly lit, the sickly blue tone reminiscent of a hospital. Empty aside from a plexiglass box filled with dirt and a pine-board coffin, there’s a feeling dread that emanates throughout the place.

“Carmen? Carmen! Carmen, if you can hear me, you need to get me out. Get me the fuck out of here, Carmen. Carmen, please!! Please! I can’t-I can’t breathe! Carmen, don’t leave me here!”

A heartbeat--elevated and distinct--couple with the sounds of hyperventilation to turn dread into pure fear.

“CARMEN, PLEASE! I’M GOING TO DIE! DON’T LET THEM KILL ME!”

Something cuts through the air with a distinct zing, crashing heavily onto the floor. The box, the dirt, and the coffin are all sliced neatly, trapped almost perfectly between thick sheets of razor-sharp glass. All except the first slice, where the side of the coffin has fallen away, trapped at a skewed angle below the dirt.

Rick looks like a fish out of water, gasping for breath, tears flooding his eyes. Despite being segmented like some primal experiment, every part of him still heaves with breath, organs pulsing with blood they no longer have, intact structurally despite being completely separated.

“Carmen, please!” It’s a whisper now, the life going out of Jake’s eyes even as the tears sweep his face.

A long, low horn sounds, finalizing the horror that’s come to pass.

I wake screaming, tears pouring down my face. Not realizing where I am at first, I don’t even see the boys as I fight with my lap belt and haul ass out of the seat, vaulting over Dom’s legs and careening to the bathroom to throw up. It’s rare that I dream, but when I do, it’s never good. This one felt too real; felt like a message from a man I’m certain we buried. The room spins and I heave out what little is left from lunch earlier. When I’m certain there’s nothing left to get out, I sit back, sobbing.

Once my breath stabilizes, I stand up and wash out my mouth, swilling the jet’s courtesy mouthwash before splashing cold water on my face. Stepping out of the small bathroom, I’m met with utter silence and four sets of eyes staring at me with concern. I can’t bring myself to tell them what I dreamt, and none of them need an intro into nightmares, as all of us, regardless of how little bloodshed we’ve seen, have them from time to time.

Still feeling the panic in my throat, I decide against taking my old seat, not wanting to be caged in. Instead, I sit behind Dom’s aisle, resting my head against the cool plastic of the window and looking out, my mind reeling. What if the bomb isn’t what killed him and Benj? What if they suffered? What if-- I cut off my own mental processing, not wanting to go down the dark alleys of my mind, wiping my eyes to stem the flow of fresh tears.

I feel a hand at my knee, and looking down, find Dom’s hand reaching back through the seats. Though he faces forward, it’s easy to tell what he’s doing, and I lace our fingers together loosely, taking the much-needed comfort of his touch. He gives my fingers a gentle squeeze, and I turn my face away further, not wanting any of the guys to see me like this.

#pablo schreiber #henry cavill #adria arjona #pablo schreiber x ofc #henry cavill x ofc #ryan reynolds #alexander skarsgård #joel kinnaman #alex o'loughlin #fic #deathonyourtongueoriginals #resurrection

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orionares · 4 years ago

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Semper Fidelis, Part 20

A/N: Last one! Thank you for reading!

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Hollywood- Burbank Airport, Los Angeles

“I think we need to have a talk with Nell about the difference between a ‘surprise’ and…..this.”

Kensi slowly nods in agreement at Deeks’ comment at the unexpected sight in front of them in one of Burbank’s private hangars.

Minutes ago, the private jet had pulled into the hangar to reveal a small makeshift wedding chapel in the center. Candles line a red aisle runner to a wooden flowered wedding arch with two white floor vases containing lilies. Roberta and Julia talk excitedly over a small round table draped in a cream and lilac colored tablecloth. Sam, donning a black suit, stands behind the arch, reviewing a small folded sheet of paper while the rest of the team set up a row of chairs in front of the arch. Callen is the first to look up to Kensi and Deeks.

“Welcome back!” Callen calls out. “What do you think?”

“Wha- what is this?” Kensi stammers. She feels a gentle nudge from Deeks to continue down the airstairs. “This is more than a surprise.”

“It’s a wedding, sweetheart!” Julia exclaims. “Your amazing friends here came up with the idea to make up the wedding today and in an airplane hangar, no less. What do you think?”

“This makes no sense,” Kensi quickly turns to Deeks and narrows her eyes at him. “Did you do this? Did you get them to do this?”

Deeks glances between the chairs and back to his fiancée. “Nope…no, no, no, this isn’t me.”

“Because it’s private,” Callen explains, placing the last chair near the aisle. He gestures to the hangar and adds, “And it’s time. We’re going to keep doing our jobs and living our lives but you guys gave up your wedding weeks ago and…it’s time. Everything’s taken care of.”

“Deeks,” Kensi calls out breathlessly and pulls him around the airstairs and out of earshot of the team. Deeks maintains a calmness that eases the panic rising in her chest as he asks quietly, “What do you think? I know it’s not what we planned- actually, everything in the last…forever hasn’t gone to plan-“

Kensi ‘s mind jumps back to their conversation in the parking lot before she had been sent off to Afghanistan. “It seems to be our thing, if you think about it.”

“That is true, Fern, that is true. It’s insane but I’m all in,” Deeks states, “ And I’m ready if you are.”

Kensi takes both of his hands in hers and enlaces her fingers between his. She smiles at the butterflies she can feel dancing in her stomach. “All in….let’s get married.”

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“Sweetheart, are you ready?”

Fifteen minutes later, Kensi runs her hands down a white flutter v-dress once more before turning to face her mother. Julia leans around the divider and motions to the group waiting at the other end of the hangar. “You look absolutely perfect. Are you ready?”

“I’m scared.” The words tumble out of Kensi before she realizes- between leaving the hospital, deciding the impromptu wedding and then searching for Hetty, the fear of being married, truly married, had suddenly become dormant. She bites down on her lip and repeats, “I’m scared.”

“Why is that?”

“Because it’s actually real,” she inhales sharply, “I think with our jobs, planning the wedding and coming back from this case, it’s never sank in. Now, I’m going to walk down the aisle in minutes and I’m panicking, Mom.”

Julia chuckles and pulls her daughter into a warm hug. She rubs her back, replying, “You save the world daily and face things most people wouldn’t even fathom. You have found a wonderful man who loves you for you and will love and protect you for life. You have nothing to be afraid of. Your fears are normal for every bride about to walk down the aisle. You’ve got this.”

Kensi nods slowly and steps out from the changing divider. With her mother behind her, she approaches the end of the aisle where an ecstatic Nell holds out a small white and purple flower bouquet. Roberta and Julia take an arm and begin to walk Kensi down the aisle towards Sam, Callen and Deeks.

Deeks, fidgeting in a navy blue suit, looks up from his hands and smiles delightedly at Kensi’s arrival. “Hi, Fern.”

“You clean up nice, Max,” Kensi replies as she takes a kiss on the cheek from Callen.

Sam clasps his hands together at the pair and states, “Let’s do this- however, before I begin, I’ve got something to say to the both of you before we begin. Kens, my sister- I’ve watched you grown from a young junior agent to a badass, powerful agent that’s a force to be reckon with. You have dealt with loss and come back from a deliberating injury and somehow manage to put up with a chatter box without an off switch with grace. And to you Deeks. I’ve watched you grow from a young detective who’s carefree attitude made me want to strangle you to a capable, phenomenal agent that I’ve only wanted to slightly strangle during one of your long, enduring rants.

Your strength, bravery and love makes me one hundred percent sure that Kensi will always be loved and taken care of. Marines always say “Semper Fi,” which means always faithful. I don’t think there’s anything else that best describes you both. Between you both being injured severely and this job, you two haven’t wavered in your love. And that is everything.”

Deeks’ blues eyes glisten with tears as Kensi wipes away a tear from her cheek. Amongst the happy chuckles and soft sniffs, both hear a low cough from behind Deeks. Callen, standing with arms crossed, coughs and blinks furiously while looking to the ceiling.

“You alright there, G?” Sam calls out.

“Mmmhmm. I’m good. Keep going.”

Sam shoots a look to Callen that screams I’m going to give you so much shit for this later look before stating, “As we bombarded you both with this, you don’t have vows prepared-“

“I actually have something to say,” Kensi interrupts. She brushes away a bang and continues, “ Deeks, we have gone through life and death and everything in between. Your patience, your love and your understanding is something that I never thought I’d get. You are everything to me and I can’t wait to start this next steps of our lives. I love you.”

Deeks’ eyes sparkle at Kensi’s vows. “Guess, it’s my turn,” he chuckles. “Kensi Marie, I honestly didn’t seem myself finding someone with your love, grace and patience. I don’t ever want to lose you and I love you. So damn much.”

Sam nods in approval. “Do you Kensi Marie Blye take Martin Andrew Deeks to be your husband?”

Everything slows for Kensi- her mind drifts back to ten years earlier, stepping into the MMA gym and eyeing the shaggy blonde haired man in a grey shirt and red shorts. She remembers playing husband and wife, rescuing him from Sidarov to him holding her in Afghanistan. They’ve gone through hell and back, taking the first steps of being all in to him holding her crying and frustrated in the hospital. Her heart skips at the argument before leaving for Mexico to the hours upon hours hoping and praying that his heart wouldn’t stop like it had before. So much heartbreak and love to get to this moment.

Kensi grins widely. “I’m all in. I do.”

“And do you, Martin Andrew Deeks, take Kensi Marie Blye to be your wife?”

Deeks, being Deeks, looks upwards and begins muttering as if calculating numbers in his head. He quickly nods as if happy with his calculation and replies, “I mean…I guess…”

“Deeks!”

His face softens and he replies, “I do. I’m all in too, Fern.”

“Then by the power invested in me and the state of California do pronounce you husband and wife. You may now-“ Sam stops short when Deeks pulls Kensi into a strong, passionate kiss. Kensi takes in the cheers, the warmth and love amongst her now husband, family and team. Nearly a month ago, she had been holding her husband’s hand, praying for another chance and hating the argument they had before leaving for Mexico.

And now, even with a mentor still in the wind, Kensi takes in the beauty and the new life in front of her and finally feels peace.

“The meaning of Semper Fidelis: Latin for always faithful,” Semper Fidelis has been the Marine Corps motto since 1883. It embodies the promise to always remain faithful, no matter what.”- United States Marines

#ncis la #eric christian olsen #marty deeks #densi

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jade4813 · 5 years ago

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The Lies We Tell Ourselves, Chapter 7

Fandom: Zoey’s Extraordinary Playlist

Title: The Lies We Tell Ourselves

Rating: PG (I’m assuming it’ll stay there?)

Pairing: Zoey/Max

Synopsis: Max would do anything for Zoey. Including posing as her fake boyfriend to give her father one last “big moment” to celebrate with her. Nothing could possibly go wrong. After all, it’s only his heart that stands to be broken. Right?

Chapter: 7/?

Author’s Notes: Takes place after Zoey’s Extraordinary Glitch.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

“Here,” Mo said, putting a drink and a plate covered with eggs, bacon, and toast on the table in front of Zoey. “This will help.”

Her stomach rolled over at the sight, and she tried not to let her disgust show. “I appreciate it, Mo, but I can’t even think of food right now without wanting to hurl.”

“Oh, trust me, I know. But I’ve seen you drink, and I can safely say I’ve had more experience with drinking than you do. Start with this,” he said, pushing a drink into her hand.

Bracing herself, she took a sip and then spluttered when it hit the back of her throat, covering her mouth as she coughed. “What is this?” she demanded, giving it a dubious look.

Mo took a seat across from her at the table. “It’s a Bloody Mary. It’ll help you get over your hangover.” When Zoey stared at him in shock, he rolled his eyes. “A little alcohol in your system will help, and that thing’s practically a virgin!”

“Practically a virgin?” she asked, giving it a cautious sniff. “How can a drink be practically a virgin?”

He waved his hand dismissively in the air. “The vodka and tomato juice fooled around a little in the back seat of the car, but their clothes mostly stayed on. They barely made it to second base!”

“I…am not sure what you said were actually words,” Zoey replied, but when Mo just gave her a hard look, she dutifully downed her drink. Then she looked at her breakfast plate in trepidation. “You know, I appreciate it, but you really didn’t have to go to all this trouble for me,” she protested weakly, stalling for time.

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that. I did it for me,” Mo replied cheerfully. At her confused expression, he explained, “I know a Walk of Shame when I see one. You didn’t come home last night, and I want all the juicy details! I didn’t want to try to get them with your head in the toilet, so you get my patented cure for a hangover. So, with that out of the way…did you and Max finally decide to stop pretending that your relationship isn’t real?”

Throwing food at her roiling stomach seemed less painful than continuing with this conversation, so Zoey shoved a bite of greasy eggs into her mouth and shook her head. “It isn’t real!” she protested as she chewed. “And it isn’t what you think. Nothing happened with Max last night! He was a perfect gentleman!”

“But you do admit you were with Max,” he pointed out.

Realizing she’d fallen into Mo’s trap, Zoey mumbled, “Okay, fine. Yes. I was with Max. I went out for a few drinks and then went to his place to completely humiliate myself in front of him. But I swear, nothing happened. He turned down all of my advances and even offered to sleep on the couch!”

“And that’s all that happened? You showed up drunk as hell, and the two of you completely behaved yourselves?” he sounded both skeptical and slightly disappointed that her story wasn’t more interesting.

“Well…not exactly. I slept in his bed, and he slept over the covers. But basically, yes.” She took another big bite and mumbled, “If you ignore the part where I told him I loved him and he didn’t believe me.”

“That’s more like it! Go on.”

Zoey ran her fingers through her hair in exasperation, taking a moment to glance at the clock. She really should get going; she was going to be late enough as it was. But she was so mixed up and confused by her own behavior, getting an outsider’s perspective might help. At the very least, it would help to get everything off her chest. “Okay,” she finally began, struggling to find where to start. “So I guess it all started yesterday when my parents caught the two of us kissing outside of work.”

“Hooooold up,” he interjected, jumping to his feet. “I’m pretty sure I’m gonna need a Bloody Mary for this!” He raced into the kitchen to make himself a drink. When he returned a few minutes later, he returned to his seat across from her, looking very pleased with himself. After checking to make sure he was all set, he took a deep sip of his drink and then waved for her to continue. “Okay, now I’m ready.” When she didn’t continue immediately, he gestured for her to carry on. “If you lost track of where you were in your story, you were making out in front of your parents. You two decided you needed more practice?”

She wasn’t fooled by Mo’s innocent tone for a second, so between gritted teeth, she admitted, “Something like that. He was avoiding me, so I thought maybe he didn’t think our first kiss was that great, and I wanted to prove him wrong.”

Mo positively cackled at this admission. “Oh, I bet! So what happened? Your parents caught you? At least they have no reason to doubt your story now!”

“No, that’s true,” she admitted. “But it’s still complicated. The thing is, I realized yesterday just how many times Max throws himself under a bus to protect me, and it made me feel…I don’t know. Sad? Guilty?”

“You’re just now realizing that?”

The amount of disbelief and astonishment in his question made her wince. “Maybe? I guess I never really thought about it before. But it made me realize how many times I’ve probably hurt him without even noticing and I…well, I had a few drinks.”

Mo leaned forward, his expression eager, as if he sensed that she was about to get to the best part of her story. “And I take it that’s when you decided to go to his place? For a little late-night chat?”

She moaned. “I guess. Mo, you don’t understand. It was completely…completely humiliating! I practically threw myself at him!” Remembering how she’d clamped her arms around his neck and refused to let go, she amended her previous statement. “No, I definitely threw myself at him. I couldn’t have been more obvious if I’d done the Dance of the Seven Veils, right in his living room!”

“And?” he pressed.

“And?” she parroted. “And he turned me down! I tried to kiss him, and he wouldn’t do it. He tucked me into bed and then put, like, twenty pillows,” more like two pillows, which had both somehow gone AWOL overnight “between us and went to sleep!” After one or two confessions that weren’t hers to share, even with one of her best friends, and the memory of which still left her feeling rather raw.

Mo snorted. “Of course he turned you down! You were drunk, and he’s a good person. If he’d tried anything, I would have called the police on him myself! But you said you told him you loved him and he didn’t believe you.” She nodded, staring morosely at her nearly empty plate. “Does that mean you’ve finally got your head on straight? You know what you want, and you’re going for it?”

“Yes?” Zoey offered, her voice tinged with doubt. “No. Oh, I don’t know!”

He shook his head. “Well, you need to figure it out. I know you said you don’t want to hurt him, but how many times do you think you can tell that man that you love him and then take it back? He adores you, and if you keep doing that, it’ll kill him.”

“I know,” she replied, poking dejectedly at her half-congealed eggs. “It’s just…okay, I know how this is going to sound, but bear with me. This would all be so much easier if it were Simon, you know? Because Simon is…he’s uncomplicated.”

“He’s engaged to another woman,” Mo pointed out flatly.

“Yes, yes. I know,” Zoey replied, waving away that tiny little inconvenient fact. “But he’s uncomplicated for me. I mean…if he and I were to try a relationship and it didn’t work out? It would suck to lose him from my life, but I could deal with it. He’d be just another on the long list of my failed relationships. When the dust settled, he’d be just another coworker sitting across from me in the conference room. It would hurt, and I’d probably eat my feelings for a little while, but then I’d deal with it and move on. But Max? Max isn’t a quick fling guy. Max isn’t a guy you just get over. At least, not for me. Max is…he’s a forever kind of guy. And I’m not sure I’m ready for forever. Does that make any sense?”

Mo nodded, but then he stopped and said, “No. Not really. I think you’re making this more complicated than it has to be.”

She gave an emphatic shake of her head, which she immediately regretted when it woke up the tiny men with hammers pounding away inside her brain. “No, I’m acknowledging how complicated it is.” Leaning forward, she explained earnestly, “If I say yes to Max, I’m not just saying yes to one date. I’m not even saying yes to a casual fling that I expect to play out in a few months. I’m saying yes to forever. Or at least, I’m saying yes to trying for forever. And I’m risking everything – everything – I have with him to do it. What if it doesn’t work out, and I lose him completely? I can’t…I’m already losing my dad. I think it’s pretty clear I lost my mind a while ago. I just can’t lose Max too. I don’t know how I would be able to survive that.”

Reaching forward to take her hand, her friend said, “I know it’s hard, and you want to run away from this. But you just can’t anymore. You have to figure out what you want and then go for it. I think you’re a lot stronger and a lot braver than you think you are, but you aren’t being very fair to him right now, and you know it. You chose to be in a pretend-relationship for your dad, but now you have own it for real. One way or another. You can’t just stick your head in the sand until it all goes away. Hurt people hurt people, and even if you don’t want to admit that’s what you’re doing right now? I guarantee you are hurting him. A lot. And selling yourself short in the process.”

As much as she hated to admit it, she knew Mo was right. Still, she was hardly going to figure out her disaster of a love life – or fake-love-life – in the next ten minutes, so she held up her plate and gave him a piteous look. “I know. You’re right. But in the meantime, can I have more bacon? It was really good.”

He shook his head, taking her plate for her. “No. Bacon is for people who have their act together. But there’s plenty more eggs, and eggs are for people who are a hot mess.”

Resting her head between her arms, splayed out on the table, Zoey moaned, “Is this what death feels like? Because I’m pretty sure this is what death feels like.”

Mo snorted, seemingly unconcerned by her dramatic display as he headed towards the kitchen. “No. You aren’t that lucky, and death wouldn’t hurt this much.”

“Fine,” she grumbled, her words muffled by the table and protective barrier of her arms. “Load me up with all the eggs you got, then, I guess, because I don’t know that I’ll be able to stop being a mess any time soon.”

Max was in a good mood as he tackled his To Do list for the day. He knew it was unlikely anything with Zoey had actually changed. Odds were good that, even if she remembered her confession the night before, she’d want to backtrack on it today. But she had told him she loved him. And she’d sung a heart song to him about loving him. Surely that meant that she was beginning to realize her feelings for him on some level, right? Even if she wasn’t ready to face those feelings now, he couldn’t entirely squelch the hope that one day, when she’d had a little more time…

Should he even ask her about her confession to him the night before? Part of him thought the answer was no. She’d bring it up when she was ready, and their fake-relationship complicated things. If she wasn’t ready to discuss her feelings, then she might respond to the topic by panicking and pushing him away, as he’d seen her do several times before. On the other hand, weren’t they just ignoring the elephant in the room if he didn’t ask her about it?

Probably no more than the fact they’d tacitly decided not to talk about his feelings for her at all. That was a pretty large elephant that they’d both apparently chosen to ignore.

He still hadn’t come to a conclusion by the time he saw her stagger in, large sunglasses covering her face to shield her from the merciless light of the sun. He tried not to laugh when she made her way slowly to her desk and tried to take off her sunglasses. Blinking a couple of times towards the windows, she groaned deep in her chest and slid them back on, pressing one hand against her forehead as she waged an internal debate whether it was a good idea to try sitting down or not.

“Hey, Zoey,” he greeted her in a soft voice as he approached. Outside of her hangover, she looked like she had survived the morning without incident. “I’m sorry I had to leave so early this morning.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tobin’s head whip around, but he was too concerned with Zoey to worry about that.

“Sweetheart,” she mumbled on a sigh.

Max frowned. “What?”

With what looked like a monumental amount of effort, she raised her head to look up at him. “You called me sweetheart last night. I was just wondering why you didn’t today.”

He would gladly pay a thousand dollars to anyone who could clarify what that might mean for him and his future romantic aspirations. “Ah…do you want me to?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted, her head sinking again. “I was just wondering. Not even sure why I brought it up.” Rubbing the bridge of her nose just above her sunglasses, she said, “I have a meeting in a couple of minutes, but I don’t know how I’m going to get through the day. Everything hurts. My teeth hurt. How does a hangover make your teeth hurt? That shouldn’t be possible!”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I think I have some ibuprofen in my desk. I can grab some for you if you want.”

“Maybe after my meeting,” she agreed. “And Max? Thank you. I know I’m not at my best today, but I don’t mean to take it out on you. I really do appreciate…everything.”

Taking full advantage of their fake-relationship, Max rested his hand on her lower back and bent down for a quick kiss. It was only the knowledge that she was still fully in the midst of a raging hangover that helped him keep the embrace short and simple. “Any time. You know that…sweetheart.” She rested her head on his shoulder for a quick second before grabbing her tablet and heading to her first meeting of the day, sunglasses still firmly in place.

He couldn’t know that his simple offer – to get her something for her hangover headache – would completely destroy his life and the remains of his heart a mere forty-five minutes later.

After Zoey left for her meeting, Max got wrapped up in a conversation with Tobin, as the two tried to troubleshoot some particularly tricky code for Chirp. Their conversation dragged on longer than he’d expected, so when they finished, he felt a stab of remorse that he’d allowed himself to be distracted and had not gotten Zoey the pain medicine she needed sooner. Hurrying to his desk, he dug around in its depths for a couple of minutes, finally pulling out a half-empty bottle of ibuprofen that was luckily still well before its expiration date.

Pleased with his success, he decided he would track down Zoey and discreetly slip it to her, so she didn’t have to wait until after her meeting to take something for her pain. Glancing around quickly, Max saw she wasn’t working at any of the desks or chairs in the main area. All the isolation pods appeared to be empty, so she wasn’t there, either. He doubted she was working in the meditation room, and Joan’s office appeared empty. Confused, he walked around, searching for her, which was when it occurred to him that she might have been meeting with Simon.

Unperturbed, he tossed the pill bottle into the air and caught it in a smooth, practiced motion as he strolled in that direction. As he approached, he heard voices and grinned like a giddy schoolboy when he recognized hers. For a moment, he hesitated, debating what to do. He didn’t want to interrupt their meeting, but their voices were clear enough to indicate one of his office doors were open. Perhaps that meant they wouldn’t mind Max poking his head in for a moment, just to give Zoey something for her headache.

As he waged his internal debate, he heard Simon say his name. “- about you and Max. I hope the two of you work things out. You deserve to be happy.”

Max didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but he couldn’t help but overhear as he approached the open door. If he was perfectly honest with himself, while he would never have gone out of his way to listen on their conversation, part of him was dying to know what she would say in response. She deserved to be happy? Did that mean she’d told Simon she wasn’t happy? With him, or with their charade?

Part of him did die inside when she replied. “It’s not like that. I don’t…The truth is, we’re not actually dating. It’s…I’m beginning to really detest this word, but it’s complicated.”

He stumbled to a halt, his hand tightening around the pill bottle, and he barely heard whatever Simon said in response. It was silly to be so surprised by her admission, particularly when it was the truth. It had been foolish of him to read too much into the fact that she’d sold Simon, of all people, on their romantic fiction in the first place. But he had, and so hearing her finally tell her former crush the truth hurt. A lot. More than it should, really.

The two had gone silent, so Max pushed that pain aside and took another step toward the open door. It didn’t matter that Zoey told Simon the truth about their relationship now. It hadn’t mattered that she told him a lie before. It didn’t really change anything between them. How many times was he going to tell himself that before he started to believe it?

But then he rounded the corner and saw Zoey and Simon through the open office door. Her arms were wrapped around his neck, her body pressed against his, as he stooped slightly to kiss her. Max hesitated, knowing their embrace was none of his business – their romantic relationship was nothing but a farce, after all – but needing to see if she returned the kiss or if she pushed him away.

For three long seconds, Zoey didn’t move. Didn’t push Simon away. And those three seconds were all it took to obliterate the remains of his heart.

When Zoey went into her meeting with Simon, she didn’t imagine that he’d be kissing her a short time later. She plastered a tight smile on her face, trying to ignore the pounding in her skull, as she tried to focus on her job. But over the course of their meeting, she couldn’t help but notice that Simon was looking haggard, his features drawn. When he sagged back in his chair, every line in his body spoke of sadness and defeat.

So, when they wrapped up their meeting, she hesitated before standing. “Simon, I don’t mean to pry, but is everything okay? You’re, uh, well, you’re looking a little rough today.”

The edges of his mouth lifted into what could only charitably be called a smile. “I could ask you the same question. You’re looking a little rough yourself. Is everything okay?”

“What, this?” she scoffed, fiddling with the edge of her sunglasses. “These aren’t because of…I mean, they aren’t necessary. I-I could take them off at any time, it’s not -” Eager to prove her point, she started to pull them off, but the bright light in his office made her slide them quickly back into place. “It’s just…does the sun unnaturally bright to you today, too? Because I swear, it’s a lot brighter than yesterday, and it’s got me really worrying about this whole global warming thing…”

He laughed, a little tension ebbing from his face, and she found herself smiling in response. “Sounds like you had quite a party last night.”

“Not really. Well, more of a pity party. For myself.” As Simon’s friend, she could tell that there was something bothering him, but he wasn’t ready to discuss it yet. But over the last few months, she’d realized that opening up about her problems often made him feel comfortable enough to share his own. Leaning forward as though she was about to divulge some classified state secrets, she held one hand up to the side of her mouth and said, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed this about me? But I’m kind of a walking disaster in the romance department.”

He straightened in his chair. “Oh, did something happen with you and Max? I’m sorry to hear that. I thought – well, I’ve heard around the office that the two of you seemed pretty solid.”

Flustered – though not entirely surprised – by the revelation that she and Max had been the subject of office gossip, she stammered, “What? Oh, we are! I-I mean, I think we are. It’s…” she bit her tongue before she could say “complicated.” If she used that word one more time to describe either her life or her situation with Max, she was going to have to throw herself out the nearest window. “It’s…a little hard to explain,” she finished lamely.

His eyes were sympathetic as he stood and moved around his desk, leaning against the edge as he said softly, “Well, you know, I know things between the two of us have been weird, but I’m here for you if you need anything. Do you want to talk about it?”

“Yes? I don’t know. Not really,” she admitted. “I just need to sort some things out. Max is wonderful, but I just keep thinking I’m going to screw it up somehow, and I’ll lose him.”

Simon shook his head. “I don’t see any evidence of that. From what I hear, you seem to be pretty good at this whole dating thing. It sounds like you and Max are crazy about each other.”

She winced. “You don’t know the whole story.” Desperate to change the subject before she told him about her whole ridiculous fake dating plot and how it was completely screwing with her head and her heart, she blurted, “But what about you? I don’t want to pry, but you seem kinda down. Is everything okay?”

He hesitated, then gave his head a slow shake. “Not really, but I hope I get there.” When she hesitated, not sure of what to say, he explained, “Jessica and I ended our engagement last night.”

“Oh, god, Simon, I’m so sorry to hear that.” Without thinking, she jumped to her feet and wrapped her arms around him in a comforting hug. “Are you okay? I mean, really okay?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “It was probably the right thing for both of us right now. I wasn’t being very fair to her. But it’s still…”

“Complicated?” she offered with a shaky smile when his voice trailed off.

His arms tightened around her, just as she loosened her hold on him. Zoey had never been very clear on proper hugging protocol. How long were totally platonic hugs supposed to last? It was strange that she’d never asked herself that question with Max, but now she was wondering if she was supposed to extend the embrace a little longer, or if – as the initiating party – the onus was on her to step away. But if he was hurting and in need of comfort, she didn’t want to break off the hug too soon.

Her touch soft and uncertain, she rubbed her hands along his shoulders, trying to offer whatever solace she could. “I really am sorry to hear about you and Jessica,” she offered gently.

“Yeah, me too. And I’m sorry to hear about you and Max. I hope the two of you work things out. You deserve to be happy.”

Sucking a breath between her teeth, Zoey pulled away a little. She hadn’t meant to tell Simon the truth about her relationship with Max, but she realized her hedging had left him with a mistaken impression. Max had been nothing less than wonderful throughout their entire fake-relationship, and she couldn’t stand the idea that someone would think he was anything less. Or that her fear and uncertainty were his fault.

“It’s not like that,” she blurted, desperate to clear the air. “I don’t…The truth is, we’re not actually dating. It’s…I really am beginning to detest this word, but it’s complicated.”

Simon looked surprised. “You’re not? Sounds like there’s quite the story there.”

She nodded and shifted, ready to drop her arms and move away. “There is. But -”

Her explanation broke off when he bent his head and pressed his lips to hers. Seconds passed like heartbeats as she processed what was happening.

1…2… Surprise. Zoey was surprised, unsure how to process what was happening. She’d intended to give Simon comfort. She hadn’t expected him to initiate a kiss.

3…4… Curiosity. Just that morning, she’d told Mo how much easier things would be if she was with – or pretending to be with – Simon. She knew kissing him wasn’t right, under the circumstances, but she also remembered her body’s reaction to their last kiss. Would things really be easier with him? Had part of her been holding back with Max because she still secretly wanted Simon?

5… Disappointment. Inexplicable disappointment. Zoey had kissed Simon before. Or he’d kissed her before, to be more accurate. She knew he was technically skilled. The last time they kissed, butterflies had taken flight in her stomach. Part of her had wondered if they would do the same if she had a second chance at a kiss with him, but as the seconds passed, the butterflies remained firmly perched.

There was nothing overtly wrong with Simon’s kiss. It just didn’t feel…right. It didn’t make her heart race, like it did when she was in Max’s arms. It didn’t make her forget about the rest of the world as she threw herself into his kiss, every part of her aching for it to go on and on. And wasn’t that weird? Why would their kisses affect her so differently?

6… Certainty. Love. It was strange that this was the moment that the knowledge would come to her with such perfect, terrible clarity. But when Simon kissed her and she found herself wishing she’d ended their embrace sooner, she realized that she loved Max. Maybe he was the guy you love forever, but that was okay. Maybe she was okay with forever. As long as it was with him.

She dropped her arms and stepped away from Simon, ending their kiss. Six seconds. Six seconds of kissing another man – the wrong man – had totally changed her life. Six seconds had finally made her open her eyes to what she wanted. Who she wanted. And it wasn’t the man in front of her.

What was she doing? This had all been a horrible mistake. Six seconds, and she realized she didn’t want to be Max’s fake-girlfriend anymore. She wanted him for real. She wanted him forever. She wasn’t afraid anymore – or, rather, if she was, she was no longer willing to delude herself that her fear was greater than her love for Max. For her best friend. She wanted him. She wanted to be able to kiss him any time the mood struck her without having to pretend that it was all an act. To do it just because he was hers.

Six seconds, and she almost lost the best, most real thing in her life.

She didn’t know that she already had. And all it had taken was three.

Staggering backwards, Max spun on his heel and retreated as quickly as he could, not wanting either party to the kiss to see him standing there. Not knowing what he would say to Zoey if she did. He would have expected the most devastating moment in his life to hurt more, but the truth was, he felt…numb. He stared down at the ibuprofen bottle in his hand like it was an alien object, unable to comprehend where it had come from or what it was for. Oh, right. Pain medicine. Zoey needed pain medicine.

He couldn’t face her. So, stumbling towards Zoey’s desk, he put the ibuprofen bottle in front of her chair. He turned, but he couldn’t think of where to go or what to do. Supported by the edge of the desk, he felt his body collapse inward, his breath coming in desperate, pained gasps as he fought for air. His hands pressed against his forehead, he tried to clear his mind of the mental image seared into his brain, but to no avail.

“Max? Man, are you okay?” It was the uncharacteristic concern in Tobin’s voice that brought him back to himself, and he snapped into a standing position, his hands falling to his sides.

“What? Oh. Yeah. I’m just…you know what? I’m not feeling well. I think it was something I ate for breakfast. I think I’m going to take the rest of the day. Could you let everyone know for me?”

He didn’t wait for Tobin’s response. Instead, he made a beeline for the elevator, desperate to escape this place. Desperate to get some fresh air. But when he stepped through the elevator doors, his hand hit the button for the sixth floor, rather than the lobby. There was something he needed to do first.

He couldn’t keep lying to himself like this. Torturing himself like this. And if his heart was too stupid to get the message, his brain would have to step in and save him from himself.

It was time to put some distance between himself and Zoey.

#the lies we tell ourselves #zoey's extraordinary playlist #zep #clarkeman #zomax #zoey clarke #max richman #fanfiction #my fanfiction #fake dating au

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welllpthisishappening · 6 years ago

Text

The Gift Receipt (3/5)

It genuinely makes sense in her head.

After all, Mary Margaret is being Mary Margaret and Emma just needs five seconds to herself and for her friends to get off her back and saying she can’t talk to Killian Jones because she and Killian Jones once went on a very bad date is the perfect excuse. It’s also not true, but whatever. It works.

Until Emma needs to bring someone home for Christmas. To get the entire town off her back. So, she comes up with another plan and another lie and pretending to get back together with a guy she was never actually with will make their inevitable break-up incredibly easy. It makes sense. Seriously.

That is, of course, until Killian agrees and there’s far too much pie and radio hits of the 70s and opinions on animated Christmas classics. It gets a little more complicated after that.

Rating: Mature. There’s kissing. And more than kissing. Word Count: 9K and change. AN: Hey there, internet. A great, big huge thank you for continuing to be genuinely wonderful about this fluff. Like. The fluffiest fluff to ever fluff. That being said most of today’s chapter is based on real life things. Come ask about that family member who one time questioned whether or not husband and I were doing ok in our marriage after we trash talked each other during Christmas UNO. That happened.

Also on Ao3 and FF.net if that’s how you roll.

She’s the Grinch.

That’s the only explanation for whatever happens to Emma’s body as soon as she wakes up, flipping on her side to find the rest of the bed empty and the sheets under her outstretched hand decidedly cold.

And, really, she’s got no right whatsoever to be anything about any of it.

This is not that kind of thing. This is...a whatever kind of thing. A great, big giant lie some entirely unhelpful corner of her brain reminds her, but then some other part of her brain is quick to point out that those particular adjectives don’t make any sense in the context of the very real making out she and Killian participated in the night before.

Because that’s absolutely what it had been.

It had been making out and it had been something in a way it absolutely, positively was not supposed to be and Emma was fairly certain of...she had absolutely no idea.

Definitely the Grinch.

He probably didn’t get to make out very often anyway, what with the Who’s and the general pettiness and Emma could never understand how he fed Max if he lived on that mountain all by himself. Where did he even find Max? The logistics of it didn’t make any sense at all.

Were the Who's born that way or did they evolve to look like that?

Where was Whoville in relation to the rest of the world? How did they know about Santa Claus?

Maybe they were distant descendants of the elves.

None of it made any sense at all.

That may have just been Emma – whose current state of emotional upheaval was entirely her own doing and her own fault and she’d managed to play herself in less than twenty-four hours. That probably would have been impressive if she weren’t so decidedly Grinch-like.

It feels as if her heart is shrinking.

She can’t imagine what biology the Grinch is dealing with. His resting heart rate must be ridiculous.

Emma sighs, throwing a far too dramatic arm over her face and she knows she’s going to have to get out of bed eventually. There’s more schedule to contend with and more people and she’s really got to do something about the pie situation.

The pie situation has become some kind of code. To herself. She’s going insane. Maybe that’s why the Grinch was so angry. He was lonely on the mountain. Max never really talked back.

Maybe Emma should get a dog when she gets home.

God, she is home.

With Killian Jones. Technically. She has no idea where Killian is.

“Alright, alright, alright,” Emma mumbles, to herself. Because she is alone. In the room. In the bed and breakfast. Ruby is seriously going to kill her for getting to stay in the bed and breakfast. “We’ve got to get up.” Apparently Emma talks in the third person now.

That’s probably a sign of impending insanity and likelihood of stealing all the presents from the Who's.

Emma swings her legs over the side of the bed, not entirely familiar with the layout of the room, but she’s not sure that has anything to do with the way her vision swims in front of her face as soon as she stands up. That may have something to do with the eggnog she’d had the night before. And the making out.

The making out probably didn’t make her drunk – it just felt that way. So, really, she’s a complete and utter disaster with no pie and no actual boyfriend and neither one of those things should make it feel as if Christmas has been preemptively ruined on Christmas Eve, but Emma’s feeling decidedly dramatic and particularly Grinch-like and it had felt far too real.

It had felt far too easy. Like breathing. Or getting drunk on spiked eggnog.

She needs to ask Killian why he agreed to any of this.

She needs to brush her goddamn teeth.

Emma trudges into the small bathroom in the corner of the room, more nautical decor on the walls because the summer crowd in Storybrooke loves nothing more than all things nautical, trying to pull the tangles from the ends of her hair. She hopes her hair didn’t get into Killian’s face in the middle of the night.

She assumes he would have woken her up if it had been a problem. Maybe. Hopefully.

That word is starting to get on Emma’s nerves.

Merry Christmas, or whatever.

And she almost doesn’t see it at first – eyes downcast and shoulders decidedly slumped, grabbing her toothbrush from the edge of the sink and all but thrusting her hand under the water as soon as she turns it on. But it only takes a moment to glance up, mouth hanging open and wrist going slack because there’s a post-it note barely hanging onto the middle of the mirror.

Emma’s shoulders slump even more, a breath rushing out of her that almost leads to choking via toothbrush. She blinks. And blinks again. The post-it is still there

She can’t imagine where he found a post-it.

The handwriting is a little crooked – like it was scrawled quickly or possibly with a bit of holiday-based excitement and Emma’s fingers shake slightly when she reaches out a cautious hand towards it. There’s still a bit of residue on the mirror when she tugs the post-it off.

You’re the heaviest sleeper in the history of the world. I’ve commandeered the kitchen, so you should probably meet me downstairs.

Emma lets out a shaky laugh, tugging her lip between her teeth like she’s worried the moment isn’t real or is as fake as she’s convinced herself it has to be. Because the whole thing is based on a lie.

Her lie.

That she told.

She’s a disaster.

And she hasn’t actually finished brushing her teeth. There’s toothpaste on her tongue still.

She huffs, shaking her head and finally turning off the sink and it only takes her six minutes to get in the shower, out of the shower and into clothes. She puts the post-it note in her wallet.

Emma doesn’t race down the stairs in the back, but she’s certainly closer to running than walking and she nearly breaks both her ankles on three different occasions. It leaves her skidding to a stop in front of the swinging door of the kitchen, mumbling curses under her breath and threatening to chew a hole in her lip.

She doesn’t hear him move towards her.

It leaves her with an almost broken ankle again – jumping and flinching and Killian chuckles when he twists his arm around her. He’s wearing an apron.

Emma is decidedly screwed.

It’s like when Cindy Lou Who showed up and asked the Grinch why he was stealing their presents. But maybe with more kissing. Hopefully. And less small children. So, really, nothing like that at all.

“Why were you lurking out here?” Killian asks, as if it’s totally normal for him to be alone in Granny’s kitchen with what appears to be a container of something in his right hand if the pressure digging into Emma’s spine is any indication.

“I wasn’t lurking.” “Swan, you were just standing there.” “How did you know how to get to the kitchen?” HIs smile moves across his face slowly, which is honestly the most offensive thing a smile can do, particularly when it’s on Killian’s face. Emma is grateful he hasn’t moved his arm yet. She’s not entirely confident in the state of her joints at this point.

“I have eyes,” he mutters. “And like I said, you’re a very sound sleeper, love.” “I’m not sure I understand how those two go together at all. Are you baking something?” “We’re baking something.” “What?” Killian hums, tugging her further into the kitchen and Emma’s eyes widen at the same time her jaw drops because there’s far more happening here than whatever he’s still got pressed into the base of her spine. There are containers all over the counter, spices and flour and sugar and what, at first glance, appears to be a bowl full of actual whipped cream. Not cool whip. Not something in a pressurized cane. Actual whipped cream.

Like Killian made it.

Before ten o’clock in the morning on Christmas Eve.

“Are you an elf?” Emma asks, jerking her head towards him in just enough time to see his smile turn slightly incredulous.

“Excuse me?” “You know. Like...an elf.” “You can’t use the word in the definition, Swan.” She groans, but she’s also charmed and that’s been the theme for the last few hours and since the wedding and it’s all so easy, Emma is certain she will eventually scream about it. Or kiss Killian again. She’s not particular about either one.

“Elves are crazy productive,” she shrugs, and Killian’s expression is unfair. He’s doing a horrible job of not laughing at her. “You know they make all those...etch-a-sketches.” “Etch-a-sketches.” “Yeah.” Killian arches an eyebrow. “Are you quoting Elf to me right now? Is that honestly what’s happening?” “I’m not actually quoting anything. I’m...suggesting.” “That I’m an elf?” “Or at least raised by elves.” “I was not raised by elves,” Killian promises, but he can’t quite keep the laughter out of his voice and Emma clicks her tongue like she’s even remotely frustrated.

She takes a step forward instead, buoyed by a sense of misplaced confidence and sentimentality and probably just the generic feeling of Christmas because she hadn’t noticed the music playing in the background before.

And Killian doesn’t flinch when she brushes the tips of her fingers over the shell of his ear, but she can see a muscle in his jaw jump and he inhales sharply. “You kind of look it though,” Emma mumbles. “You could work a costume well. Maybe get some part-time gig at Macy’s.” It is, hands down, the most ludicrous thing she has ever said.

“Is that a compliment?” Killian asks, rocking towards her and he’s never put the container down, but his hand keeps moving back to Emma and she nods.

“Obviously. Was that not clear?” “Not entirely crystal.” “Ah, well…” Emma cuts herself off when the music shifts again and something in the very center of her stutters because--”Is this The Carpenters?”

Killian nods, his hand heavy on Emma’s hip. Again. Like those magnets have returned. “Festive.” “Super,” she mumbles, tongue darting out between her suddenly dry lips and the air feels far heavier and far more meaningful and the very first Christmas she’d been in Storybrooke and Granny told her she could stay in Storybrooke as long as she wanted, The Carpenters had been playing in the background, a quiet melody that seemed to have settled into Emma’s soul and every single corner of what she’d always wanted.

And there’s no way for Killian to have known that, but it doesn’t really matter to Emma’s heart or her aforementioned soul.

“Did you say we were going to bake?” Emma asks suddenly, and Killian blinks at her abrupt shift in tone.

“I did promise we’d figure out the pie situation, didn’t I?” “I just figured we’d kind of...I don’t know, hide out in the corner of the restaurant for most of the night. Maybe see if Ruth made an extra one we could cop.” “Ruth was one of my co-judges last night, right?”

“David’s mom, almost as good at baking as Granny, but please don’t tell either one of them I said that.” Killian mimes zipping his mouth shut. Something on the other side of the kitchen beeps. “Mum’s the word, love. Does Ruth usually bake more than one pie?” “Oh, yeah,” Emma nods, jumping onto the edge of the closest counter when Killian turns towards the nearest oven. “I think it’s because she and Granny have some kind of unspoken competition about it, but also because she’s trying to make sure David’s got as many options as humanly possible.” “Of pie?”

“Ah, of happiness-type things.” “Was that code?” Emma makes a contradictory noise, kicking her foot out only to let it slam into the cabinet underneath her. Killian is mixing something. It probably should not be attractive. She’s going to blame the apron. “Not in a way that makes any sense because nothing about this town makes any sense.”

“Ah, it’s nice.” “It’s overbearing, but that’s because we’ve all kind of got some vaguely depressing backstories and it’s almost like...the Island of Misfit Toys.” Killian smirks, leaning forward to grab something else and he doesn’t seem to be measuring anything. “You’re full of references this morning, aren’t you?” “It’s because I haven’t had enough coffee to become a normal person yet,” Emma reasons. Killian makes a triumphant noise – as if he’s only just remembering something and he’s a flash of limbs and bright, blue eyes and the exceptionally stupid smirk, rummaging through the cabinet closest to Emma’s head.

She rests her hands on his shoulders before she can rationalize any reason not to.

He doesn’t tell her to move.

He hands her a coffee mug. And a bag of Reese’s Christmas trees.

Emma’s going to cry. Listening to The Carpenters and baking pies, or probably just one pie, no one but Ruth makes more pie, and--

“How did you know that?” she breaths, and his smile is even more distracting when his tongue is doing whatever it’s doing in the corner of his mouth.

“Granny asked me to go get some from...what’s the name of the general store?” “Main Street Mercantile.” Killian hums, smile still there and the muscles in his face must ache. Emma doesn’t say that out loud. It doesn’t sound like the compliment it probably should be. “Ah, exactly,” he nods. “She said you probably wouldn’t come out of the room unless you were bribed with a trail of these leading down the stairs.” “Wow. That is...scathing. And patently untrue.” “Is it? It’s pretty late, Swan.” “It’s Christmas Eve! Also, were you just hanging out with Granny all morning? Did you eat? Why were you awake?” “In order of question. Not all morning, she apparently had something to do with the mayor?” Emma rolls her eyes. “But part of the morning. It was almost too obvious Granny would have been incredibly offended if I had not accepted her bacon, egg and cheese sandwich. Does she make those English muffins herself?”

“It’s a super top secret recipe. Ruby tried to duplicate it once on my birthday and it was an absolute disaster.” “Well, they’re delicious. What was your last question?” “Why were you awake,” Emma repeats. “And what exactly are you baking?” Killian grits his teeth, a hiss of breath and that’s not the response she’d expected. “Old habits,” he mumbles, and she can hear the deflection there. “Also, we’ve covered that already. It’s a pie. Or it will be once it goes in the oven and you decide to get off the counter and help.” “Did you ask me to help?” “I assumed it was implied.” “You know what happens when you assume.”

Killian’s laugh almost makes Emma forget whatever happened to his face as soon as he mumbled old habits and she takes his hand when he offers it, letting him pull her off the edge of the counter with a soft thump. “You really didn’t have to go get me chocolate Christmas trees,” she mutters, dragging her hands up his arms.

And it all happens so quickly, she briefly wonders if she just imagines it, but Emma’s eyes flit towards her fingers when she feels Killian tense underneath her and she must curse under her breath. He makes some kind of noise in the back of his throat, a grunt or a groan or a promise of it’s fine, love that seems particularly hollow when her fingers are resting on the top of his brace.

“And they’re not just chocolate,” Killian reasons. “The peanut butter made them totally worth the quest I went on.”

Emma tilts her head. And moves her hands back to her side. “Oh, it was a quest now?” “A very gallant one.” “For candy?” “Candy for you.”

There’s a hesitancy to his words, something that makes Emma’s pulse thud and her heart grow, at least two sizes, and she figures it’ll probably get to the Grinch-mandated three by the end of the night. She hopes so, at least.

“Thank you,” she whispers, hoping he realizes she’s not actually talking about prepackaged candy that rarely ever looks like Christmas trees.

“I wanted to.” That’s less hesitant. That’s honest. And straightforward. And, God, Emma hopes so much she’s positive she reeks with it.

That can’t possibly be the right verb.

She nods slowly, rocking back on her heels and doing her best not to blink. And breathe. She needs to breathe.

“Did Granny tell you about The Carpenters too?” Emma asks.

“Should she have?” “No, no, I...this place is seriously the Island of Misfit Toys, you know. That was a reference, but it was also kind of true.” “Did you want to be a dentist at one point, Swan? Also, I’d like the record to show that in this instance you’re calling yourself an elf.”

She scoffs, but she’s still being charmed and Killian flashes a grin when she swipes her finger through the bowl of whipped cream. “Incorrect. I never wanted to be a dentist. Anna considered it once, but then she realized there were actually teeth involved and--” “--She didn’t realize she would have to deal with teeth? That’s, like, the basis of being a dentist.” “Yeah, well, Anna is kind of...man, flighty sounds really offensive doesn’t it?” “I promise not to tell, Swan.” Emma feels kind of drunk again. She steals more whipped cream – if only to make sure Killian’s eyes do that wide, slightly scandalized thing. “My hero,” she teases, and he clicks his tongue, but she might actually be charming him at this point. “Should we be baking while I explain this?” “What is this, exactly?” “Storybrooke.” Killian doesn’t answer immediately, and for half a second it’s off-putting, but then he tilts his head again and Emma gets that feeling like he’s appraising her or trying to read her and is only a little frustrated that he can’t. Because it’s very obvious he wants to. And for the first time in as long as Emma can remember, she wants to too.

The structure of that sentence is confusing.

She’s going to eat all the whipped cream before they bake anything.

“I’d like that,” he says, and it feels like he’s just recited The Night Before Christmas or some other far-too-long poem. “And we’re making Millionaire’s Pie.” Emma blinks. “Did you just make that up?” “No.” “What is that?” “Chocolate, caramel, coconut and uh...pecans.” “None of those things sound like they should go together.” “You were willing to buy key lime pie, Swan,” Killian points out, nodding towards a container and mouthing that one at Emma. “I promise this is far more appropriate for the holiday.”

“Seriously, you need to stop glazing over the most interesting part of that story. You’re the one who insulted Aurora and her pies.” “No one wants key lime pie in December.” Emma hums, the certainty on his face making it impossible to argue. “Why is it called Millionaire’s Pie?” “Because eating it makes you feel like a million bucks.”

She laughs – loud and earnest, her head thrown back with the force of it and Killian stares at her like they both just won the lottery. “That’s the cheesiest thing I’ve ever heard.” “There’s no cheese involved in this,” he promises. “You want to crimp the edges of the crust?” “Look at you with your technical terms.” “Swan, we’ve been over this, I know absolutely everything. You want to crimp or no?” “Obviously I want to crimp.”

“Then...”

Emma sticks her tongue out, but that only makes his smile grow and her heart continues to do whatever, hammering against the inside of her ribs. “Fine, fine, I am crimping. Should I use my fingers or…” “We’re not animals, love,” Killian mutters, leaning back to hand her a fork and Emma cannot fathom how he’s already learned the layout of the kitchen as well. Like belongs there.

With her.

She’s insane.

She wonders why she hasn’t dipped one of the Christmas trees in the whipped cream yet.

“You’ve got a lot of very high opinions for a guy wearing an apron,” Emma says. “Also did you want to hear this story?” “Of course I did. You’re the one who seems incapable of multitasking.”

Emma glares. It earns her a smirk. So, naturally, she reaches forward grabs the plastic container of flour, yanks the top off and flicks a handful at Killian – in the face. He gasps, blinking quickly and she probably should have given him some warning because-- “--You could blind a man like that, Swan!” “I think that’s a commentary on your reflexes, actually. And, would you look at that? I am crimping and distracting you. Maybe you’re just incapable of staying on task.”

He opens his mouth, only to close it. Four times in a row. And he’s still blinking at her, like he’s trying to make sure she hasn’t disappeared. Emma isn’t entirely certain she hasn’t.

She feels light and heavy and nervous and excited and whatever is happening in the pit of her stomach feels a bit like acid reflux, but it’s also kind of pleasant in a way that seems like there’s some kind of fire there as well, warming her from the inside out and he went to Mercantile.

He got her Christmas trees.

Karen Carpenter is still singing in the background.

“Oh that was a mistake, love,” he mutters, moving around the island in the middle of the kitchen far quicker than Emma is entirely prepared for.

Her breath catches when he wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her flush and firm against his chest. She squirms, but that only seems to egg him on, laughter ringing in her ears and Killian’s chin digging into the top of her shoulder.

He has to change his hold on her to grab his own container of baking product off the counter and neither one of them acknowledge it, but it feels like they’ve crossed a line. That may also have something to do with Emma’s ass pressed into him, but that’s neither here nor there.

It’s less festive.

It’s...something else altogether and Emma would love to consider it, but she’s too busy trying to work out of Killian’s hold and he nips at the side of her neck when she stomps on his right foot.

“Oh, that is not playing fair at all,” Killian grumbles, and Emma laughs like she’s won.

And for half a second she believes she has. She thinks that’s that and the flirting is flirting and she’s somewhere in the realm of confident about whatever the hell it is they’re doing until Killian yells aha in her ear and there’s a handprint on her stomach – made of confectioners sugar.

“Are you kidding me?” Emma balks.

Killian laughs again, and they’re moving, Emma’s feet sliding across the kitchen floor until she’s bumping against the island. He keeps her pinned there, grabbing another handful of sugar to drag across her forearm, circling the same spot on her wrist he’d been so focused on the night before and Emma is momentarily dumbfounded.

Probably because this shouldn’t be happening. And it certainly shouldn’t be this much fun.

She finally gets her bearings when Killian swipes his fingers across the collar of her shirt, landing on skin and sending a spark of what feels like actual electricity through her veins. Emma spins on the spot, It’s enough to take him by surprise, his quiet ooof a very particular victory when her hips cant up and there’s still some flour on the ends of Emma’s fingers.

Killian curses when she cards them through his hair.

“You are a menace,” he accuses. Emma shrugs. “You know how long that’s going to take to get out of my hair?” “I only brought so many clothes. Who uses confectioners sugar like that? It’s like glitter.”

He huffs, an exhale of air and feeling. And for half a moment Emma thinks he’s going to call a truce, because this is only sort of childish and they’re both going to get yelled at by Granny, but then Killian’s hands are moving and she’s not on her feet anymore. He drags his hands across the back of her shirt, eyes bright and a little devious and that might be her new favorite look – even when he’s getting confectioners sugar all over her rather limited clothing selection.

Emma grumbles when Killian drops her back on the edge of the counter, a position that’s starting to feel especially familiar, particularly when he works his way between her legs. She hooks her foot around his calf again.

If only to hear that sound again.

She isn’t disappointed.

It’s better the second time.

And she’s got every intention of kissing him. She does, really. She wants to and, possibly, needs to, but Killian tilts his head up and there’s something just on the edge of his gaze that feels much bigger than anything else and--

“I’m really glad you’re here,” Emma whispers.

Killian blinks. That same muscle in his jaw moves again. “Yeah?” he asks softly, Emma nodding quickly enough she’s worried she’s going to make her neck crack.

“Yeah. I, um...I know it’s, well, you’re doing me an enormous favor and I can’t thank you enough for that, but I’m...I wasn’t expecting to have fun.” “You’ve got a rather low opinion of me, love,” Killian laughs, fingers trailing up and down her side. She’s not sure he realizes he’s doing it. There’s flour and sugar everywhere.

“No, I don’t.” They don’t freeze. They’re definitely breathing. Emma can feel her shoulders moving, can see Killian’s chest shift on every inhale, but they don’t speak either and that feels decidedly important and possibly life-changing and she needs to learn the importance of silence.

“Because I wasn’t kidding about the Island of Misfit Toys,” Emma continues. “I...I told you how I got here at the wedding and there’s...David’s dad died and Mary Margaret’s mom died and it took forever for her and Regina to not hate each other and…” She exhales, head falling forward until Killian’s fingers shift, moving away from her side and curling around the back of her neck. Emma doesn’t mention that he’s getting sugar in her hair. “But they’ve all figured it out and they’re all happy and they always just accepted me. Wanted me to be here and I...I’m really glad you’re here too.” More silence.

That’s kind of disappointing.

Until it’s...not and the force of Killian’s answering smile is almost blinding if that weren’t the most cliché thing Emma had ever thought.

“I’m glad I’m here too, Swan,” he says. “What’s your most scathing Christmas opinion?” “What?” “Most scathing.” “Why do you want to know that?” “I’d like to know everything.” Emma has to swallow before she can even consider her response, emotions bubbling and festering and that’s a disgusting word but she realizes she hasn’t actually had any coffee yet and it’s probably a miracle she’s even cognizant.

Killian’s fingers are still in her hair.

“I hate that people thin, My Favorite Things from The Sound of Music is a Christmas song. It’s not. It’s not even from a Christmas scene, like Meet Me in St. Louis. It mentions snow, like, once. It’s the dumbest thing in the world.”

“Meet Me in St. Louis could probably be a Halloween movie if you want to get technical.” “Exactly! It’s dumb. It’s like ABC Family or whatever it’s called--” “--Showing Harry Potter all the time in December?”

This should not be attractive. This should not be even ground. Emma’s mind doesn’t care. The Carpenters are still playing.

“Is that your most scathing Christmas opinion?” Emma asks, and Killian hums in agreement.

“The hottest of hot takes. I blame society. And commercialism.” “Don’t you know? That’s what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown.” He chuckles, dropping his head back towards her shoulder and Emma can’t tell if he actually kisses where his mouth lands. She wants him to. Far more than she probably should. But this doesn’t really feel very fake and they’ve still got to bake a pie.

“I’m not sure that’s how the movie works, love.” “Ah, I don’t know about that. We’ll watch it later. You’ll see.” “It’s a date.” Emma nearly bites her tongue in half. “It’s a date,” she repeats. “I didn’t get to finish crimping.” “I told you, you weren’t very good at multitasking.” “Oh shut up, go mix something.” Killian nods, hair brushing over the side of Emma’s neck in the process and they don’t throw any more ingredients at each other, but Granny is decidedly scandalized by the state of her kitchen when she walks in an hour and a half later. They’re late for lunch at Regina and Robin’s.

Emma and Killian ate all the Christmas trees.

“This is the most intricately decorated house I have ever seen,” Killian mutters in Emma’s ear as soon as they walk inside. Without knocking.

“Take your shoes off.” “Are you kidding me?” “Do you want to get grounded?” Killian scoffs, but he does as instructed, the ends of his mouth ticking up when Emma uses him to keep her balance as she toes out of her own boots. And, really, it’s an empty threat because Regina loves order and control and she definitely thinks tinsel is the pinnacle of tackiness, but the tree in the corner is covered in Henry and Roland’s homemade ornaments.

It smells like apples everywhere.

“How old is this house?” Killian asks, voice still low and it might be the single most endearing thing she’s ever heard.

“Are you researching right now?” He shrugs, lower lip stuck out and, no, that’s definitely more endearing. “I’m curious. Ballpark it for me.” “I am not a history major.” “What did you major in?” “Criminal justice.” Killian’s expression shifts slightly – leaning far too close to impressed for Emma’s sugar-addled brain to be able to deal with. “Do you think this is a historical landmark?” “Oh my God, look at you. It’s like your salivating at the opportunity to document this.” “Incorrect. I am intrigued. Also this bannister has got to be, like, two-hundred years old. Look at the carving on it. Someone did that by hand.” “You can tell that just by looking at it.” “I’d really love some confirmation,” Killian grins, looking a bit like a kid on Christmas which is oddly appropriate all things considered. “The insurance on this place must be ridiculous.” Emma can’t help the sound that falls out of her – a mix of laughter and disbelief and being impossibly charmed by the whole thing and some other word that also means endearing and Killian’s voice keeps picking up speed. Like a kid on Christmas. “Please don’t ask Regina about the insurance premiums on her house.” “Does madam mayor also employee the Storybrooke decorating committee?” He waves a hand back towards the bannister, which honestly may be hand carved, Emma’s never really considered it too much, particularly when its covered in ivy.

She shakes her head. “Get ready to meet the Mills-Locksley decorating committee.”

The small body that slams into her side appears to have defied the rules of physics and possibly gravity, and Emma grunts when Roland’s forehead slams into her right hip. Henry groans. “We talked about that, Rol,” he sighs.

Emma tries to wave him off, but it’s a sudden and expected onslaught of Emma, Emma, Emma and did you bring candy and can we play yet. She closes her eyes, letting the enthusiasm wash over her and sink into her and there’s more shouting when the door opens again.

Roland leaps towards David, his laugh turning closer to a cackle when he’s flipped upside down. “What did we say about the limbs, Rol?” David asks, hissing as he tries to shift the kid’s weight without dislocating something.

“You are way too old to be doing this, Nolan,” Emma says, only because he can’t flip her off when Henry and Roland are standing there.

“Especially after he was complaining about his sore back all last night,” Mary Margaret adds.

David looks scandalized. That may also be because Killian’s moved his arm back around Emma’s waist. She probably doesn’t lean into it. Probably. “Aw, c’mon,” David mumbles. “I told you that in confidence.”

“You should know Mary Margaret is incapable of keeping a secret,” Regina says, leaning over the top of the bannister with a smile on her face. “Emma, is there flour in your hair?” “Confectioners sugar.” “Ah, of course.” “We made a pie,” Killian explains. Regina’s eyebrows leap into her hairline. “Hi, we only kind of met last night. I’m Killian Jones.” “Regina Mills. Robin is…” “Talking to Granny about the wine,” Henry finishes.

Regina hums, opening her mouth to, probably, remind them to take off their shoes, but Roland is quicker and still coherent even when upside down and Emma should have expected a six-year-old to be this curious. “Is that your boyfriend, Emma?” He more or less shouts the question – the words sounding particularly loud when it appears everyone else has frozen and Emma knows she doesn’t imagine the way Killian’s fingers tighten around her waist. “Uh..” Emma stammers, and she just needs to nod. Or lie. Or say something.

Anything.

Because she can feel Mary Margaret staring at her and Regina’s eyes are far too knowing and--

“What are you guys doing?” Robin asks, appearing in the foyer with Granny half a step behind and what appears to be a liquid thermometer in his hand. “Is this some kind of new, very strange intimidation tactic?” “Intimidation tactic,” Killian echoes, and it’s as if everyone’s been flicked back on or had their batteries recharged. Emma exhales. And totally leans into Killian’s arm.

“We play a very serious game of UNO with multiple decks. If you let Emma win again, I’ll probably kick you out of my house.” “It’s not that serious,” Mary Margaret promises, but that’s kind of a lie and they’ve been known to make alliances in the past.

“It’s totally that serious,” Henry argues. “We bought new cards this year, Emma, so you can’t keep finding the Draw Fours with the ones you dogeared.” Killian’s head snaps towards her, stunned and definitely impressed and Emma feels the flush rise in her cheeks. “He’s a kid. He’s exaggerating. I would never cheat at Christmas Eve UNO.”

“Pirate,” Killian mumbles. He ducks his head, and for one crazy, mixed-up second of festivities and feelings Emma is positive he’s going to kiss her right there in that foyer. He doesn’t. At least not really. His lips brush over her temple and the top of her hair and that’s, somehow, even worse, or possibly better and Emma’s lost complete control of the situation.

She probably should have planned on that too.

“Can we play?” Roland shouts, wiggling against David and in a misplaced effort to get back on the ground. He’s still upside down.

“Only if you get on your feet, kid,” Robin grins. He hooks an arm around his son’s waist and David, somehow, gets kicked in the process, but Mary Margaret is laughing and Killian’s fingers are toying with the hem of Emma’s shirt.

Her face feels like it’s on fire.

She feels like she’s on fire.

Regina hasn’t moved off the landing.

“Do you have house rules, then?” Killian asks, following Henry towards the living room and there’s goddamn eggnog on ice like it’s champagne. “If Emma’s been cheating for years--” “--I have not been cheating for years,” Emma argues, but she’s meet with a chorus of ehhh and Killian’s impossibly close to her on the couch.

“You can’t sit there,” Henry says.

“What?” “You’re not supposed to sit next to me,” Emma mumbles. “Because--” “--Things have a tendency to get a little heated between romantic partners,” David explains. “Sometimes, you know...you want your girlfriend to get Draw Fours every single time.” “To this day, that’s the worst thing David’s ever done to me,” Mary Margaret says.

Emma rolls her eyes – partially because that may, actually, be true and partially because the whole thing is so sugary sweet she has a hard time believing it’s real. And she’s been living it for years. Killian’s eyes dart towards hers, like he’s waiting for her to tell him he can keep sitting next to the on the couch, but she shakes her head. “Them’s the rules,” she shrugs. “Plus, I’ll totally make more pirate jokes if you try to break tradition.” “You can sit here, Killian,” Roland yells, cross-legged on the floor next to Robin. Emma briefly considers dying. It’d probably be easier than dealing with the increasingly adorable and entirely unfair sight of Killian Jones on the ground in his sock-covered feet and he takes two cookies when Regina appears with a tray.

And he absolutely, positively cheats at UNO, but, for the life of her, Emma cannot figure out how.

It’s as if he’s got his own deck tucked up his sleeve – Draw Fours and a Skip on back-to-back turns that leaves Mary Margaret practically growling and David nearly cackling and Emma is certain she’s going to set a record for points at the end of the round because she somehow ends up staring at a Wild Draw Four on her final turn, with Killian holding his last card.

“Red,” he says, smile teasing and eyes glinting. She feels dizzy. She’s going to drink so much mulled wine later.

“No!” “Excuse me?” “No,” Emma repeats, voice going shrill and she’s going to do something drastic if he doesn’t control his tongue. There are kids around. Her friends are around. They aren’t actually dating.

“I think that means you’ve got to take a card, love.” “Oh, shut up.” “You really don’t have any red in that entire stockpile of yours?” “Shut up!” Killian grins – and absolutely does not move his tongue while Emma grabs at cards, picking up five before she gets a red. He laughs when she slams it down. “I think this means you lost,” he mutters, flipping his wrist to show his last card. Emma sticks her tongue out. That only makes him laugh more. “You put up an admirable fight, Swan.” “You cheated!” “You wound me. I would never.” She huffs, narrowing her eyes and Mary Margaret is laughing again. “How did you do it?” Emma presses, dropping her pile of cards unceremoniously when Regina announces lunch is ready.

“I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about, Swan,” Killian says. He offers her his hand when she moves to stand up, fingers warm as soon as they wrap around hers. “Aren’t you going to count your cards?” “I am not going to count my cards and you are not nearly as funny as you think you are.” “I think that’s breaking the rules of UNO, Swan.” “I’m going to punch you right in the face, I swear.” He makes an absolutely ridiculous noise that manages to linger in the realm of charming anyway, another press of something to the top of Emma’s hair. “I’m sure that’s the start of some Hallmark movie.”

“You think people get punched a lot in Hallmark movies?” “I don’t know that I’ve ever seen a Hallmark movie, actually. Add that to the date.”

Emma’s stomach lurches a bit at the casualness of that, but she doesn’t say anything – isn’t entirely sure she can and there are too many people around anyway, food to eat and eggnog to taste test and she’s helping Regina dry dishes a few hours later when she’s, almost, entirely prepared for the look on the woman’s face.

“You want to tell me what’s really going on?” Regina asks, not taking her eyes off the plate she’s scrubbing.

Emma tenses. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” “Mary Margaret can’t keep a secret.” “Yuh huh.” “And you’d never bring home a guy you already went on a date with if that date didn’t end well. You’re not very good at second chances.” “Wow, that’s kind of harsh,” Emma mumbles, but it’s also kind of right and when Regina’s mom first married Mary Margaret’s dad she’d been chock-full of opinions just like that. About everything and everyone, particularly within the town lines of Storybrooke because Regina had grown up in Portland and that made her metropolitan and Emma had kind of hated her.

But then things had gotten worse and Cora was ten-thousand times more horrible than Regina and possibly why Regina was so horrible to start and there’d been divorce papers and tears and Mary Margaret stayed in Emma’s room for awhile and, eventually, Regina just kind of...mellowed out.

She occasionally still has very strong opinions.

“And totally true,” Regina says. “So, let’s have at it. What’s the real reason the guy who’s clearly obsessed with you is here?” Emma nearly drops the glass in her hand. “What?” “Don’t play dumb with me right now.” “I’m not.” “Emma.”

“Regina.” She turns her head, an appraising look that’s made only slightly ridiculous with a sponge in her hand. “Are you an idiot?” “Merry Christmas.” “So you are an idiot.” “Regina, I’m going to drink all your mulled wine later and ruin the Christmas Eve toast.” “You going to let Killian be part of the Christmas Eve toast?” Emma makes a noise in the back of her throat, a low and, she hopes, threatening growl that she’s positive doesn’t work when Regina’s eyebrows lift into a perfect arch. “I’ll think about it,” Emma mumbles. “And...we’re not really dating.” Regina drops the sponge.

“Ok, ok,” Emma says quickly, flipping the towel over her shoulder. “You can’t tell Mary Margaret because she’ll--” “--Flip out? What do you mean you aren’t dating?” “We never went on that bad date to begin with.” Regina’s mouth hangs open the entire time Emma explains the whole, convoluted thing, blinking as if she’s waiting to hear surprise shouted in her face. Her blinks reach hyperactive when that doesn’t, actually, happen.

“So, uh, that’s it,” Emma mutters with a shrug. “I just...I wasn’t thinking and possibly drunk and--” “--And he’s ridiculously into you,” Regina interrupts. “Do you not have eyes? You know where he is right now? Talking to Robin about the insurance premiums for our house. Fake boyfriends don’t ask about that.” “Well, I told him not to ask you about that so…”

“Emma,” Regina sighs. “What have you gotten yourself into?”

“An absolute disaster.”

“Yeah, it seems that way. Also, you’re making eyes right back.” “I don’t make eyes,” Emma hisses, but there are footsteps moving towards them and Robin’s voice echoing in the hall, something about the state of Maine and the American Revolution and Regina stares at her like that’s that. It kind of is. And then some.

She’s totally making eyes.

“Swan,” Killian says, slinging an arm around her shoulder. “Did you know there’s rumors this area was used a camp for Benedict Arnold when he marched to Quebec?” “No one knows that.” “Ok, I know that,” Robin counters. “Also Regina definitely knows that.” “Wasn’t Benedict Arnold a bad guy?” Emma asks, Killian already shaking his head.

“Not at the start, but Quebec certainly didn’t help. The whole thing was a disaster.” “This house had nothing to do with that,” Regina says, drawing a quiet laugh from Robin where he’s leaning against the doorway. “Also, if you two are done discussing history, we should probably get ready to get back to Granny’s. Does David have the wine?” Robin nods. “An entire vat.” “And waiting for someone to help me carry it,” David calls from the foyer. “Also I want to see what kind of pie Emma bought.”

Emma’s objection is sitting on the tip of her tongue, shouts and curses and decidedly un-Christmas thoughts, but Killian’s hand wraps around her shoulder and tugs her closer to his side and she’s making eyes again. “Let it be a surprise, huh?” he grins.

“Yeah, ok.” And, in the grand scheme of whatever cockamamie idea Emma came up with to make Christmas less annoying or stressful or something, standing in Granny’s with Killian’s arm around her and his fingers toying with her hair while every single person she’d ever considered important promised her Millionaire’s pie was delicious was an unexpected delight.

The muscles in her face were starting to ache, a soft pain that Emma would have accepted every day for the rest of her life it meant she got to feel like this every day for the rest of her life.

Like Christmas.

And loved.

And...she needed some mulled wine.

“Can we toast now?” Anna asks, hours later and the pie is gone and Granny’s food is, mostly, gone, the jukebox playing a steady stream of Christmas hits from 1972. “It’s my first official one.” “Anna, you’ve been toasting with us for actual years,” Elsa argues.

“Yeah, but I’m twenty-one now, so it’s more..real.”

Emma scoffs, already feeling a little drunk, particularly when she leans back against Killian’s chest. He hasn’t moved farther than a few inches away all night, all hands and arms and quiet touches that feel as if they’ve branded themselves on every inch of her. “What’s this about a toast, Swan?” he asks. “Oh, uh, we started doing it years ago as some kind of--” “--Misplaced effort to be rebels,” David laughs. He’s already got a handful of glasses and they’re tucked into the corner of the diner, as if they’re all about to get caught for underage drinking.

“Basically that,” Emma nods. “Mary Margaret’s mom had this old mulled wine recipe and M’s found it our freshman year in college. So we came home and made it and it was this giant secret--” “--That everyone knew about,” Robin adds.

“Also true. And it was horrible the first time, but that was, oh God, more than a decade ago and we kept making it every year and now it’s like Robin and Regina’s third child and--” “--Hey, I resent that.” “Because it’s also almost true,” Regina admits, crooking a finger at David until he hands her a glass. “So, really, Jones, us telling you this, means you’re part of the coven or whatever.” “Oh my God, Regina, we are not witches,” Elsa groans. “But seriously, Killian, if you drink this wine, you’re not allowed to tell anyone else about it. They still let us pretend like they don’t know what we’re doing back here.” Killian salutes, a wry smile tugging at his mouth and he has to switch arms to take the glass from David and keep touching Emma. Left arm. Left hand. She feels very drunk.

The feeling only grows after her first sip of the wine – definitely the best batch they’ve made, which probably isn’t a sign, but might be a sign and she’s certain she’s being warmed from the inside out, like she’s swallowed the goddamn sun at ten o’clock on Christmas Eve. It may or may not just be a direct result of Killian’s hand on the small of her back.

And David mumbles a few words, promises about the best year and the best town and Robin is morally obligated to make some cliché pun about the best friends if only so Elsa and Anna will groan in tandem. Emma’s going to sprain the muscles in her face.

So, really, she can’t be blamed for her actions when, after her second cup of mulled wine, she twists against Killian’s chest, looks up and mumbles “you want to get some air?” He nods. “I’d love that.”

It’s chilly when they step outside, a nip in the air that doesn’t require them to stand as close as possible, but Emma’s not going to argue it, particularly when she starts directing them towards the harbor and the semi-permanent breeze coming off the water.

She inhales, letting the scent of salt fill her lungs and mix with the wine and the pie and the Reese’s Christmas trees and Killian's eyes don’t leave her once, staring at the side of her head with something that feels distinctly like want.

“What’s your favorite Christmas memory?” Emma asks suddenly, and Killian’s eyes widen at the question. “You asked for my most scathing Christmas opinion before. Let’s get positive.” She swaying slightly, less from the wine and more from the moment, Killian taking a step into her space until both his hands land on her hips. “Are you drunk?” “I had two glasses of wine.” “Not an answer.” The breeze gets stronger, more salt and a surplus of feeling and Emma knows they’re balancing on something – possibly each other. She shakes her head. “Not at all. What’s your favorite Christmas memory?” “I was...eight? Around there. And, uh...my mom was still there and my dad was still there and they were showing It’s a Wonderful Life on TV. I was not interested at all, because I was eight and the movie was in black and white and I just wanted presents. But my mom was baking. She was in the kitchen and you know at the start when George goes to the dance?”

Emma nods, Killian’s tongue flashing between his lips when he takes a deep breath. “Well, George goes to the dance and Mary’s there and--”

“--The pool opens up.” “Exactly. But they dance. And I remember my dad going into the kitchen and, you know, he was mostly an asshole, but that was only after my mom was gone and he...he started dancing with her. Right there to the music on the TV and they got me and Liam to come in and it was a whole thing. Liam hated it at first. He was fifteen, way too cool for that.” “And you weren’t too cool?” Emma asks, desperate to keep her voice light.

Killian smirks at her. “Nah, I was eight. Plus, I realized rather quickly that’s how George got Mary to fall in love with him, so you know…” “That’s not true!” “What?” “That’s not true,” Emma repeats. “Mary loved George from the very beginning. When they were kids. She…” She trails off when she notices the look on Killian’s face, awe and surprise and something Emma absolutely can’t name because she’s not sure her heart can cope with that now. “Mary loved George the whole time. No matter what.”

Killian nods slowly, and Emma isn’t a science major either, but she’s certain the space between them disappears and time slows for a moment and they’re both swaying now. “Are we dancing?” she whispers, another nod and flash of a smile that feels as genuine as the pie recipe she’s fairly certain was his mother’s.

“I think so,” Killian says. They don’t say anything else for a moment, the sound of the ocean a not-so-quiet metronome that almost matches up with their breathing and Emma’s not sure what to do next, but she doesn’t want to move and--”That was the last Christmas we were all together,” Killian mutters. “She, uh...she got sick a couple months later and then my dad was gone like it was a magic act at Caesar’s and...Liam did his best, but…” “But?” “Harry Bailey was the younger brother, right?” “Yeah.” “Ah, well, in the Jones version of this, the older brother was the war hero and…there wasn’t a victory tour of whatever town they lived in.” “Bedford Falls,” Emma says.

“Why do you know that?” “I know everything.” He laughs, and the sound rattles down her spine, like it’s trying to connect to every one of her nerve endings. She feels him kiss the top of her hair when her head drops. “I’m starting to think you might,” Killian admits. “But, well, Liam was very responsible and he needed the money, so Navy as soon as he was eighteen and then I joined as soon as I was eighteen and it was good for awhile. Until it wasn’t and I don’t remember much of that either, but there were explosions and noise and he was gone and my hand was gone. A week before Christmas.” Emma blinks, the tears in her eyes absurd because it isn’t her story – but it feels kind of close to her story and they’re still dancing. “I’m glad you’re here,” she says again, because she can’t come up with anything else to say or anything else to do except kiss him, so she does that too.

Killian’s hands fly to her back, pulling her closer until her toes skim across the pavement. Her fingers dive into his hair, trying to keep him there or with her and the second one is only a little clingy for a relationship that isn’t that, but Emma is starting to think it might be that or could be that and she hopes.

She hopes more than...anything.

It’s different than it was the night before, not quite as charged or determined to prove something and that makes it even better. It’s want and need and settling into something, common ground and disappointment and Emma can taste chocolate and mulled wine on his tongue when she opens her mouth against him.

That makes it less simple.

She feels as if she’s been sparked, a rush of electricity through her veins and Killian groans when she pushes up further on her toes, letting her nails move over the back of his neck. And Emma’s not sure how it can seem as if he’s everywhere, but every inch of her appears to be combusting or on fire and they need to move.

Her shoulders are heaving by the time she pulls away from him, the blue in his gaze barely there. “We, uh…” “Yeah, ok.” They don’t run and it’s not quite brisk, but it’s not a walk either and the few feet that encompass downtown Storybrooke have never felt longer. Emma exhales when she clicks the lock of the B&B room open, taking a steady step in that makes her feel far more confident than she actually is. That lasts as long as it takes for Killian to spin her around, shoulders colliding with the now closed door and hips canting up and it’s a whole lot of words that Emma is hopeful she’d be able to come up with if her brain weren’t preoccupied with directing her hands towards Killian’s pants.

She’s not entirely sure how they move without inadvertently elbowing each other, but there’s something to be said for enthusiasm and laughing in the middle of all of this makes all of this seem even more...more.

Emma nearly takes out one of the nautical themed lamps when she kicks off her boots, drawing a laugh out of Killian. It turns into a groan when she pushes him towards the bed, knocking off pillows and blankets and the mattress creaks again. “If I get in trouble for breaking anything in here, I’m blaming you,” she warns, the threat feeling a little disingenuous when she’s trying to get his shirt off.

And he’s trying to unbuckle her pants.

They’re a tangle of limbs and the ends of Emma’s hair gets caught under his left shoulder blade at some point, but there are kisses too and smiles and every single one seems to join the trove of memories she’s hoarding in the back corner of her brain.

He’s stupid good looking.

Killian freezes when she, finally, does get his shirt off, eyes flitting towards the brace at the end of his hand. “Swan, I…” he starts, but she shakes her head and she can hear his jaw clack when he snaps it closed.

“I’m really glad you’re here.”

He smiles at her. “I wanted to be here.” And that’s not what does it, not really – they’re already naked for God's sake and Emma’s trying to pull a condom out of her wallet without ruining the mood, but that may be part of it and, eventually, she will ask him why he wanted. Her. Or this. Eventually. Maybe tomorrow.

She’s a little preoccupied when Killian pulls her back up, grinning from a small pile of pillows and that one, particular noise he makes as soon as she rocks her hips forward is better than anything Emma could have ever dreamed up. She’s glad it’s not a dream.

It’s later, moonlight streaming through gauzy curtains and wooden blinds and Emma’s head rests on Killian’s chest, fingers toying across the planes of his stomach. “Merry Christmas, love,” he whispers, squeezing her hand.

He doesn’t let go even when she falls asleep.

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #cs #cs fic #festive fic #THE DANCING IS A METAPHOR YO

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justanoutlawfic · 6 years ago

Text

Life Unexpected: Chapt. 8

Summary: Emma’s side of the story of what happened that night with Bill and Katie is revealed. It brings up a triggering memory for one of her parents.

Trigger warning: Mentions of several forms of abuse in this chapter.

Also on AO3

3 Years Ago

Emma stood in the kitchen, slicing the apples, while Max was picking the movie and Zack was on the phone with a friend. Katie had stepped out and would be back with the popcorn in a bit. It was quiet, for once. She didn’t necessarily like that, it was leaving her alone with her thoughts. Her social worker had told her that Katie and Bill had plans to adopt her. That was the last thing she wanted, but she knew that if she told the truth, it’d be another mark on her record. Emma learned a long time ago that telling about abuse reflected more on the foster child, than it did the foster parent. No one wanted to take in a girl that would squeal on them for their “punishments”.

Besides, Katie was really great. She was the closest thing that Emma had to a mom in a long time. She did her hair and took her on little day trips. She had helped her get caught up in school and did all she could to make sure that she succeeded. Even Bill wasn’t so bad when he wasn’t physically touching Emma. He’d do anything she asked. To most, it looked like he was wrapped around her finger.

No one knew that six weeks prior, he had climbed into her bed for the first time. She had one foster father that had been a bit handsy before, but it had mostly been lingering hugs or touching her cheek, which made her feel uncomfortable. Bill, on the other hand, said he wanted to take care of Emma. She was becoming a woman, she needed to know what men looked for.

A chill ran down her spine. She had tried to put up a fight, but he had told her that no one would believe her. So, it kept happening. She thought if she picked fights in front of Katie, that it’d stop, but it never did. Instead, it seemed to only get worse and he was a lot rougher.

Bill’s voice caused her to jump. “A nice healthy snack for the movie, eh?”

Emma stiffened a little, grabbing the second apple to chop. “Katie wanted it, since there’s going to be popcorn.”

He was walking closer, she could tell by his footsteps. “You know, you really should start calling us Mom and Dad. Betsy says that the adoption shouldn’t take too long to formalize.”

His hands wrapped around her waist and Emma swallowed, hard, her hand shaking.

“The boys are in the other room,” she whispered, meekly.

“There’s never a wrong time for a lesson.” His cold hand started playing with the strings on her sweatpants. “Come on, Em. We all know you like it.”

“Stop it,” she said, unsure of where the firmness in the voice was coming. Maybe it was because she knew that he couldn’t hit her with the boys so close, but she was finally finding her voice. “I want you to leave me alone.”

“Oh, is that right?” He grabbed hold of her hair and put a hand over her mouth so she wouldn’t scream out in pain. “So, you need to be reminded of who the adult around here is, do you?”

He turned her around by her hair and the next few moments were all a blur for Emma. She thrusted the knife forward and due to their height difference, it ended up in his stomach. He toppled backwards and Emma’s eyes widened, realizing what she had just done. He looked at her with wide eyes of his own, clearly unsure of what to say or do. He collapsed into a chair and Emma ran towards him, pulling the knife out.

Two gasps came from the kitchen and she spun around to find her foster brothers standing there. Max started screaming and bolted from the room. Zack stared at Emma, looking at her as if he had seen a ghost.

“What did you do?” He asked.

“I…I didn’t…”

“Call 9-1-1!” Bill barked at his son. “Make sure they know that Emma did it!”

Emma wanted to argue, but she couldn’t. She had stabbed him. It all happened so fast, but she had indeed stabbed him. What if he died? Oh my God, forget finding a forever family, she was never going to see the light of day again.

Zack disappeared from the room and Max’s screams could still be heard from the den. Emma just stood there, awestruck. Eventually, the front door opened and shut. Bill was doubled over in pain, the blood seeping through his grey polo. Katie walked in and looked between the two of them. Emma realized the knife was still in her hand and that blood was on her fingers.

Bill’s blood.

“Katie,” she whispered.

But Katie wouldn’t look at her. She grabbed paper towels and began applying pressure to the wound. Bill filled her in on the situation, completing changing the story. It would be the same one he’d tell the police and the judge. He had come in the kitchen and asked Emma if she needed help with snacks. She flipped out on him and they got into a verbal altercation. When he grounded her, she stabbed him.

Emma found herself unable to say a thing. She had dropped the knife, but stood in shock. It was as if she were watching a movie, everything was happening to her, rather than her doing anything about it. Another few minutes later, the sounds of sirens replaced Max’s screams. She heard footsteps and the wheeling of something. The paramedics assessed Bill before whisking him away. Katie chased after them, leaving Emma alone.

That didn’t last very long. Before she could blink, an officer was in the room. “Emma Swan?” She asked.

Emma slowly nodded. “Yes.”

“Your foster brother told us that it was you that stabbed your foster father.”

“I…I…”

The officer looked at her blood stained hands and the matching knife nearby. “I’m going to advise that you wait for a court appointed attorney to show up. Miss Swan, please turn around.”

The next few weeks were a total blur for Emma. She could barely remember being escorted to the squad car with all the neighbors watching. There was something vague about being brought to an interrogation room and another cop coming in. At one point, she asked about the attorney the first officer had promised her, but that was ignored. Eventually, she was signing a piece of paper that she didn’t quite understand. She had explained what she had done and why, but no one seemed to care about the latter. She was processed and brought to juvenile hall.

It was cold, loud. There was a strip search that she did her best to block out. The food tasted disgusting and the girls made fun of her for being the youngest. A lot of it wouldn’t be what she’d remember for years to come. No, that was the trial. She sat before a judge and explained her side of the story. The true side. Bill and Kate stood, telling a bunch of lies. They said she was wild, constantly sneaking out and breaking curfew. Kate added that she had gotten physical with them in the past and they knew it was a matter of time.

Just as Bill had once threatened, no one believed her.

Emma was sentenced to 2 years in juvenile hall. She took the advice of her counselor and kept her head down. She didn’t talk to anyone unless absolutely necessary. She did her chores and went to her group therapy. The other girls teased her for being a kiss ass, but she avoided them, even if it got her beaten. It was almost as if she was desentized to all of it. She was going to serve her time and get out of it.

One day as she walked the yard during the rec period, she heard the frantic sound of someone from behind her. She paused and found a frizzy haired brunette racing behind her, juggling a bunch of files.

“Yes?” She asked.

“You’re Emma Swan, right?”

Emma gestured to her badge. “Yeah.”

“Astrid Rosa,” she stuck out her hand, nearly dropping her files in the process.

Emma hesitantly shook hands with her. “Are you my new counselor?”

“No, your new social worker. Your file came across my desk this morning and I was looking things over. I think we can get you out of here.”

“I still have another year and a half.”

“You’re supposed to, but it seems like they messed up when they were interviewing you. I read the transcripts of your interrogation and you ask for an attorney several times, but the officer dodged it.”

Emma shrugged. “So?”

“So, that’s illegal, Emma. You had every right to have legal counsel when you spoke to them. You’re also a minor, you cannot sign anything without an adult present, which I see they also had you do.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“All of this means that your case will be thrown out by a judge. The justice system unfortunately isn’t always perfect, but it does mean that you’re going to be out of here. I’m going to be lining up a new foster home for you within the coming weeks.”

Emma stared at this woman as if she were her fairy godmother. Before, Betsy had made it seem like she’d transition from juvie to a high security group home. Here, Astrid was promising her a new foster home, a way out of this place. It took all she had not to throw her arms around her.

Present Day

Astrid was the first social worker that Emma could see actually try to fight for her. She knew others in the past had been overworked and done their best, but Betsy had barely done her due diligence when it came to finding her good homes. Astrid listened to Emma, she believed in her. She never lied to Emma and made sure she was aware that with her record, it’d be a challenge, but she always did her best. She even got Emma into counselling for what had been done to her. It wasn’t a magical fix, but it was a start to trying to forget everything.

Then Mary Margaret just had to find out about her past.

Emma wasn’t surprised that Katie had lied to Mary Margaret. If she had lied in front of a judge, why wouldn’t she before Emma’s mother? It wasn’t that, it was the fact that Mary Margaret had believed all of it without talking to her first. How had they even found out about her past? Astrid had promised to leave that out when she spoke to them.

She knew that she could go to Lily or Elsa’s, but then she’d have to explain what happened and she didn’t want to talk about it. There was no doubt that Mary Margaret had told David, so he was out. In Boston, if Emma wanted to run away, it was easy. There were so many places to hide out. She knew the city very well.

Storybrooke was smaller and yet, she knew nothing about it.

David pulled up in front of Mary Margaret’s apartment building, texting her that he was there. She raced out of the door just moments later, almost as if she had been waiting in the lobby. Mary Margaret slid into the passenger seat, practically slamming the door behind her.

“She said she was going to Lily’s, so I called Mal Page, but she said she wasn’t there,” Mary Margaret explained, her voice sounding frantic. “I don’t know where else she would go.”

“I told Killian to text me if she shows up at my place. Maybe we should check my moms’?”

“That’d be a good idea.” Mary Margaret ran her fingers through her hair as David pulled away. “God, I was so fucking stupid.”

“Deep breaths. Just explain to me what happened a little better. You found out she has a record?”

“She spent 6 months in juvie for simple assault.”

David arched an eyebrow. That didn’t sound like Emma at all, but then again, he didn’t know her very well. “That doesn’t make much sense. Emma doesn’t seem violent.”

“I know. So I went to the victim’s house…”

“You did what?!?”

“I just needed answers. The woman there says that she and her husband fostered Emma for 6 months. One night, Emma stabbed the husband.”

“Did you try to talk to Emma about it?”

“Yes, but I didn’t go about it the right way. I was just so upset about her not coming to us about it and I flipped out a little.”

“And you didn’t think to call me about this?”

Mary Margaret looked over at him, her mouth dropping a bit. “David…”

“I’m her parent too, Mary Margaret. You don’t think I’d want to review the files and try to look into things? I’m a lawyer, I have more access to this stuff than you do,” he felt his body tensing up a bit. “I know you planned on being a single mom when you were pregnant, but you’re not. You can’t just find this stuff out and only call me when the shit hits the fan.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to do that. My boss did a background check on her and I just went into Mama Bear mode, I didn’t even think to call you.” She cleared her throat, raising her voice a bit. “I should’ve though, I am so sorry.”

An apology sounded weird coming from Mary Margaret. Heaven knew that David owed her enough of those for how he handled her pregnancy. She hadn’t done anything to hurt him. This was probably the first time he could think of her really screwing up. Sure, that probably wasn’t true, but it was a new side to her. A new, human side.

“I understand,” he said, softening a bit. “I don’t know how I would’ve handled the whole thing either.”

“You seem to have better ideas than I do.” She was quiet for a minute. “The foster family seemed to be really close with Emma. She wrote them cards saying she loved them, there were so many family photos.”

“Those can be deceiving.” He remembered his own forced ones back before his father died. Robert screaming at them until they got the exact right pose in the Sears photo studio.

“True.” From the look on her face, Mary Margaret was thinking about her own past.

“Look, we don’t know where Emma went, but there’s not exactly a lot of trouble she could get into right now. How about I call her and tell her to meet us at my office? While we wait, I’ll look into this some more.”

“That’s not a bad idea.”

“You sound surprised.”

“I guess I’m still not used to this responsible David Nolan.”

David winced, but didn’t say anything in response. A part of him knew he deserved that.

A few minutes later, he pulled up in front of Spencer Law. He took his phone out and dialed Emma’s number. David wasn’t at all surprised when he got her voicemail after just two rings.

“Emma, it’s David. Look, I know you’re upset right now, but you need to know that we’re not mad at you. We love you so much and we just want to talk it out. Please call us back and I’ll come get you or you can come to me. I’m at my office, Spencer Law. On the corner of Mansel and Redwood. Please, just call me back.”

He hung up and lead Mary Margaret up the stairs to his office. Luckily, his uncle was away on business and there was no chance of running into him. He still hadn’t quite explained the Emma situation to him. Not because he was ashamed, but because he tried to tell Albert as little as possible about his personal life. Robert had been an abusive drunk, Albert was a controlling functional alcoholic. David longed for the day he could switch to a new firm, but at the moment, it was the job that was going to give him the most money. Considering he had a teenager to think of, there was no way he could quit then.

David opened the door to his office and Mary Margaret followed him inside, pulling a chair besides his own so they could both look at the computer. She spotted a picture of Emma on the desk and softly smiled.

“I already have one in my dressing room, too,” she said.

“It just seems like the parent thing to do,” David replied as he logged in.

He went through his different resources and soon was able to obtain the transcripts from Emma’s trial. He read through Bill and Katie’s statements first, before moving onto Emma’s. The story she laid out made both his stomach turn and his muscles tighten. He didn’t even notice Mary Margaret’s reaction, he was just so sick to his stomach at the thought of what Bill had done to his little girl.

“That man doesn’t deserve to be alive, let alone walking free,” he growled.

A part of him wanted to ask Mary Margaret for the address and track this SOB down, but the lawyer in him told him that it wasn’t going to help Emma. He knew that even if Emma had been found guilty, that at the very least, Bill wouldn’t be permitted to foster anymore. At the very least, he wouldn’t be able to hurt another foster child. It was just a shame that he had his biological children in his custody. David didn’t know if he abused them too, but if Katie was willing to lie for him over Emma, there was a chance that she’d never stand up for her own children. He also knew that she was potentially a victim of domestic violence herself.

How could he not have stuck by Mary Margaret’s side? Then Emma never would’ve ended up in such a situation. Rationally, he knew that it wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t been the one to hurt her and most foster parents were good people. Bill should’ve known better. Even so, as her father, David felt the urge to protect her and he had ultimately failed.

He looked down at Mary Margaret and saw the tears that were streaming down her face, her hand was clapped over her mouth. David touched her arm and she pulled away, jumping up. She ran to the corner of the room, hyperventilating. It took a minute for him to realize that she was having a panic attack. James had them occasionally after the accident. His therapist had taught David and Ruth how to help him through them. David knew that every person was different, but it was worth a shot.

David didn’t touch her, instead, he stood next to her. “Mary Margaret, I need you to start doing jumping jacks.” She looked up at him as if he were on drugs. “I know it sounds crazy, just do it.” Her hyperventilating continued and he shook his head. “Just trust me.”

Eventually, Mary Margaret started doing them. She looked so confused in the beginning, then slowly but surely her breathing became even again. She lowered herself down the wall and he crouched in front of her.

“How did you learn that?” She asked, tears still falling.

“My mom and I learned to help my brother. He has PTSD from an accident.” David waved that off, this wasn’t about James. “Clearly there’s something going on with you.”

“I just found out my daughter was assaulted.”

“So did I, and it didn’t make me have a panic attack. There’s more going on there, Mare.”

“I didn’t realize you became a therapist.”

“No, but I’m a lawyer. It’s my job to read people.”

Mary Margaret tipped her head back. “I put her with a family that wasn’t supposed to hurt her. They were good people. No record. They weren’t going to hurt her.”

“And they didn’t. You couldn’t predict what they’d do, nor that she’d end up with that asshole.”

“She wasn’t supposed to end up like me!”

David’s eyes widened. Was she saying…no. Leopold was an asshole and he had hurt Mary Margaret when she got pregnant, but he just assumed it was in the heat of the moment. She hadn’t…no…

“What is that supposed to mean?” He asked, softly.

Mary Margaret’s lips trembled. “My dad would beat me and Regina. It was really, really bad. When she left, he got mad, because I had helped her. He told me…he told me that I had to make up for that…” She covered her face with her hands.

David’s muscles hadn’t untensed from when he read about Emma, but now they felt as though they were going to pop out of his sockets. He sunk completely to the floor and he pulled her into his arms. She collapsed, allowing herself to sob into his shoulder. He cradled the back of her head, kissing the top of her head.

“You didn’t deserve that, Mary Margaret,” he whispered. “You definitely didn’t.”

She didn’t respond, she just clung to him. David rest his chin atop her dark pixie cut. As his glassy eyes looked out to his office, he saw Emma standing there. Her backpack was dropped to the ground by her feet and she looked as shocked as he felt.

This probably wasn’t how Mary Margaret had expected Emma to find out about this.

#life unexpected verse #tw; abuse #snowing #snowing au #charming family #charming family au #daddy charming #daddy charming au #mama snow #mama snow au

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freedom-shamrock · 7 years ago

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BAMF Mari #6 - Chat’s Cradle

Also on AO3 #1 Princess Chat #2 Snack Chat #3 Scalded Chat #4 Chat Ice #5 Chat’s Paw #6 Chat’s Cradle #7 Chataplexy #8 Chatatonic #9 Chatalyst #10 Chat Nap #11 Chatcall #12 Chatachresis #13 Cat’s Pajamas

Adrien found his afternoon classes a breeze compared to the morning. As long as Marinette continued to issue commands, he was able to sit in her shadow without becoming a puddle of his former cool and collected self. She was surprisingly adept at working her orders into casual conversation, and she seemed to know exactly when he was losing focus and needed the boost… or whatever it was. After Chloe accused her of being a bossysaurus-rex, she switched to leaning onto her desk and whispering in his ear. The warmth of her breath stirring his hair as her soft voice gave him the direction he needed, filled him with happiness and the desire to make her proud.

He should probably avoid telling Plagg about that.

As they waited for their last teacher of the day, Adrien turned halfway in his seat, feeling at relative peace as he watched Marinette field Alya's questions for the Ladyblog.

"Are you aiming to step into the role of backup for Ladybug and Chat Noir?" Alya asked, arching one eyebrow as she eyed her best friend.

"Me?" Marinette asked. "Psssht. I think not." Her giggles were adorable. "You know I'm a complete klutz. I definitely do not belong on rooftops."

Adrien frowned. While she would make an amazing superhero, he really didn't like to think of her in that kind of danger.

"And what do you think of Chat Noir, now that you've spent time with him, hmm?" Alya winked, grinning with mischief. "He and Ladybug have always insisted they're just friends."

Marinette nodded, looking a little nervous about this particular angle.

"Are you the real reason our heroes haven't hooked up?" Alya asked, leaping to the related question before her friend could answer. "Has Marichat always stood in the way of Ladynoir?"

"What?" Marinette's eyes were huge as she gawked at Alya. "No-no-no. Of course not." She burst out laughing. "Chat and I aren't dating." She waved her hands frantically. "I made him lunch, because he's far too light… have you ever noticed how thin he is?" It was a beautiful deflection.

"Sounds like a date to me," Chloe said, crossing the aisle to join in the conversation. "Though Alya, I suspect it's a new thing. Look how blushy she is."

Alya made a point to look over Marinette's pink tinged cheeks. "I hate to admit it, but Chloe's got a good point." She shrugged.

"Honestly, Alya, I can't believe you haven't realized why Ladybug and Chat Noir haven't gotten together." Chloe sniffed disdainfully. She'd gotten much less nasty the last few years, but she still wasn't particularly nice. "She's obviously not into guys."

Adrien stared at Chloe in shock. To be fair, it had never occurred to him, but then he brushed it off. There'd been a boy at her school she liked. But as that was a Chat-known fact, he couldn't exactly point it out.

"Uhhh…" Marinette mumbled.

"Nuh uh," Nino interrupted. "I saw the way Ladybug looked at my bro here, on more than one occasion, I might add." He beamed as he lightly punched Adrien's shoulder. "She's definitely got an eye for some nice man candy."

"I've always thought she was bi," Marinette blurted.

Alya giggled. "Sure sweetie. You see everyone with stereoscopic bisexual vision."

"Hey Agreste," Kim said, stepping closer to Adrien. "We still on for after school?"

Adrien thought for a moment and nodded. He'd been so scrambled by Marinette's presence he'd nearly forgotten it was weight training day. He'd started lifting with Kim as an excuse for why he'd gotten so much more toned and strong in the last year. Fortunately, his Chat Noir activities hadn't given him a weight lifter's form; his musculature followed the lithe lean pattern of a cat, so his father approved.

Kim slapped his hands down on Marinette's table, pulling her away from Alya's interrogation. "And DC, you want to join me and Mr. Model Behavior for weight lifting today?"

She looked surprised by the invitation. "Me?"

Kim smirked. "You've been holding out on us Mair-bear, and that video made me want to see what you're really made of."

There was a moment of silence before several voices chimed in together. "Ooooooh!"

Marinette glanced at Adrien and he beamed at her. Kim's request had awakened a need he hadn't even been aware of. Just how strong was his sweet princess?"

"Adrien." God. He would never tire of hearing her say his name in that firm but caring way. How were those things even compatible? He had no idea. She leaned forward to rest a hand on his shoulder, apparently concerned by his lack of response. "Adrien," she said again.

"Yes, Mari?" he responded, stupidly proud to have gotten two words out. It was best not to think about how her pleased smile made him feel.

"Do you want me to come to the weight room with you guys?" She was so perfect. Making sure he was okay before committing.

He nodded eagerly. "Very much yes."

"All right." She shrugged. "I'll meet you guys there. I have to run home for workout clothes."

Adrien and Kim were already changed and stretching when Marinette popped her head in to the weight room, a small duffel hooked on her arm. "I'll be right in." She flashed him a smile before ducking back into the locker room."

Kim chuckled, and when Adrien looked up, his friend's grin could only be described as smug. "About time," he teased.

Adrien puzzled for a moment. Kim wasn't usually cryptic. "For what?"

Kim shook his head slowly. "You've been captain oblivious for years, dude. It's good to see you've finally gotten with the program."

"Uhmmmmm… okay?" Adrien replied uncertainly. What program?

"It just took seeing Mair-bear at her most BAMF," Kim continued, "for you to see past your crush on Ladybug."

"What?" Adrien goggled at his friend. Was that what had happened?

"Don't get me wrong," Kim said, holding up one hand. "I appreciate the draw of a strong woman." He winked. "But it's the sweet ones who look like they couldn't hurt a mouse, but can also toss around forty pound sacks of flour like they're nothing that'll really get you."

Adrien thought for a moment. Kim had a point, but he wasn't entirely sure he went along with the reasoning. "She can toss sacks of flour? Is that how she got so strong?"

Kim shrugged and turned to start adding weight to his bar. "She's always been stronger than she looks, and I've seen her unloading delivery trucks with her dad. They make a game out of seeing who can carry more, and throwing them at each other."

Adrien couldn't imagine his father turning any part of his job into a game. The very idea nearly made him laugh. Marinette came in then, making him suck in a ridiculous amount of air in response. She wore the snug shorts and athletic tank top of a dancer, both black with neon green piping. He wondered if it would be too weird to ask her to push him up against a wall. She'd taken his other admittedly odd request completely in stride. He wheezed, looking away as his cheeks went hot.

"Oh goodness," Marinette said, and suddenly her hand was on his arm, her warm skin touching his. "Are you okay?"

Adrien nodded, bringing up a fist to bang on his chest as he coughed. "Yeah. Wreathed brong… breathed wrong."

Kim snickered, but continued weighting his bar.

"Do you have like a routine or regular order of things here?" she asked, looking around the room. "I'd hate to mess with a flow that works for you guys."

"Naah," Kim assured her. "Nothing that formal. We try to have most our time split between lower and upper body, but we switch around whenever." He patted the barbell. "This is our usual warm up weight. You good to give it a shot?"

Marinette glanced at the weights and nodded. "One of you should go first though," she suggested. "I don't usually do actual weights, so I want to see the proper form. And I need to warm up a bit anyway."

Kim nodded and gestured for Adrien to take the bench. "Model Behavior, here, is a stickler for form, so he's the one to watch. I'll spot."

They all took turns with the warm up weight, Marinette managing it as easily as Adrien and Kim. Though they had a rotation, Kim got out of spotting by prepping the next set of weights each cycle. They'd passed Kim's max bench weight and were closing in on Adrien's, though Mari didn't seem at all slowed down.

"You're a powerhouse, Mair-bear," Kim said as he switched out the weights for them.

Marinette moved into spotting position and looked down into Adrien's eyes. He lowered the bar, lightly touching his chest before raising his arms back up. His biceps started to burn as he worked through the set.

"You've got this," Marinette assured him, holding his gaze with her own. "Just two more. Aaand one more."

"Ugh," Adrien muttered as he settled the bar back on its stand.

"Great job!" Marinette assured him, quickly sliding into the place he vacated on the bench.

He grinned stupidly at her as he watched her get ready, belatedly realizing he needed to move into position to spot her. Not like she needed him. For the next set, usually Adrien's stopping point, he managed a full set of ten, with Marinette's encouragement.

"Nice!" Kim said, grinning enthusiastically. "I've been trying to get him past that milestone for weeks. Clearly I wasn't the correct motivator."

"Thanks Mari," Adrien said, shaking out his arms as she got ready for her turn. "You're a great coach."

When she'd finished, without hesitation, Kim added more weight and gestured for Adrien to give it a shot. "You only need to lift it once, and then it's your new max weight, dude. I know you can do it."

With a deep breath, Adrien lay back on the bench, the cushion giving a little under his head. He reached up for the bar and opened his eyes, his field suddenly filled with the most perfect blue. He could see her faith in him in her eyes, and he was certain he could do this if only she believed in him.

"You've got this," she murmured. "Nice slow breath in, now. And up with it."

He eased it off the stand, holding it for a moment before lowering it. He got it to his chest then back up a few inches before his arms started to balk at the weight.

"C'mon, Adrien." She held her hands over the bar. "Give it to me."

"Nngggh!" The boost he got from obeying her was just enough for him to power through. He managed to push the bar into her hands, and she directed it back to the stand.

"You did it! I knew you could." She reached down and brushed two fingers against his cheek. "You're amazing. Did you know that?"

He stared up at her, looking so pleased with him, praising and touching him. He felt so perfect in that moment, warm and loved. He opened his mouth to thank her. "Bench me." She froze with a tiny gasp, and he realized what he'd said.

There was a thump behind her, and Adrien glanced over to see Kim sprawled on the weight room's floor, laughing hysterically.

Most of this series has been written during lulls in volunteer time, and this one follows that pattern. I wrote a large portion of this by the red light of a headlamp, between 4:30 and 5:30 am, tucked into a military grade sleeping bag, in a cabin with no heat, while chaperoning a Girl Scout trip. I've currently got one more piece in this world planned, though I'd like something to come between this one and that one.

Tagging @frostymoon11 and @starfirette as promised for the continuation.

#Miraculous ladybug #fanfic #my writing #BAMF Mari #mlfluffiction

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imagining-supernatural · 7 years ago

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12x20: Twigs & Twine & Tasha Banes

Aubrey’s Challenge: Write a fic about each episode in season 12.

Word Count: 1371

Version en Español – PREVIOUS EPISODE

Dean was speechless. He had no words. He couldn’t figure out how he was even feeling. He just stared at you as his mind short-circuited.

“I know,” you mumbled, glancing away and rubbing at the back of your neck. “That’s how I felt when I found out too.”

“How, how, how, how long? I mean, how long have you known? Obviously, I know how long—” he motioned to the space between you two. “I just…”

“Three days ago.”

He blew out a long breath and threaded his fingers behind his head, taking a few steps away and looking up at the ceiling.

“I know, Dean. Trust me, I know. This is a lot, it’s bad timing, it’s… nothing either of us thought would ever happen. I’ve spent the last three days going through every option, every course of action… I’ve done research and I just—I nearly didn’t tell you because of everything with Cas and Kelly and Lucifer and…”

At that, he looked at you again with wide eyes. “You nearly didn’t tell me? How were you planning on going about that?”

You just shrugged tensely. “There are options. Like I said, I’ve considered every possibility. But even with everything going on and everything else you’re dealing with, I couldn’t make a decision without you. You deserve to know.”

Sinking down onto the bed, Dean covered his face with his arm. “Fuck, Y/N.”

“That’s what got us into this situation in the first place.”

Your joke lightened the mood momentarily, and Dean cracked a brief smile. Of course, in the next second, his smile disappeared as he resumed thinking about the bombshell you’d just dropped on him.

His musing was interrupted by Sam knocking on the door and slowly opening it. “Hey guys. I just got a call from Alicia. Banes.”

“Like Max and Alicia?” Dean asked, trying to rewire his brain away from your news.

“Yeah. She’s worried about their mom. Max didn’t seem too worried, but Alicia really was torn up. I said we’d head out and be backup in case they need it.”

Dean’s eyes shifted over to where you were leaning against his desk. You offered a half smile and shrugged. This really couldn’t have been worse timing. Dean needed a solid twelve hours and an entire liquor store to process everything that life was throwing at him right now. “Look, man, I don’t think this is the best time. I mean, Max and Alicia are good. I’m sure they don’t need us.”

“They wouldn’t have called if they didn’t,” you tossed in softly.

“Dean. Their mom’s on a hunting trip and hasn’t been home in a week.”

Sam’s words brought back memories of over a decade prior when Dean had yanked Sam back into the hunting life. He gave in. “All right. Let’s go.”

“You guys go ahead. I think two’s enough for backup on this one.”

Both brothers turned to look at you. Sam spoke first. “Really? You’re sitting a hunt out? You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I guess… I guess everything with Kelly and Daegon and Cas in the park took something out of me. I’ll just need a few days to rest and I’ll be good as new. But call if you need me to help with anything from here.”

That seemed to appease the younger Winchester and he headed out to go pack. Shrugging off the desk, you walked over to the door, pausing before you left his room.

“Dean,” You said, turning to him. “I’ve had a few days to get used to this. You head out and take your time. Wrap your head around it. We’ll, uh, we’ll talk when you get back.”

He nodded shallowly and watched you walk away. Before he started packing, he pulled out his phone and called his mom. She didn’t answer, as usual, so he left another message explaining about Max and Alicia and asking her to call back. But your words rang in his head, and he figured asking for some motherly advice couldn’t hurt, even if she wasn’t the normal mother.

“Um… and even if you can’t swing by, can you call me back? Just some stuff going down that’s… kind of got me spun out. Be good to talk to you.”

How many times had he checked his phone? Dean didn’t know. Was he hoping that you would call, or his mom would call? Once again, Dean didn’t know. Why was he looking at his phone for the fifth time in the last ten minutes?

Who knew?

“Expecting a call?” Tasha asked, taking a seat next to Dean.

“Oh.” No missed calls or messages. You were giving him space, and Mary… well who knew what Mary was doing? “Guess not.”

Max and Alicia’s sibling banter drew his attention. They were really some great people. “You know, I gotta say, you did a bang up job with those two.”

Raising a kid. Shit. What a terrifying thought.

Tasha scoffed. “You must be drunk.”

“Off of wine?” Dean’s chuckle died slowly. You got drunk off of wine. That was your go-to. God, you were such a light weight. Barely two glasses in and you were tipsy and handsy. Horny and a lightweight. Dean should have known from the very first night that you would be his downfall.

“Yeah, I did the best I could for Max and Alicia.”

“No,” he rushed to say, knowing she was just being humble. She did so much more than just the best she could. Someone who could raise two kids like Max and Alicia deserved to brag a little.

What kind of a father would Dean be?

“I got lucky.”

“I see how you are with them, all right? It’s good. You know, they’re—they’re happy.”

“Alicia said you grew up in the life.”

“Yeah.” And what a shitty childhood that was. “Yeah, my dad raised me and Sam to hunt.”

“And your mother?”

The mother that died when he was four? The mother who wouldn’t return his phone calls now? “That’s complicated.”

God, he didn’t have good parental role models. There was no way he would ever be able to be a good father. All he knew was hunting. That wasn’t the kind of life he wanted any kids to grow up in. Having his own kids never crossed his mind, but it seemed like he didn’t have much of a choice now.

“Yeah,” Tasha chuckled. “Family’s always complicated. Parents always seem smart and strong and perfect. It’s only when you grow up that you realize that they’re just people.”

And with that, Tasha left Dean to his own thoughts. Parents. It wasn’t just him. You were going through this same thing. You were going to be the mother of his child. His friend that he was always slightly in love with. The friend that would sometimes hookup with him on drunken nights. The friend that had seen him at his worst.

You were going to be a parent. With Dean.

How the hell was this going to work?

“Wh-what’s going on?”

Sam and Dean came barreling into the Bunker, startling you from where you were curled up on a couch in the library with a lore book.

“Mom’s in trouble,” Sam said shortly before disappearing down the hallway.

Dean looked after his brother before heading towards you and kneeling in front of the couch. “I’ll explain about mom in the car. And I promise we’ll have that talk the first chance we get. But until then, you’ve gotta be careful okay? More than usual.”

Your forehead creased. “Yeah, Dean. I know. Obviously, it’s not just me anymore—”

“Damn right it isn’t, sweetheart. It’s the three of us. You, me, and our baby. And until that little one pops, you’ve gotta be careful with yourself. We need all the help we can get right now, I feel like, so you’ve gotta come with us. But be careful, okay?”

Wide eyed and seeming unsure of what just happened, you nodded. “Yeah. Of course.”

“Great,” he grabbed your head and pressed his lips to your forehead for a long second before standing up. “Now get a move on. We’ve gotta hit the road.”

NEXT EPISODE

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cyrelia-j · 6 years ago

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[Fic] Me Tangere (Jack/Parmak)

Continuing with this since a bug kinda bit me on the pairing. Still for @borg-apologist who I want to give such massive undying thanks to for being so encouraging with this ridiculously self indulgent series. I don't normally do romance but I love this damn sappy over the top gooeyness of this universe and these characters.

Anyway, this is a sequel to Dear Jessie which is from Parmak's POV and can be found HERE

Note: This does feature C132 Parmak (Don’t know what that means? click HERE for the in depth but basically it’s an off canon version who’s different from traditional canon Parmak) and a LOT of headcanon made up stuff.

Summary: Ten years after moving to Cardassia Jack often finds himself reflecting on all the Good things in his life sure to keep his timers for them all. Two and a half kids, one Kelas, and a perfect morning in the garden, and he still can't quite believe it's all real.

Warnings: Fluff to the max, intersex Parmak who's pregnant in this story, talks of Jack's mental, impulse control, anxiety, augment issues, Jack's POV so it's very stream of conscious and Julian still doesn't come off too well because it's Jack's POV, past bad parenting and implied child abuse, Alternate Reality (mainly the same universe but averted Dominion War and some characters meeting under different circumstances), brief sexual content too

So if you wanted a sequel, here's your sequel :)

Juggling was one of the first things that he learned to do when he became aware that he was “different”. His father used to have all sorts of euphemisms that he would use aside from “different”. His father, his mother, any number of black and whites rushing around the busy house like one of the old gala scenes in the movies that he used to enjoy watching. His father would also say that juggling was a Supreme Waste (capitals!) of the gifts that he’d been given and Jack - Jack of all trades he liked to call himself using his middle name instead of the dull old John J”- said if the old man paid all that money he could do anything he wanted and if he didn’t sleep he’d have more time. The old man didn’t rightly have an answer to that one, Jack winning, counting the score down as he learned to juggle eleven knives at once by the time he was thirteen.

Time, time was something the old man used to rail about. Brevis tui tempu est his old man would drone at him while his mother smiled and told him to listen because the old bastard was very wise. He’d go on about a lot of things often, frequently, all the time Very Loudly until Jack started hiding from him considering the matter of time on one of the high branches of the old oaks where they couldn’t easily reach him; at least not until they cut every one of them down. Jack considered that mutants like him should live longer if anything. But the old man didn’t like his Truths contradicted firing decrees from behind the old mahogany desk like a God himself. That desk was huge, austere, like the old man himself all dark eyebrows, dark eyes, sometimes turning into some giant owl in his vision or morphing to The General telling how some animals were more equal than others.

Jack was more equal than others. Jack was special. Jack was the investment of a lifetime buy sell buy till the old man jumped out the window just like one of those old fat cats in the twentieth century. Didn’t jump so much as pushed but that wasn’t anyone’s business but Jack and God’s and there was no God so it was Jack’s and Jack’s alone, damn right! Ah, amend that amend that, his business was his bondmate’s business too. Bondmate, husband, jailer warden, ah no, Incorrect thought with a capital “I”. Those Incorrect thoughts are fewer and fewer nowadays. Correct thought: Kelas is… everything. Kelas, Jessie, Kiss, and-

“Focus.” Jack hears the child’s voice and looks down, seeing his oldest looking up at him and he sets down all four of the large pots he’s been juggling, one after the other onto the sand. Jessie is nearly five now and is old enough now that ze recognizes when Jack’s mind needs to be tugged back with a small cue; like now. Kelas taught zem that, his brilliant Jessie picking it up so quickly. Correction, he thinks as he looks over to Kelas kneeling in the sand next to Kiss (“Kiss” because Jessie couldn’t say “Kesya” when ze was first born) adding water to the white sand to make a castle little by little. Their child and Jack’s goddamn genius – is he or isn’t he a mutant little smirk ‘wouldn’t you like to know?’- bondmate is four months pregnant with their third. “Theirs”. That’s the correction that he makes. He’s gotten much better at those Johnny on the spot mental corrections since he met Kelas over ten years ago.

Kelas looks over at him and there’s this soft little smile, this look on his face that’s identical to the one he gave him in the Replimat the day they met, when Jack said he was blind and that Cardassia needed better optometrists if he couldn’t tell the difference between Jack and Julian with those spectacles and... shit... God there’s no God, no proof for God except that smile. Jack had yelled at him with a jump off the table and Kelas had just laughed and then Jack was right there in his face and he’d stopped and looked down because he was just a little taller than Jack but he could see that Kelas was looking at him not afraid but like somehow Jack’s outburst was the most amazing thing he’d ever seen… I love you the more in that I believe you had liked me for my own sake and for nothing else. No, that’s Keats, not God Jesus, Mary, and Joseph same difference!

Jack thrives on the exercise he gets in that sprawling sand garden, succulents and other desert plants like one of the Zen gardens he’s seen pictures of making it a magical place like falling through a looking glass and finding the gardens of Ginkaku-ji on the other end instead of Underland. Well missing most of the coveted trees but he and Kelas and their family have spent years building it beautiful and art brought to life any why couldn’t the old man pay for some natural artistic painting enhancement because he can speak every language he tries to learn but he can’t capture Kelas or his children in more than memories. Ah right, because life isn’t perfect and if it was it would be dull and Jack is Absolutely not dull. He’s the Best Daddy as Jessie says and Kiss repeats and their children aren’t liars so that’s that. Every morning he’s out here barefoot in his loose trousers -how novel is that for him of all people not to be wearing a shirt?- with katas, with tumbles, sweat drenched before the sun is too high and his pale skin in has to be doused and drenched in sunscreen. Jack hatessunscreen.

He usually walks around the city with his big black UV umbrella.

Sometimes Jessie likes to drag the rake through the sand to make the patterns in the sand of the shared garden; this one is more secluded, closer to their modest dwelling than the others. Sometimes ze and Kiss fight over the rake; sometimes Jack joins in too though more often than not Kelas thwaps his shoulder with a book and tells him playfully to behave. Kelas will raise the big tome kissing him long and sweetly behind it, those full lips begging to be bitten ‘til they’re flushed dark gray, It’s one of many games they like to play, kissing until one or both kids yell “Aha!” declaring they’ve been spotted. They laugh when the book lowers and Jack is red and Kelas is just beaming with his glasses half askew. They have endless ridiculous little games they play and Jack is always amazed by how Good this is. Jack doesn’t remember his parents ever… doesn’t remember old George and Martha ever… old swampy ever being anything but cold to each other snip snap at the table clattering spoons and little presses of napkins to mouths.

“Right here, Jessie Jess mmhm. Your turn?” he asks going to one knee, letting himself be knocked backwards when ze yells “yes!” because they’re outdoors and outdoors they can be loud as they want. He gives a good dramatic death yell as his back hits the ground, holding his baby close a moment as he falls. Almost five, Jessie always corrects him, not a baby, Four years nine months nine days ten hours five minutes three seconds... and Jack watches his mouth, ensuring that any kisses are Cardassian presses of two quick fingers – index and middle – to each other. Things around his mouth make Jack anxious because he wants to nip and that leads to gnawing, to biting and that’s only acceptable if it’s Kelas.

Sometimes Kiss or Jessie will give him little nips to the rings on his fingers to show affection and he… doesn’t know how he feels about that because it’s special and theirs but it’s not typical as Bashir says with those castigating hidden expressions that he thinks that Jack can’t see just like he says it isn’t healthy for them to see the marks and the blood when he and Kelas kiss hard but they don’t get upset, they only laugh at how silly yadek and his red mouth look and… and Jack is Careful, always careful with the two of them because he would sooner die than hurt them and Kelas will tell him that he’s too most conscientious delicate and it isn’t necessary to self-flagellate and if he doesn’t knock it off he’s going to start calling him “Dimmesdale” which is absurd because Kelas is no Hester Prynne in any sense of the character and he should understand that it absolutely is necessary to be careful because he broke too many children when he was a child even if he didn’t mean it and-

“Focus.” Jessie repeats, this time with a tap to his nose giving him a terribly weighty look; Jessie takes “helping daddy fix his head” very seriously. Jack blinks and nods. That’s a very serious second warning there!

“Right! We’re going upside down today hm hm?” Jessie nods excited, scampering off him, jumping at Jack the moment he stands back up. Jack catches zem easily around the waist, his baby a little monkey climbing up his shoulders. The air on Cardassia brings him alive even if it is warmer than he’s used to. Kelas says with a face, a precious Kelas face that he makes when something irritates him - cute, so cute will always be adorable a hundred two hundred, Jack doesn’t care - that the air of Nokar is the purest most amazing smell. He knows that Kelas still thinks about going back, away from Central, away from the southern continents to the Steppe, to the cold and Jack thinks it’s the funniest thing that a Cardassian would long for the cold but he understands it’s so much more than that.

Kelas is a misfit, a mutant too but a damn perfect one and Jack will fight anyone who disagrees.

But for all the stares and the whispers - which he can hear, always hear with his enhanced hearing - Jack has never found a place more of a home than on Cardassia Prime. Bashir, passing normal Federation mutt, Bashir asked him if he didn’t miss all the comforts of the Federation, the food, the culture, the people who didn’t glare or condescend and a list that went on and Jack had an epiphany. It was brilliant. He wrote it down he was pleased, he read it to Kelas, he read it to Lauren and Patrick and Sarina and a full audience around an evening bonfire to cheers and chirps in fact. Bashir wasn’t a mutant passing as normal, he was a basic passing as One of Them. Jack didn’t read it to Bashir because Bashir wouldn’t get it and the hell with him anyway! Jack didn’t have a lifetime of Federation comforts. He had a prison, he had walls and bars and “do this do that step jump sit behave be Normal!” He had a lifetime of people backing away from him making the sign of the damn cross and ha joke’s on them, mutants aren’t vampires and he could still bite throats out no matter how much garlic they used!

Jack grins big, wide, toothy, vicious as he wants when he looks at his children, when he looks at his Kelas and there’s nothing, no drug, no “Federation comforts” no religion, nothing that could ever bring him the high that their fearless answering smiles brings him. He walks through the streets with every damn one of these Cardassian Morlocks meeting him with a level stare, a sneer, a challenge to prove that he’s their equal. They challenge him when he recites his poetry. They aren’t afraid to shove at him in the crowded markets. They’re not afraid of confrontation, they revel in it, every Sunday morning Jack going into the city to argue with the same old woman selling flowers about every damn thing in the world and no shrinking back when he’s loud, no “shut up” no “behave” no belts no smacks to the mouth nothing but the same irritated arguments that they fling at each other.

Jack keeps grinning like a damn idiot as he looks up, feeling Jessie putting small hands in his ready to be raised up to the top of Mount Parnassus to meet the fabled muses. Jack can see a bit of a tremble of zes arms, but he shouts encouragement, a babbling string at his little hatchling - Kelas says “hatchling” though not properly hatched but that’s pedantic so shut up Jack! - turns himself upside down, holding a count of five before ze flops, Jack catching zem easily, the both of them laughing. It’s a life he never dreamed that he could have and no amount of holofeeds of the “successful augment doctor” like old technicolor popcorn matinee propaganda reels could ever convince him that he and that stupid smiling thing would ever be the same. As long as he lives, Julian will never know what it’s like to have people afraid of him and fuck him anyway. The sharp sound of a clap catches his sensitive ears, head jerking, that instinct relaxing in a split second seeing Kelas applauding him.

Applause isn’t a Cardassian custom, occasionally chirrups or a stamp of feet signify massive approval but Kelas thought the gesture was novel when he learned of it and Jack sees Kiss following along after him when he sets Jessie down. His children love “doing acrobatics with Daddy” and he’s just in awe of how far ahead their development is without being augmented. He teaches the children in their little community they’ve built too and he’s not just biased when he says that Kiss and Jessie are the best of the excitable lot.

“That’s my Jessie Jess hm! Shoot off the guns like Buffalo Bill! There’s a cowboy hm hm! We’ll have you swallowing swords for Emperor Wu mmhm!”

“Ze’s going to be a doctor!” Kelas calls out emphatically with that irritated face.

“Then an acrobat doctor hm. Think if the money you’d pull in adding a few flips to your routine hm. Climb that Bashir beanstalk like a diving board hm hm hop skip splash!”

“Splash!” That’s from Kiss before diving into the half-finished sand castle an explosion of wet sand everywhere on both zem and Kelas. Kelas laughs even as he spits out a mouthful of sand.

“Ah, right, definitely sticking with my usual practice, I think,” he says brushing sand from his lap.

Jack is sure that his face hurts from smiling, Jessie running past him bowling clear into the mess, into Kiss with a yell of “Splash!” the two tumbling around with their little growls play fighting, a little tinkling of beads reaching his ears too as they clank together. Jessie is slim, all limbs like Kelas, a wiry little worm as the two of them wrestle. It seems that Kiss will take after him, stockier, strong - nearly as strong as Jessie at three years six months fifteen days five hours nineteen minutes three seconds. His head is a constant count of every moment of their lives because every atomic second passing by is one that he wants to be thankful for. Kelas suggested that when he told him about the constant numbers and figures and unwanted thought intrusions that he might fill the space with everything positive in his life that he wants to track instead- fill his head so full to bursting that there isn’t room for anything else. So he does.

His head is full of clocks of all colors, shapes, appearance, a clock to count his children’s’ ages, to track the time since he and Kelas met, the time since number three (working title “Seska” still in progress”) was conceived, the time since the community where they live was completed, the time since their petition was approved for Lauren, Patrick, and Sarina to be remanded to their care (take that Nursed Ratched!), and at least half a dozen other events, tracking, counting, numbers flashing but these are Good numbers. Good numbers, good thoughts, his mind is usually a jumble of thoughts, numbers, followed by blinking impulses, little hands that pull at his limbs, his arms and legs, his mouth and make his body sometimes act outside his thoughts. It’s those impulses that he knows make Bashir say that he’s unpredictable and Dangerous and sometimes those thoughts intrude and lock him still afraid to act at all until he can pull himself out of it.

He has one now but it’s not a violent one. He hasn’t had a violent one in years and that one had a very specific trigger. That one was Elim Garak and wasn’t his fault no matter what Bashir said. That was one of the worst ones. That was one of the last ones and Not His Fault! It was Garak. It was Garak’s fault and Jack hates that Bashir thinks it’s some alpha male posturing poppycock that’s completely beneath him but according to Kelas it’s not on his place to speak to Bashir on the wicked devil that he takes to his bed. (Le Démon ! - c'est un Démon, vous savez, ce n'est pas un homme.-that’s Rimbaud predicting the wicked Morlock centuries in advance!). Anyone who scares his Kelas like that… anyone who causes his Kelas to flinch like that, anyone who makes that flash of fear cloud over his eyes is a devil no ifs and or buts and they’re dead!

The first time that he saw Kelas look at Garak, stop, panic, swallow and nearly take a step back terrified he lost it. Jack blanked out. He didn’t think at all. His hand was already moving for Garak’s throat by the time Bashir had tackled him because Bashir wasn’t as fast as him or as strong as him and if it wasn’t for Kelas asking him softly to please forgive it they’d see just how dangerous an augment that he was because no one including him hurts the family he went through hell to have. They used to tell him that he didn’t have empathy, that he was a monster incapable of understanding other people and he almost, almost believed them, but if Frankenstein’s creature wasn’t a monster, if Jack could weep silently, his head buried in Kelas’ lap when Kelas told him softly what Garak’s old iron monkey on his back, what his old man had done that had made him have that fear then he... no... no bad thoughts, not now. This is a Good place and a Good day and those thoughts are banished.

When Jack has that unconscious impulse now it’s to join in that raucous and he turns to Kelas, seeing him shaking the sand off the top of the long sleeveless tunic he’s wearing. meeting Jack’s eyes a moment.

“Splash,” Jack says in a rush and he catches those blue almost violet eyes widen in surprise and his mind would yell at him careful careful but he’s already moving with his hands on Kelas’ shoulders pushing him back to the sand. His mind corrects, his enhanced reflexes able to catch up with that recrimination that caution he’s pregnant he’s old he’s delicate he’s… laughing as Jack lands on top of him. Kelas is laughing loudly.

“Ah I should have known you were going to wait until the sand was gone. You always love getting me dirty!” He exclaims with a laugh as Jack in a rush of expelled nerves puts his face into Kelas’ neck sure he’s getting sand in his own hair now.

Kelas reminds him at least twice a day that he won’t hurt him- that he may be over a hundred but that doesn’t quite mean the same in their years and in any case their skeletons are more dense and durable. Sometimes he demonstrates it. Sometimes Jack even believes him. Jack turns his face about to say something to that but Kelas is already turning, kissing him silly, breathless, swearing at him in that melodic Northern tongue that’s like a slip of hisses, or angry snakes circling his ears.

“…sorry,” he says instinctively because sorry is what they always told him to say when he Did Something and he said it so much he used to like to see how much of a curse he could put behind those words.

“No you’re not,” Kelas mutters, trying not to smile, his hands sliding sandy, gritty over Jack’s sticky sweaty back holding him there on top before Jack can scramble off. “Mmm but that’s alright, I think your punishment should be to finish what you started.”

“Yadek has one baby you can’t give him one yet, Daddy!” he hears Jessie yelling at him and that only makes Kelas laugh even louder, the lines around his eyes crinkling, ridges flushing darker as he just… smiles up at Jack.

“Ah well… perhaps we’ll have to wait then,” Kelas says not moving his hands from Jack’s back in the slightest. His hands are strong, slightly calloused with the work that he does in the lab with Lauren now. He kneads at the muscles with determination and Jack feels like he might pool into goo dripping, soaking into the sand or into Kelas. That’s an idea- totally perfect idea.

“That right hm? No making new babies til this one’s done hm hm?”

“Can’t have two at once,” Jessie confirms terribly seriously. Jack smiles while Kelas keeps kneading at his back. Well, his little hatchling may have a numerical point but there’s always room for more practice because number three took so long it surely was because they hadn’t practiced enough and number four… ah impractical meandering illogical thoughts but-

“Maybe if we make you into an ovipositor... I bet Sarina could do it,” He hears Lauren’s voice and doesn’t ask how long she’s been standing there because Lauren is like the wind flitting in, out, hot, cold, but always there in some form. He doesn’t say that she’s like his sister but he hears their neighbors calling her that without correction and it’s strange but it’s Good and there’s a counter running for the first time someone called her his sister: three years two months five days four hours eighteen minutes thirty four seconds…

“An ovipositor? Ha! You couldn’t make a Kranessan fly hm!” The Kranessans, he learned were famed for their elaborate zip lines through the mountain passes.

“And you couldn’t make old Jala a rich woman if you tried,” she fires back with an arch of her eyebrow holding out her only to have Jessie and Kiss rush past her towards their house. She shrugs with a sigh. “I’ll see that they get to their lesson. Mr. Gok is teaching today and…” She pauses there, letting the old familiar rejoinder slip away unsaid. It’s become more of a small joke between them now.

There’s buzzing that Jack hears just then and he watches as a large dragonfly double wings gold, glistening in the sunlight as it hovers into the yard. Ah, right the little attendance drone, one of Patricks dozens of creations flying, beeping, walking around their compound. The newly elected council’s relaxed restrictions on sedition and unlawful assembly years back were what allowed him and Kelas to work tirelessly into one of the first communal living spaces outside of Central. There were more that had cropped up always monitored for radicals but as more sprang up, as more shared spaces came with their family dining halls and sand gardens and families sharing the grounds outside their modest homes, the more accepted they were.

Ah acceptable as Northerner and outcast refuse but there was no better refuse and no better life and Jack reaches up to sign off on the PADD the dragonfly is holding that Jessie and Kiss will be in class today outside with the other children. He snorts thinking of old Jala and older Gisha (and how Kelas always gets so hotly indignant when he calls them that saying they’re hardly older than he is) always hovering around chattering whenever he and Kelas make love. He’s heard them over stone walls, through fences, once catching their eyes with a curious blink before they waved him on and that… isn’t Normal, he thinks but he sometimes catches other couples or other triads outside their homes together in some partly secluded space with little mind paid. Sometimes he’ll hear a rattle of beads and he can always tell when Jala and Gisha are jabbering at each other about whether it’s better or worse for fertility if one is silent or loud. Jala thinks silent. Gisha thinks loud.

Kelas is always loud and Lauren says the two of them have a bet each time on which it will be.

Jala has yet to win once, and Lauren lets them know she has her data prepared whenever Kelas is ready to go over their new formulations for perfume tonics they’ve devised – fragrant and flavorful particles that confer different effects when “scented” from the air. Kelas looks thoughtful as he hooks an ankle around the small of Jack’s back, pushing that swollen belly up against him completely undoing him.

“Thirty minutes should be enough,” he hears Kelas say thinking sand is a challenge and rough and irritating and sand is nice beneath his bare feet but a cruel menace elsewhere and his hands are already beneath Kelas’ hip with a hurried murmur of “other leg other leg,” getting to his knees. Kelas wrapping around him like a beautiful pale vine, his hair half out of it braid, those glasses already mussed. Jack thinks he hears some impressed click from the other side of the wood fence marveling at his augmented strength.

He prefers to take it slow, to savor every touch, every press of Kelas’ mouth to his chest, every sigh, every push into Kelas’ body and Kelas into his too. Time is short, so short but the longer he can drag every perceived moment out, the closer to immortality in a beautiful vacuum where seconds aren’t ticks but instead Kelas’ breaths and slow steady beats of his heart. Ah, but now time is a rush and it always surprises him how excited his body is for Kelas in ways it is for nothing else. Ah, the old women think they’ve seen strength? They haven’t seen anything, Jack holding that full weight with one arm now panting, quickly tugging himself free from trousers, from undergarments. Kelas is already whining as Jack starts biting his shoulder ridges hitching the hem of his tunic up with that free hand, Kelas squirming into position, a loud breathy cry when Jack enters him halfway, readjusts with both hands on his ass like he weighs nothing, driving right deep to his center.

And for that moment, time stops.

#star trek ds9 #star trek deep space nine #ds9 fanfic #romance #rare pair #Kelas Parmak #ds9 jack #Jack/Parmak #alternate reality #fluff #kid fic #sequel #fanfic #cyrelia-j

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p-artsypants · 7 years ago

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Tunnels of Love- One Shot

The night started out with an accidental kiss from Adrien Agreste, and ended with her bleeding in the Catacombs of Paris. Ladybug, the wielder of the miraculous of good luck.

Yeah right.

FF.net | AO3

It was the conclusion of exams for the students of Collège Françoise Dupont, and Marinette’s class had organized a soirée to celebrate. The prettiest dresses, the goofiest ties, the best music, and the closest of friends. This was what the party was rooted in, and with that, there really couldn’t be any fail.

Or, Marinette had hoped. She was the student council president, of course, so she had a large role in the planning.

The courtyard was strung with globe lights and tule. As snack tables sat under the basketball hoop, and Nino and his DJ booth were tucked under the stairs.

Marinette was one of the first to arrive, as she strolled in with a magenta dress. The bodice was lacy and the skirt was layered. All giving way to a very charming and classy look.

“And the Princess has arrived!” Alya called, flaunting a black dress halter top style dress.

“Oh stop, I’m blushing!” Marinette joked. “Oh! The decorations look so great at night!”

“I’d say so.” Agreed Nino, from the booth. He was still setting up.

“What? No suit?” Marinette accused.

“Not for me, thanks. I’m more than comfortable in jeans and a T-Shirt.”

“Well, I hope you enjoy feeling left out.” She stuck her tongue out at him.

“If you think Kim is going to show up in anything but track clothes, you’d be sorely mistaken.” Nino wagged his finger at her.

“Fine fine,” she rolled her eyes. “And I suppose putting Alix in a dress is similar to pulling teeth.”

It wasn’t long before people started showing up. The first were Rose and Juleka. Both of which were dressed to the nines, and they greeted Marinette first with kisses on the cheek.

Max arrived next, and greeted her in the same way. It seemed like a long train of people showed up, and watched as she was greeted with kisses, and the custom continued with each guest. She was the one responsible for the party, after all.

Chloe came up, and her lip twitched.

“You don’t have to.” Marinette whispered, determined to calm the blonde’s wrath before it began.

Chloe gave her a look, that was a close to gratitude as she’d get, and joined the party.

Then, there was Adrien. Dressed in a Gabriel tuxedo, a tuxedo of all things. He had his hair lightly gelled to keep his bangs away from his face, and looked absolutely stunning.

He smiled at her genuinely, fondness reflected in his eyes. “Hi Marinette.”

“H-hi…” she managed out.

Then he leaned in and left a kiss on her cheek. His lips actually touched her skin, instead of the air around her face.

This stunned Marinette so, that when she went to kiss his cheek in response, she moved her head the same way as he did, and the result was disastrous.

Or absolutely perfect, depending on who you talk to.

Adrien Agreste and Marinette Dupain-Cheng, kissed. Mouth to mouth. Not just a peck either. A prolonged melting of lips, spurred on by shock and adolescent hormones.

When they pulled apart, both stared wide eyed at the other, too gobsmacked to speak.

Chloe broke the silence by grabbing Marinette by the shoulder and spinning her around. She stuck a perfectly manicured finger in her face. “UM?! Excuse me?! Marinette, what do you think you are doing?!”

“I—I…” Marinette floundered, drowning in her own reckless emotions.

“How dare you make a move on someone else’s man!” She shrieked.

“Chloe, I’m not—“ Adrien tried to protest, but it was drowned out in Chloe’s furious screams.

“I swear to the love of all things pure and holy, I will murder you Marinette Dupain-Cheng!”

“It was an accident!” The other girl protested, horrified of the barbie doll screaming in her face.

“It sooo wasn’t!” Chloe argued. “I see the goo goo eyes you make at him! Everyone knows you are hopelessly in love with Adrien, you skank!”

Marinette gasped, her mind reeling. Her two seconds of bliss was turning into a nightmare.

“And you think you’re so clever, don’t you? Thought you could sneak a kiss and no one would notice?! You’re as stupid as you are pathetic!”

“But it was an accid—!“

Chloe, not being characteristically violent, had decidedly had enough and slapped Marinette across the face.

“What the shit Chloe?!” Alya shouted.

“Yeah, what’s your problem?” Another student shouted.

By sheer luck, the perfect excuse to run away presented itself, in the form of a bloody nose.

“Oh!” Marinette shrieked, pulling her skirts back and covering her face with her hand.

Chloe’s eyes widened. “I didn’t hit her that hard…”

It seemed like no one agreed.

“I think you should go,” stated Alya, with crossed arms.

“No no…” Marinette pinched her nose. “This wasn’t your fault Chloe.” She assured, determined not to have any drama. “But it really was an accident. Now, let’s just have fun.” Trying to be the bigger person was hard, but she smiled anyway.

Her friend picked up the cue. “Alright, fabulous ladies and handsome gentlemen! Thanks for coming! Let’s get this party started! Hit it Nino!”

Marinette slipped into the locker room, then the bathroom. She carefully wadded up some toilet paper and stuffed it in her nostril.

What a start to a party.

She ran the faucet and washed her bloody hand.

Tikki emerged from the ruffles of her skirt. “At least you didn’t get any blood on your pretty dress.”

“I guess I can be thankful for that.”

“And you got to kiss ADDDRRRIIIIEEENNNNN~” Tikki sang.

Marinette blushed heavily. “Yeah…” Then she frowned. “That’s not exactly how I pictured our first kiss though.” She groaned. “What a mess…”

A male voice called from in the locker room. “Marinette?”

She peeked around the corner to see Adrien waiting for her, a concerned look on his face. “Adrien…”

“Are you alright? Do you need anything? Ice pack?”

She smiled at him, and wondered how stupid she looked with a wad of tissue jammed up her nose. “No, no…I’m fine. I doubt Chloe’s hit actually did anything. Uh, my dad accidentally hit me in the face with a cookie sheet a while back. And now whenever it gets just a little bit dry, I get a nosebleed.” It wasn’t a whole truth. Considering it was an akuma who had hit her in the face.

But details.

“Oh, well…I’m glad it’s just that.” He blanched, “not that a bloody nose isn’t a big deal in the first place, but to know that it wasn’t because you were hurt…I mean, you might still be hurt…are you hurt?”

Since when was Adrien this flustered around her? Never.

“I’m fine, Adrien. I’m a big girl, I can take a hit.”

And since when was she the one not a total mess around him? NEVER.

He rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding her gaze. “Listen, about the…kiss? I’m sorry. Not-not that I’m sorry it happened, but just, the way it happened. I mean, I would have asked, if I had planned on it…”

Marinette came to realize that the light pink that dusted his cheeks really looked good on him. Heck, he could wear a potato sack and he’d still look perfect.

The humorous image of Adrien strutting down the catwalk in a potato sack flittered through her head.

He looked at her expectedly.

Shoot, he had asked a question.

“I’m sorry, what?” She nearly whispered, embarrassed to have been caught daydreaming.

“I said, can I keep you company until your nose stops bleeding?”

“Oh! Sure, if you want to. Would’t you rather be hanging out with your friends?”

“I am, aren’t I? I’m with you.”

Her heart nearly burst at the seams. “Thank you.”

They both took a seat on the bench. “Um…so the kiss…” Marinette began.

“Yeah…”

Both were still in disbelief that it had even happened. Of course, it was so vivid and real…

“It doesn’t change things, does it?” She asked quietly.

“Like what?”

“Like…you don’t hate me now, do you?”

He chuckled softly. “No, of course not, Mari.”

She rested a hand on her chest. “Thank goodness.”

“If I’m being honest…” his blush returned. “I…kind of knew about your crush.”

Marinette closed her eyes in defeat. “Well, then I guess I can’t be terribly mortified. Am I that obvious?”

“I didn’t think so.” He assured, kicking his feet out and leaning back on his arms. “Chloe was the one who told me.”

Marinette let out an unladylike swear. “This is why I can’t have nice things.”

“…it was pretty unfair to you. And I told her as much. But she was convinced you were trying to seduce me.”

Marinette snorted. “I wouldn’t say seduce. I wanted you to like me.”

“I do like you.” He said, easily.

“Like…like like me.”

“Oh.” He said simply. “Well, that makes sense. If you like liked me.”

Marinette shook her head. “This is weird. I didn’t think I’d be having this conversation with you.”

“Ever?”

She swallowed. “I don’t know if you noticed, but for a long time, I was a stuttering mess around you. I didn’t think I’d ever find the nerved to…ahem, confess.”

“So why not now?”

“What?”

“Why don’t you confess to me now?”

She sputtered, “b-because you already know!”

Adrien shrugged. “Well, sure. But if you’ve been preparing all this time, I feel like you should at least do it. And you don’t have to be nervous. I’m not going to laugh at you.”

Marinette’s lips quivered and she kneaded her hands. “Okay…” She exhaled, then…”Adrien.”

He met her gaze with a warm smile.

“I…I’m in love with you.”

The use of the ‘L’ word had surprised him. He had thought it was just a crush after all. But no matter. He smiled adoringly. “See, that wasn’t too hard, was it?”

Marinette felt sick. “I guess that means you don’t feel the same, do you?”

Adrien’s smile sank. He pondered his words carefully. “I wanted you to confess, so that we could clear the air and continue being friends…but I knew I had to turn you down…and for that, I’m really really sorry.” He reached out and took her hand, “Mari, you’re one of my best friends, and I don’t want to lose you or hurt you.”

She nodded, and wiped her eye, careful not to bump her nose. “Is there…someone else?” She whispered.

Adrien was quiet for a while. “Yeah. I…I really love her. And I wish I didn’t, sometimes…because she doesn’t feel the same. So…I know how you feel, and it sucks and I wish I wasn’t doing this to you, but I just love her so much and…” Adrien drew quiet and hung his head. “I’m sorry.”

He seemed to sink into a depression, one of self loathing and doubt. Marinette recognized it immediately. “Hey,” she bumped his shoulder. “We’re a pair of pathetic kids, aren’t we?”

He gave a watery laugh. “Yeah.”

“I’m not mad, a little bummed, but it’s okay.” She was lying of course. She wanted to curl up into a ball and cry, but she was sure Adrien wanted to too. “You won’t lose me.”

Adrien raised his head to look at her. “Thank you.”

Next thing she knew, she was enveloped in his arms, and being crushed to his well toned chest.

After a few minutes, the pair separated and composed themselves. The nosebleed had subsided, and they walked back out to the party together.

“Thank you,” she said, suddenly.

“…for breaking your heart?”

She huffed, “no…for doing it gently.”

They joined the party, and danced and snacked and had fun. They even allowed themselves a slow dance together, because if their hearts were raw and tender, finding solace in someone they trusted was the best thing.

—

Antony Dupree. An average man of average wealth and average looks. With an average apartment and average car…just average. Except, he had a beautiful wife. A wife that was so completely out of his league that nearly everyone who knew him couldn’t help but ask the question: how?

Well, the beautiful wife had had enough of average. She wanted more, and more wanted her.

And that’s how Antony Dupree found his beautiful wife in bed with his handsome and wealthy boss.

With circumstances like that, it was no surprise that he was akumatized.

Ball and Chain, as he was named, demolished his average apartment building, with a wrecking ball attached to his wrist, and went on to terrorize the lovesick city of Paris.

—

The party swing at the local collège was interrupted by a series of screams and shouts. Inwardly, both Adrien and Marinette groaned. Of all the nights to be ruined, it had to be this one.

Well, to be fair, the night was pretty much shot anyway.

As the students fled from the dance floor to the library, Marinette ducked into a classroom and Adrien slipped into the locker room, both undetected. Shortly, Chat Noir and Ladybug were racing through the city of lovers.

“Evening, my lady!” Chat called. “You look lovely! Is that lipstick I see?”

“Oh yes, I’m trying out this new thing were I apply makeup before I fight. It’s the whole ‘powerful woman’ movement.”

“I love it! It suits you!”

It was then that Ladybug realized her lipstick was bright Ladybug red. Of course. She stuck a tongue out at him.

Soon, they came to the neighborhood filled with screams. They landed just in time to see a building collapse.

The akuma was huge, hulking, and terrifying. Long black hair draped over his face, as he looked down on the crowd. He spotted a man standing in front of a woman protectively.

He spoke, his voice low and gravely. “Poor poor man, do you know if she is faithful?”

The man didn’t reply, but the woman moved closer to him.

The akuma raised his wrist, where what looked like a three-prong harpoon sat.

Ladybug shouted at the couple. “Run! Get out of there!” They were too fair away for her to get to in time, still she ran for them. As she drew near, she saw the girl had a cast on her leg, and she wasn’t going anywhere fast.

The harpoon fired, and the man stood fast, preparing to take the shot fully. But to everyone’s surprise, the harpoon whipped past them and curved around, to strike the woman in the back.

“Elise!” The man cried, catching her before she fell.

“No…” Ladybug whispered, coming up short.

The akuma spoke stoically, “now we will see how her heart belongs to.“ And he threw the other end of the chain up in the air.

The cuff of the chain went flying off into the city, seeking out the person of the heart’s desire. The man holding his wife watched it go, and slowly slid to the ground, weak. She didn’t love him. She was seeing someone else.

“Such a pity.” The akuma said, heartlessly. Suddenly, a red yo-yo bounced off his head.

“Hey ugly!” Called Chat. “Why don’t you stop breaking hearts, and start fighting the good fight?!”

The akuma assessed the young couple in front of him. “Chat Noir…do you know if Ladybug is loyal?”

“What kind of stupid ass question is that?” He replied. “My lady loves the city, and fights for Paris, to keep her safe from people like you!”

The akuma raised his harpoon arm, “I don’t mean Paris,” he narrowed his eyes, “I meant you.”

The harpoon fired, and the two leapt out of the way, dodging it…only, they thought they had.

“My lady!” Chat called, when he watched the claw come back around. Ladybug leapt again, pushing off a building and rolling across the ground. She was short on the dismount by just enough that the harpoon hit it’s mark and buried deep into her chest. One barbed claw went straight through her sternum, while the other two weaved around her ribs and encased her heart with sharp steel, one lung was punctured.

Ladybug collapsed, coughing up blood.

“Ladybug!” Chat rushed to her, sliding across the ground and catching her.

“I…I’m okay…” she managed.

“No..no you aren’t…” he spoke with a tremble in his voice. “Let me get you somewhere safe, and then I’ll fight him…and you’ll purify him and you’ll be okay.” Tears were in his eyes, “you’ll be okay!”

She nodded at this and prepared to stand.

“Chat Noir.” The akuma spoke again.

“Oh give it a rest!” The cat shouted back.

“Don’t you want to know who her heart belongs to?”

“My lady is not a possession!” He hoisted Ladybug to stand, and draped her arm over his shoulders. “She is an independent woman, able to think for herself. We are a team, but she can love whoever she wants!”

“Suit yourself.” The akuma smirked, and then through the cuff up into the air.

Ladybug looked at the ground, exhausted. She was glad that Adrien was back at the school, or else this would be how her identity got out. Didn’t everyone know she loved him?

It seemed like the harpoon felt differently, as the cuff fell from the sky and attached itself to Chat’s wrist.

He looked at her.

She looked at him.

Neither knew what to make of it.

“How interesting…” the akuma spoke. It seemed that the Harpoon was part one of its attack. Part two included the heavy wrecking ball attached to his other wrist.

Thinking quickly, Chat wrapped the chain around Ladybug’s waist and used it to pulled her close. Then he leapt a good distance away.

“Hang on, my lady…” he begged, great sorrow filling his soul. “Just hang on…”

“I’ll be fine, Chat.” Her voice was soft. “It didn’t pierce my heart, but I can feel it squeezing me.”

He scrunched up his nose. “Well, I can’t fight him and protect you too. I have to destroy this chain!” Raising his hand, he called, “Cataclysm!”

“Wait! Chat it’s attached to my chest!”

Chat froze, his hand still bubbling with destruction.

The ground shook.

“Look out!”

It all happened so fast. A wrecking ball came down, Chat threw himself on top of Ladybug, and Cataclysm crumpled the ground beneath them.

Down they fell. Down and down and down…until there was nothing but darkness.

—

Adrien woke to a flash of green light. Opening his eyes, he found himself surrounded by complete darkness.

“Ladybug?” He asked tentatively.

“I’m here…” she responded in a pained whisper.

“Where are we?”

“I don’t know…” She wasn’t sitting that far from him. “You were only out for five minutes. Long enough for your transformation to dissolve.”

“Ugh…my head.” He winced. “Plagg, are you here?”

A low whimper came from the floor, and Adrien reached out to search it. Small fuzz brushed his fingers.

“Plagg?”

The small creature crawled into his hand and curled up. “I’m okay, I just took the brunt of that hit. Do you have any cheese?”

Adrien used his freehand to search his pockets, only to realize that he was wearing his tux instead. “Oh Plagg…the one time I didn’t…”

“I have some cookies,” Said Ladybug. “Will that work?”

Plagg’s voice was quiet. “Cookies sound amazing…”

“Are you sure you want to release your transformation? Won’t it hurt?”

“Yeah, but if we want to get out of here, we’re going to need Chat Noir.”

“Hold on,” said Plagg, forcefully. “I need to rest first, or else the transformation won’t last long. Stay Ladybug for now.”

“Okay.”

Adrien cradled Plagg in his hand and slipped him into his pocket. “Get some sleep buddy.” Then he reached out and felt Ladybug’s stomach, and scooted over to pull her into his lap. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah, you’re much more comfortable than this dirt floor.”

“I have a flashlight on my phone. Let me see where we are.”

“I’ll close my eyes.”

Adrien turned the flashlight on on his phone and shone the beam around the room. In front of them, he could see the hole they had fallen down, but no light shone down from it. Under, there was a small creek of stagnant water. He vaguely felt that Ladybug’s suit was wet. Then, looking left and right, there was a tunnel that the creek continued down. There was no way to tell how far down they went.

“Well, it doesn’t stink, so it’s not the sewer. It might be a service tunnel.” He peered around the pocket that they were in, and saw there was another tunnel directly behind them. On both sides of the tunnel, however, there were just piles and piles of human bones. He quickly turned off the light.

“What is it?” Ladybug asked, hearing him gasp.

“We’re in the catacombs.”

Ladybug was quiet for a minute, before she took out her yo-yo. “Then, we just need to get to the entrance. We can use GPS to find our way back.”

“I hope you get better reception on your compact then I do on my phone.”

“It’s not great,” she supplied.

Adrien looked over her shoulder. “We might even come across one of the hidden entrances.”

“Let’s hope so, since the main legal entrance is five miles away, across from Denfert-Rochereau.”

Adrien sighed. “Well, we better get a move on then.” Carefully, he stood, and held Ladybug in his arms, careful not to jostle the harpoon in her chest.

She winced anyway.

“Are you okay?”

“As okay as I can be? This is going to suck when I de-transform. Are you sure you’ve got me?”

He adjusted his grip on her, pulling her a little closer. “I’m solid, my lady. But to be honest, Chat Noir is stronger then me…not that you’re heavy or anything…”

She chuckled against the pain, “I understand, silly cat.”

“I need you to be navigator, and here’s my phone for the flashlight.”

She opened the screen, and turned on the light, finally getting a glimpse of the bones that Adrien saw. She grimaced, “I’m going to have nightmares about this.”

“Me too,” he agreed. “Which way?”

“Forward.”

The trek was quiet, as Adrien panted with exertion. It wasn’t long before he had to stop and take a break. He set her down on a cut out ledge. “This is going to take forever,” he lamented.

“You’re doing great.” Ladybug encouraged, shivering.

“Are you cold, or is that shock?”

“I’m just cold.”

Adrien removed his tux jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders. “Plagg’s sleeping in the right breast pocket, don’t smush him.”

“Thanks,” she said softly, snuggling into his heat. “What are you wearing?”

“Uh…a tux.”

He heard her chuckle slightly. “I see. I understand it now. I’m the luckiest girl in the world.”

“…I mean, you are Ladybug. So naturally…what does that have to do with me wearing a tux?”

“Adrien was wearing a tux, and my heart belongs to Adrien. So…you’re Adrien, right?”

He lifted the chain still clamped on his wrist. “Yeah…you got me...you love me, my lady?”

“Yeah…” He could tell she was blushing. Ladybug shone the flashlight upwards a bit to she could see his face. He was covered in dirt and grime, his hair was disheveled, and his white shirt was stained with her blood. But he was still handsome.

“I guess the cat’s out of the bag.”

“How long have you been waiting to say that?”

“Since the day I met you.”

Ladybug shook her head with a laugh, the laugh turned to a cough, and the cough turned into blood.

Adrien stood quickly, and reached into his pocket. “We can’t take anymore time. We have to defeat this akuma now, before you get worse.”

“I might pass out before we get out of the tunnel,” she spoke honestly.

Adrien grit his teeth and looked at the still exhausted Plagg in his hand. “How about it Buddy?”

“With those Cookies, I should be fine.”

“Are you okay with this, Ladybug? I can look away, since I know you want us to hide our identities.”

“It’s okay,” she whispered. “I think you should know who I am. It…it’ll make sense.”

“Okay, then…whenever you’re ready, I’ve got you.”

Ladybug nodded, knowing what needed to be done. “Tikki, spots off.”

In a splash of pink, Ladybug disappeared and Marinette remained. She curled in on herself, clutching at her chest, and cried out in pain.

“MARINETTE!” Adrien screamed, despite himself. He caught her before she fell off her seat. “Oh Mari…”

“I—I’m doing an awful lot of bleeding today…aren’t I?”

“Just don’t do it again…” He tried to joke, to keep her calm, but it was very very hard. “Where are the cookies? Then you can transform again.”

“In my bag…under my skirts.”

He nodded, and lifted the garment, and found the bag resting against her bare legs. He didn’t even have the mind to be embarrassed. He dug out the handful of cookies and gave several to each kwami.

“I’m ready Adrien!” Plagg stated, with renewed energy.

“Me too!”

“Good! Claws out!”

“S-Spots on…”

Putting the suit back on was great idea for Marinette. Not just to renew her strength, but Tikki had reformed the fabric tight around her chest, and momentarily stopped the bleeding.

Chat Noir scooped up his partner, and soon they were quickly bounding through the endless tunnels.

As time went on, Ladybug felt her strength returning. Definitely not to 100%, but enough to lend a hand to the fight. Yet, despite the map, and the GPS, and Chat’s animalistic sense of direction, the Catacombs stretched on and on. Where they wanted to turn, the tunnel was caved in, and they had to turn around and go back the other way. Chat was becoming increasingly frustrated, and Ladybug was worried about outside world.

She hoped their classmates weren’t too worried about them.

“Can you stand?” Chat asked, coming to another blocked tunnel.

“Yeah,” Ladybug urged as he let go. She wavered on her feet, but stood.

Chat was looking at his baton.

Alya, still gussied up from the party, was peering around a street corner. “There’s still no sign of Ladybug or Chat Noir. Witnesses say it was about two hours ago when the duo arrived and were pummeled into the street some 3 blocks away. Police investigated the hole left behind and estimate that our heroes ended up in the catacombs. However, parts of the hole have collapsed and there’s no way to get down to them. We just have to hope and pray that they will make their way out safely.”

Alya turned the camera to the Akuma, who was paused. “The akuma is very dangerous, one capable of death if you aren’t wearing a super suit. Witnesses say that Ladybug was seriously injured when she fell. The akuma calls himself Ball and Chain, and I’ve witnessed him shoot some kind of claw that traps a heart, the other end attaches to the person they are in love with. I believe the akuma’s aim with this is to ruin relationships. Perhaps he was someone that was cheated on?”

“Cheated on, huh?” Ladybug wondered, as she leaned on Chat. “I bet the akuma is in his wedding ring.”

“Good thinking Bug!” Chat cheered.

There was a boom echoing down in the tunnels.

Back on the Baton, Alya had gotten closer to the camera. ��It looks like Ball and Chain has decided to take the fight down to the catacombs! Hopefully no one else will get injured. This is Alya, signing off for now! Good luck Ladybug!”

“Well, at least he’s not going to harpoon anyone else down here.”

“Yeah, but he could destroy the structures holding up the city. We have to hurry!”

Chat picked up Ladybug and fled into the underground tunnels, listening for the booms coming from deep within.

“You can see in the dark, right?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m going to turn off the flashlight. That’ll give us a sight advantage.”

“Good thinking.”

They took a corner, and Chat halted. The akuma was in a cavern, surrounded by bones. “I see him, stay quiet.”

Ladybug whispered, “Lucky Charm!” And a long wooden item fell into her hands. “What is it?”

“A baseball bat.” Chat Noir looked around. “What do you think?”

“I can’t see anything, so nothing is lighting up.”

Chat pursed his lips. “I have an idea.”

She held out the bat to him, “be my guest.”

“Can you hold onto my back?”

She nodded, and took hold.

With Ladybug on his back, and a baseball bat in hand, he carefully and quietly stepped behind the akuma, making sure not to step on any bones. Then, he wound up and whacked the akuma in the head, knocking him out.

“That works.” Ladybug said with relief.

Chat pulled the man’s ring off, and stomped it with his boot. A glowing purple butterfly fluttered out, and Ladybug caught it easily. “Bye Bye petite butterfly.” She called as it fluttered away. She tossed the bat up into the air and called for Miraculous Ladybug.

The healing spell removed the claw from her chest, and the chain attached to Chat, and fixed the hole above them. It also returned the akuma victim to the surface.

But it left Chat and Ladybug in the dark.

“Mission accomplished!” Chat cheered, holding up his fist. Ladybug groped the air for it, and when she touched it, she returned with her fist.

“Rats.” Said Ladybug, “I was really hoping the healing spell would take us up too.”

“Well, we were making our way out before, and we’ll do it again. This time, I don’t have to worry about you bleeding to death.”

Ladybug covered her chest as her earrings chirped for the third time.

Chat had his baton out and a map up. “Thankfully, I didn’t use cataclysm, so I’ll have a map.”

“Yeah,” said she, falling quiet.

“Ladybug?”

“You’re Adrien.”

“…uh, yep? Is…is that okay?”

“No, I mean, it’s great…it’s just now that I’m not mortally wounded…it really sunk in.”

Chat glanced at her in the dark. “And you’re Marinette.”

“…yeah. That’s me.”

Her transformation ended, and the cavern was washed in pink.

Chat looked back at her with a frown before picking her up like a princess.

“What’s this? I can walk now!”

“Yeah, but you’re in heels and a very pretty, probably handmade, dress. So I’m going to carry you. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Well, no…not really. Considering…” She didn’t finish that thought as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you, my lady.”

They continued in silence for a while. Marinette took her phone out and turned on the light. Being able to see the gruesome sights of bones was better than the unknown.

“Adrien?” She whispered.

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you…another question about the kiss?”

“Shoot.”

“Umm…you didn’t pull away. At least, not right away…Did you not realize…? Or…”

“Oh, I knew exactly what happened.” He paused. “It’s a funny thing, if we’re being open and honest…um, it’s because I’m starved for affection.”

Marinette’s eyes widened. “…what?”

“Like, I know this is a problem I have, and I see it in myself…I find myself…actively seeking out opportunities to touch people. It’s weird, I know, but like…I’ll touch Nino on the back or on the shoulder, and Alya on the arm…or you…I just take whatever I can get from you. Whether it’s kissing Ladybug’s hand or having a slow dance with Marinette…”

“Adrien…”

“Weird right? So, when we kissed, I just…I don’t know, I really liked it. It was filling some carnal need to just be…loved.”

Marinette sniffed.

“Uh…my lady?”

“If you wanted affection, you could have just asked! I would have held you all day!”

He smiled, “I knew Marinette would have, but…I never pursued it since I was in love with…” he trailed off, his cheeks becoming red.

“Oh, right…who is it? Chloe?”

He scoffed. “No…it’s stupid. It’s you, as Ladybug. I always flirted with you as Chat because I wasn’t quite sure how to tell you I was very truly in love with you…I got close once, on Valentine’s day. But that stupid Dark Cupid…”

“So wait.” She put a hand on his chest. “You’re saying that you love me? And that I pushed you away as Ladybug, because I was in love with you as Adrien?”

“Kind of silly, huh?”

“We could have been dating months ago.” She exasperated.

“Does that mean you want to start dating now?”

“Um,” she giggled. “Why don’t you ask me again once we’re out of here. As Adrien.”

He grinned, “That’s fair.”

“But…” she grinned back, “if you would be so kind as to put me down for a moment…”

“Oh, yeah sure.” He agreed, stooping so her feet could touch the ground. “What is it th—mmph!”

Chat Noir never finished his sentence. The love of his life grabbed his cheeks and leaned in. Her heels made her level with him, and the kiss was effortless. She moved her hands up from his face and into his hair, tracing his cat ears with her fingers.

His claws delicately dug into her back as he kissed back with fervor. “Oh my lady…” he muttered against her lips. “I love you…you’re so perfect and beautiful…”

“I love you too, chaton.” She smiled into his kiss. Marinette was so unbelievably happy, that she almost didn’t notice the wetness on her face. “Adrien?”

His voice trembled. “I thought I was going to lose you.”

“Oh kitty…” she kissed him again, “it’s alright. I’m here, I’m okay…”

He nodded and hugged her tightly. “I know I’m going to have nightmares of that…that horrible thing sticking out of your chest.”

“I’ll have nightmares too.” She assured. “But…I think I have a solution.”

“Hmm?”

“I’ll leave my trapdoor open for Chat Noir if he can’t sleep.”

A delighted purr echoed in her ear and sent a chill down her spine. “I’m sure Chat would appreciate it.” Then he leaned in and pressed warm kisses to her neck. “Oh wait, I am Chat.” Kiss. “I’m sure I’d appreciate it.” Without anything else, Chat swung her up into his arms. “You know, you’re wife material.”

Even in the dark, he knew she was blushing from head to toe. “Wife!? Adrien, we’re just…I only just turned 16!”

“I know,” he kissed her. “But it’s fun to think about.”

The shocked look didn’t leave her face.

“Sorry…I guess that was a bit excessive.”

She giggled. “Nah, I’m just trying to comprehend that my Adrien and my Chat are the same person, and that the word ‘wife’ came out of his perfect mouth.”

“Darling, I’ll say whatever you want me to say.”

#miraculous ladybug #ladybug #chat noir #marinette cheng #adrien agreste #adrienette #LadyNoir #love square #identity reveal #confessions #blood #catacombs #fanfiction #fanfic #ml #mlb

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sardonicnihilism · 4 years ago

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A Biography of the Woman Who Never Was

Part 4 The Adult

Chapter 9

The following week was a mess. Mary had assured Shannon that she had a will. However, when she looked through all her papers, they couldn't find it. They found her baptism records from when she was a little girl, gas bills from the 50s, receipts for old appliances, but no will. Still, that wasn't her cheif concern at the time.

Because they had enough warning, Shannon and Sam were able to get everything arranged for the moment Mary passed. Unfortunately, the day of the burial was a complete down pour and it had to be postponed a week. That was just a taste of what was to come.

The day of the funeral, Shannon was greeting people, when a short, fat, old man came up to her. "Where's the Bible?" he demanded.

"Excuse me?" Shannon was so shocked, she didn't even have time to become angry.

"The Bible! The Krinner family Bible! Your grandmother took it. She has no rights to it! She stopped being a Krinner the moment she married a Brown! It doesn't belong to you! It belongs with me!" Whoever this man was, he was furious and indignant.

Sam walked up and stood beside Shannon. "Hey, listen mate, I don't know what you're going on about. There was a lot of stuff brought over from Mary's house. We're going through it now. If you give us your name and number, if we find it, this Bible you're talking about, we'll give you a call yeah? So why don't you pay your respects and piss off before I bust your bloody jaw, alright?" He spoke in a calm tone, but one that conveyed absolute purpose.

The old man scrawled his information on the back of one of the funeral programs and stormed off.

"Bloody nutter that guy. You know him?" Sam asked in disbelief at what he had just seen.

"Apparently he's from my grandmother's side of the family. Never dealt much with them. It's kind of culture around here when a woman marries a man, her family gives her a soft disowning and she's considered part of her husband's family. If your family wasn't half a world away, it probably would have happened to me too.

"As for what he wanted, I can only assume he's referring to some old Bible I found decades ago in my mom's attic. It was about two hundred years old, falling apart, printed in German, with a lot of writing in it. I asked Mom what it was and just said it was a family Bible and that Grandma had willed it to her and she was to pass it along to me. I have no idea why, but apparently she was adamant it stay with us. In case you haven't figured it out yet, my family are complete psychos."

"I already knew that, but that bloke takes the bloody cake." Sam then crumbled up the program and threw it away.

"If your Nan wanted you to keep, then who are we to defy her wishes?" He put his arm around her and they took their seats.

The rest of the service went fine. Several people got up to give testimonials about Mary and how good she was. Both she and Sam got up to say some things after everyone else was done. Then the service shifted to the cemetery for a few final words, then everyone went back to the church for a communal meal.

At the church, her aunts and uncles kept coming up to her and saying if she needed help paying for anything, just ask them. This really irritated her. She wanted to grab them and yell at them, what do they think? She was your goddamn sister! I shouldn't have to ask for your help to bury her, you should just help. But she kept her cool and thanked them. Afterwards, she saw her one uncle giving the preacher a check.

"Here, it's for three hundred dollars, in honor of Mary. You did an amazing job."

Shannon shook with anger. *Oh sure, you just go up and give this mother fucker a check for three hundred, but I got to come around, cup in hand, begging for alms? Who the fuck you think is paying for this fucking church? What, you think they're doing this out of the kindness of their own heart? Fuck you and the bearded, invisible man in the sky you worship. If He wants money so bad, He can get a fucking job,* she thought to herself.

From there things only got worse. The nursing home where Mary had been started calling, demanding they pay her outstanding bill. As her daughter, Shannon was legally responsible for it. Not knowing what to do, she and Sam went to see a lawyer.

The lawyer informed them that since Kathy had only signed over guardianship of Shannon to Mary, and was never officially adopted, this meant that legally, she was Mary's niece, not her daughter. This meant two things, one, she wasn't on the hook for any of Mary's outstanding debts, but it also meant she was not eligible for any monies or assets her estate might have, unless stated otherwise in her will, which they could not find. So the money they were counting on to pay for the funeral was now no longer there and they had to eat the whole cost.

About a month later, their water heater broke and had to be replaced. The warehouse were Shannon worked, started going under and she kept getting her hours cut. By September, their furnace died and that needed replaced. Then the climate control system went out on Shannon's car. After that, she had gotten a blown tire and it turned out she had to have all her tires replaced. November hit and Shannon was informed she would be laid off until after the New Year.

Their credit cards were maxed out and they could no longer make their minimum monthly payments. Debt collectors started calling the house at all hours of the day. Shannon, at her wit's end, even fell for an insurance scam which left them even more in the hole.

Then there was the strange stuff that started happening to Sam and the kids. They said things would move on their own, calendars would just fly and hit Sam on the head. The house would have sudden cold spots. Shannon never experienced any of this, which made her jealous because it seemed as if her mother was trying to commune with everyone else in her family but her. She prayed to her mother daily to remove whatever curse she had put on her.

In March of 2013, Shannon got laid off for good as the warehouse closed down. For the next two years, she hopped from low paying job to low paying job. They had managed to find a good daycare for the kids but it cost nearly all of Shannon's earnings. The only thing that kept Shannon from killing herself was the idea that she couldn't put her kids through that. Eventually in 2015, she got a pretty steady job at another warehouse.

The following two years were what she called the calm years. They entered into a debt settlement agreement. They would pay $800 a month for three years and that would clear their debt out. Things kept going wrong with the house, but they were always able to take care of most things. It was the most stable time that Shannon had had in a long time. She decided that now would be the perfect time to seek out some therapy. It was through that, she finally came to the conclusion in 2017 to come out to Sam.

#fiction #dark #drama #sad #slice of life #queer stories

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yesterdaysjam1 · 7 years ago

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Snow Ball 1984 BTS

Dustin Henderson had just finished examining his hair in the boy’s restroom and now had made his way back to the gym. He stepped inside and considered the crowd, wondering if he had enough courage to ask a girl to dance again. All of a sudden, he heard a faint crash but before he could see what it was, someone tapped on his shoulder.

Dustin turned around and surveyed the girl in front of him. He had seen her at school before but couldn’t quite remember her name. Amy? Alice? She wore a pale green lace dress that fitted her small figure. She had long, luscious brown hair, which was pulled to her side and bangs covered her forehead. A small spray of freckles were scattered across her cheeks and nose just below her green eyes. He noticed she had a dimple in her left cheek, even though she wasn’t smiling. In fact, she looked nervous?

“Hi,” she said in small voice.

Her voice was like honey to his ears and he decided he never wanted to hear anyone else. ever. again. He realized then she was beautiful…an understated beauty, dissimilar to knockouts like Stacy and he decided he never wanted to look at anyone. Ever. Again. He snapped out of his state and immediately wondered why someone like her wanted to talk to someone like him.

“Hi,” Dustin replied, a little hesistantly. They stood there for a moment. She stared at her black Mary Janes (which were adorable). He continued watching her with a mix of curiosity and amazement. It was evident that she was painfully shy.

He cleared his throat after a few moments and she looked back up again, hitting him with those green eyes. She swallowed and took a deep breath. “Dustin,” she began. She knew his name? “Would you like to dance?”

He wasn’t sure if he had heard her right so he answered her with an inelegant “Huh?”

She furrowed her eyebrows under those bangs and repeated a bit more clearly, “Dance…would you like to dance?”

Dustin looked around, wondering if someone was playing a joke on him. How could this beautiful girl in this beautiful dress with this beautiful hair and that beautiful dimple want to dance with him? It then dawned on him that he had just finished dancing with Nancy Wheeler, a high schooler, and he had seen the way Stacy and her friends had been looking at him. Was she trying to enhance her popularity? Did she have ANY idea who he was? One dance with Nancy Wheeler would barely move his popularity quotient a tenth of a percent.

“Dustin?” She asked in that voice. And he realized she was expecting his reply.

Hey dipshit, stop being a dipshit he heard Steve Harrington’s voice in his head.

“Yes!” He said a bit too fast that he almost startled her.

Before she could change her mind, he grabbed her hand and pulled her to the dance floor. He barely noticed Mike and Eleven tangled in each other slow dancing to a fast song.

He almost rolled his eyes until he realized that’s exactly what he wanted to be doing. Luckily, the DJ gods decided to favor him and at that moment the Ah ha ha haa ha played of the song True.

He looked over at the girl in front of him. He realized he didn’t even know her name. She was looking around, definitely nervous, and he realized that she was waiting for him to make a move. He noticed her bangs had swept to the side a bit, revealing a small beauty mark above her left eyebrow. He could stare at it for the rest of his life.

“Here,” Dustin felt bold as he took her hands and put them on his shoulders like Nancy had taught him. He felt her gasp inwardly and for a moment he panicked. Did he do something wrong? He looked at her and realized she was smiling, her two front teeth slightly larger than normal (she was exquisite). Dustin smiled back at her and put his hands on her waist. He couldn’t stop staring at her. How did he not know who she was?

The music continued (this is the sound of my soul) and they swayed together. Dustin could not believe how lucky he was. A part of him was worried. What if she was only dancing with him because of Nancy? Also, he didn’t know her name and he didn’t think she’d take it so well if he admitted that.

“So…” Dustin said mostly just to say something. She looked at him with those green eyes and smiled.

“How are you liking the Snow ball?”

She shrugged and smiled shyly, “I’m enjoying it a lot more now.”

Dustin didn’t know if he could grin any wider and he was sure he looked like a crazy person but no girl had ever (and I mean EVER) acted like this with him (I know this much is true). He looked up and noticed Max and Lucas whispering in a corner looking at him. Lucas gave him a questioning glance and gestured to the girl (he had to figure out her name) Dustin was dancing with. Dustin shrugged back, even he had no idea why this beautiful girl was dancing with him.

He then noticed Stacy, her dress covered in punch, walk past Lucas and Max, on her way out of the gym. Dustin looked over at Lucas for an explanation and Lucas just shook his head. Weird. What had happened to Stacy? The girl he was dancing with followed his gaze to Stacy and gasped, “Woah, what happened to her?”

“You know Stacy?” Dustin asked.

“Yeah of course,” she replied, not adding anything further.

Who was this girl? Was she really only dancing with him because she knew Stacy? Dustin met Stacy’s gaze as she looked over at the two of them and left. Super weird.

“Are you friends with her?” He couldn’t help asking.

She looked up at him again (she was so pretty) a confused look on her face, “Sort of.” It was clear she didn’t want to continue discussing Stacy so Dustin didn’t ask anything further.

“Hey,” she said suddenly, “How have you been these past two months?”

Dustin’s eyes widened and he nearly choked. How could she know the events of the past two months? Is that why she was dancing with him? Is she a spy for the US government? The Russians? Relax Esmeralda, he heard Steve’s voice in his head.

He took deep breath and calmed himself down. He realized he was being ridiculous. With the most casual face he could muster, Dustin said, “Whadya mean?”

“Oh, I heard your cat died. I’m sorry.” She said sincerely?

Dustin was so surprised that he burst out laughing and then quickly coughed to cover his laugh. He could just imagine Steve shaking his head in disappointment.

“Are you okay?” She asked, concerned? He was having a pretty hard time deciphering the intent in her statements.

“Yes, yes…just have some asthma.” Too serious he thought stupidly as her eyes widened with worry. “I’m fine now,” he quickly stated. And before she could say anything, he quickly said, “Yeah my cat died. It was pretty bad.”

“I’m sorry,” she said again and this time Dustin was sure she (dammit he had to learn her name) was sincere.

“Thanks for asking. I really don’t like thinking about it.” He added, just in case she wanted details on how Mews died. She nodded in understanding and looked down again. The music continued and they dance in silence for a bit.

“Can I…can I ask you something?” she looked at him and he realized her eyelashes were perfect.

“Yeah, of course. Anything.”

She smiled shyly, hesitating.

“Go on.” Dustin encouraged.

“Why…why have you stopped showing off your teeth with that funny purr?”

#stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things 2 #dustin henderson #dustin x oc #stranger things fiction #dustin gets the girl #or does he?#mileven eventually #lumax eventually

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canwetalkaboutcaptainswan · 8 years ago

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280 Days

Finally finally the fic you all requested...Pregnant!Emma galore. It’s a long one folks. I hope you enjoy it!!

@justcheckingstuffcs @dark-ones-dont-need-sleep @losttalongthewayy @leatherjacketsandrum @mrandmrsswan @naiariddle @raggedyclaraa @mayquita @thegladelf @flslp87 @onceuponiwishmytime @galadriel26 @captainswanslay @captainswan710 @allofthismatters @mxltifandoms @caaptain-swan @jennjenn615 @kmomof4 @justcheckingstuffcs @blowmiakisscolin

Don’t forget, if I missed you in the tags, just shoot me a message and I’ll tag you from now on. And if you just got here, this piece is a companion piece to this, but you could still enjoy it if you haven’t read anything from the Nth Time Series.(But if you want to read all the parts, just go to my blog and check the cs ff tag.)

Enjoy this big fat heaping dose of CS family fluff!

~ Jenn

*************************************************

~ Day 78

She hates it. She forgot how much actually being pregnant sucks. 280 days of pure, undiluted torture. She’s queasy in the mornings and sweaty at night and she’s only known she’s pregnant for two weeks but god, it already feels like it’s been an eternity. Today is especially bad because this morning she woke up and she wanted eggs and Killian, of course, because this is Killian, made her eggs but then the smell made her sick, which made him feel bad which made her feel bad which made her cry which made him feel even worse which made her feel even worse. And her belly is already so round and in charge, and god, she’s 11 weeks pregnant and how dare her stupid perfect husband pump her full of so many babies?!

~ Day 83

They find an obstetrician that specializes in multiples at a Children’s hospital in Boston. The drive there is a little too far for Killian’s liking (45 minutes, 40 if you speed) but Emma assures him that it’s worth it and that she’d rather make the drive than trust Frankenstein to deliver their twins. Their first visit there is a Tuesday, and they’re delightfully surprised when the friendly obstetrician offers to get out her ultrasound machine. It’s the first time Killian’s seen the babies and he’s transfixed on the screen, watching those little blobs dance with the happiest of expressions. He cries when he hears their heartbeats for the first time, and before they leave, Dr. Cameron whispers to Emma about how lucky she is to have such a supportive partner. “Oh believe me,” she agrees, offering a smile, “there’s no way I could do this with anyone but him."

~ Day 90

Today is lovely in every sense of the word. It’s a lazy day, that Saturday, a perfect day off. Emma sleeps in and misses the morning sail, waking only to the patter of little 3-year old feet and the feeling of sea salt dusted lips against her hairline. She opens her eyes just as Leia clambers up on the bed, intent on telling the babies about her morning even though they can’t hear her really, not yet. “The wind was perfect, little loves,” the three year-old explains, and Emma watches Killian quietly sigh on account of Leia’s now-perfect “L” sounds. His only consolation is that his heart is warmed by the fact that she’s mastered the sound by using her own special nickname on her brothers ("or sisters, Killian.” “No, Swan.").

~ Day 112

There’s a crisis. What a surprise. Some villain with an ample supply of magic knock-out powder is going from shop to shop in town, taking money from the tills. Granny and Gold were both found unconscious, and August had been hit with the powder at the top of a staircase, which he’d then fallen down and broken a leg and a collarbone. Enough was enough and it was time to catch the bandit. Emma scurries around the house, fetching her jacket and loading her gun before snapping it into the holster. She’d had to expand the buckle on the thing to accommodate for her expanding girth already. (Ugh, are you kidding me?) She's pissed because it's her day off and now she has this to deal with. Her and Killian had been having a much needed nap together while Leia played with Henry, and it nearly killed her to leave his arms. Killian follows her around the house as she readies herself, and one look at his face lets her know something's bothering him. She goes to the front door to put on her boots, and he trails behind, busying himself with straightening the rest of the shoes in the foyer while she ties her laces. “Hey,” she says when she's finished, reaching for him, “I won’t be long, okay? Gunna nab this asshole and then my dad can deal with him. I’ll be back in no time to finish our nap.”

Killian takes a deep breath but forces a smile. Still, Emma can see that it doesn't reach his eyes, and can tell he’s unsettled inside. Unfortunately there's no time for her to figure it out now, as she really does have to go. He leans down and kisses her forehead. “Aye. Be…just be careful, Swan, alright?”

She nods, kissing his cheek before darting out the front door and going down the porch steps, toward the bug. She reaches into her pocket to retrieve her phone, intent on calling her dad and figuring out where they should start searching for this bastard. But before she can dial, she hears the front door open behind her. She spins, expecting it to be Leia wanting to say goodbye to her, but it isn’t. Killian is standing on the front porch, a heartbreaking expression of desperation etched on his face as he gazes at her. Well actually, she realizes, he isn’t really gazing at her, but rather at the small protrusion underneath her jacket that’s currently housing his two tiny humans.

“Please don’t go, Swan,” he says then, and the words are a quiet, desperate plead.

Understanding floods Emma almost instantly, and she mentally kicks herself because how had she failed to realize before the obvious reason why he looked so terrified?

“Oh Killian, I won’t,” she says automatically, and she immediately steps toward him, releasing her hold on her phone. Killian exhales in obvious relief and rushes toward her, meeting her at the bottom of the porch and pulling her into his arms. She wraps her own arms around him tightly, carding her fingers through his hair to soothe him.

He nuzzles against her ear. “I’m sorry, love. I know you can handle yourself, but I was just afraid that-“

“Hey, hey hey. Don’t be sorry, Killian, you’re right. I love you so much, okay? I’m not going anywhere. We’re all right here.”

He exhales again, nodding against her, and she still feels guilty for even considering endangering their unborn children. What if she’d been knocked out? Or fallen down a flight of stairs like August? She shudders in his arms at the mere thought, and does her best to throw all that out of her head. She’s safe here, he has her. “C’mon,” she smiles gently, nodding toward the house, “I’ll call my dad and we’ll resume our nap.”

~ Day 120

"Do you know how amazing you are?” he asks her one night when they’re settled intimately in their bathtub, Leia asleep, candles lit and bubbles abounding. Her back is pressed against his chest and his hand is settled under the water against her belly, her abdominal muscles quivering as he circles her navel with his pinkie finger. They’re cheek to stubbled cheek, so she’s sure he can feel the heat of her blush.

“Hmm,” she hums quietly, unsure of how to respond to his grandiose, complimentary statement.

“You’re just constantly amazing me, my love. First I got to watch you learn to be a mother to a little boy who is now our beautiful, astute young man. And then I got to watch you fiercely deliver our little screaming daughter into the world and have the pleasure of helping you raise her to be the perfect little ray of light that she is. And now here we are again, you’re blessing me with the greatest gift again, of carrying not one more but two more little creatures whom I already love so desperately that it makes me half-crazed. I’d have nothing if not for you, Emma Swan-Jones. You quite literally rooted me up from a place where I had nothing and you gave me everything. And I love you so, so much. So much.”

Emma just stares at him, tears gathering bountifully in her eyes. “...okay, well. I have absolutely no idea how to follow that speech, so I guess I’ll just kiss you now, okay?” she tries.

Killian just beams at her, the love in his gaze setting fire to her skin. “Okay,” he whispers.

~ Day 126

The paint is cold, but it feels nice. She's sprawled out on a hammock she let Leia conjure in their creepy-basement-turned-multi-purpose space, her belly jutting out proudly towards the ceiling. It's splattered with patterns of blues and pinks, Leia's paintbrush sweeping smoothly in a rhythmic motion that's halfway lulling her to sleep. Killian sits nearby in a lazy boy, yet another book about raising multiples perched on his lap. Noticing her mother’s eyes shut, Leia turns to her father. “How much longer until we can find out, Daddy?”

Killian smiles widely at his daughter’s artwork before looking at her. “Just two more weeks now, little love. I promise.”

~Day 140

No matter how hard anyone tries, the piñata just will not bust open. The backyard is all but packed to the max, literally all of Storybrooke having gathered for the grand celebration. Pink and blue decorations a la Mary Margaret are everywhere, and all that stands between everyone and the truth is a giant, pirate-ship-shaped piñata. All the kids - Leia, Robyn, Neal, Alexandra, Finley, etc - have been taking turns whacking the thing for the past half hour. Henry even took a mean swing, followed by Charming. But still, nothing. Killian is all but vibrating with excitement, swallowing curses every time somebody hits it.

“Why are you so nervous?” Emma elbows him playfully, oddly feeling calm despite the gravity of this situation. “You’ve said from day 1 you know they’re boys.”

“Aye, Swan, but it’s been a bloody eternity. I need that candy to fall so I can be certain.”

Emma clasps his shaking hand, rubbing the back of it with her thumb. “Patience, grasshopper. I’m sure one of these times—”

They’re interrupted by a thunderous crack, Neal having hit the ship particularly hard this time. The piñata swings wildly and everyone’s eyes watch it in anticipation, and then there’s a collective groan when it simply swings to a stop, virtually unharmed. “Emma there has to be a better way,” Regina whines, throwing her hands in the air. “Can’t I just blast the damn thing with a fireball?”

“No, wait!” Leia interjects, throwing the bat Neal handed her to the grass and scampering over to her parents. “Daddy. Hook please?”

Emma laughs at her little firecracker’s drastic plan, and releases Killian’s hand so he can remove the hook from its holster. His face is a mask of suspense, and his fingers shake ever so slightly. Leia of course, doesn’t miss it. “Come with me, Daddy? We can do it together!”

A smile breaks out on his face as he hands Leia the curved metal, the sun glinting off it in the afternoon light. Leia holds it carefully and Killian scoops her up, unable to resist the urge to kiss her rosy little cheek. “My smart little pirate,” he chides her, striding towards the piñata. “Are you ready?”

Everyone falls quiet. Emma’s heart rate quickens as she watches Killian and Leia go, and she brings her hand to rest against her belly. Mary Margaret fusses for the rest of the kids to back up, and Killian catches Emma’s eye for a brief moment. “Love you,” he mouths.

“I love you too,” she mouths right back.

And all at once, Leia swings her arm and plunges the hook deep into the piñata, yanking fiercely. And suddenly, finally, there’s an outpouring of candy, and Emma rolls her eyes and smiles because every piece is blue.

~ Day 148

No matter how hard she tries, she just can’t stop crying. Leia’s spending the day with Killian and his brother and Henry’s at school, so it isn’t like her loud sobs echoing around in the empty house are bothering anyone. She’s curled up on Killian’s side of their bed, and she stares in anger at the book of baby boy names she’d just chucked across the room. The tears roll hotly down her cheeks as she tries to untangle the knot of frustration coiled in her chest. There’s still time, Emma. Don’t worry, Emma. Somehow you’ll come up with names for not one but two little boys, Emma. She tries and fails to calm herself. Why the fuck had naming Leia been so easy? It had been the first of 3 names either of them suggested and they both fell in love with it. Why couldn’t this be easy, too? A fresh sob escapes her throat and she reaches for her phone, jamming her fingers irrationally hard against the buttons as she dials. Killian answers on the first ring, concern all too thick in his tone when he hears her sniffling. “Swan, what’s wrong?!” he demands in a hurry.

“C-can you pl-please come home?” she stammers, immediately hating herself for sounding like the hormonal pregnant lady that she is, “I’m hungry and I need you and your sons both need names.”

~ day 165

“Woah, Mommy!” Leia exclaims, her little hands pressed against Emma’s tummy, “Do it again!”

“I can’t make them kick, Leiabear. Try talking to them. When Daddy would talk to you, you would go crazy in there.”

“Hi, baby boys,” Leia coos at Emma’s tummy. “Are you warm and cozy in there? You talk too, Mommy. They like you.”

“Hello in there, sweet boys,” Emma coos, and Leia squeals excitedly as the kicks start up again. “We love you so much, all of us out here.”

“We DO love you,” Leia agrees, patting the spots she felt kicks. She giggles infectiously, and Emma reaches up to tuck her wild hair back behind her ears.

The front door opens then, Killian having returned from his quick run to Granny’s. Leia screams for him the minute she hears the door click, not wanting him to miss out on the fun. “Daddy, come quick!”

Emma rolls her eyes and laughs as she hears Killian’s thunderous, rushed footsteps carrying him up the stairs to where his girls (and boys) are. “What’s wrong? What’s happening?!” he demands, his face frantic.

“Did you seriously leave my onion rings at the front door?!” Emma scolds him.

“The babies are kicking us!” Leia explains excitedly.

Killian gasps and rushes over to the bed, and Leia jumps to the side so he has room. “And I missed it?!” The horror and sadness in his tone makes Emma laugh while simultaneously making Leia visibly upset.

“It’s okay, Daddy. It’s okay. They’ll do it again, I promise. They kick really hard when Mommy talks. Talk, Mommy!”

Emma, feeling the slightest bit like some riveting zoo exhibit, heeds her daughter’s request. “Little babies,” she begins, and Killian hovers his hands over her belly, letting Leia show him where to place his palms. “Your Daddy’s home now, little loves. He rushed up here so fast he forgot our food downstairs. Say, ‘we’re hungry, Dad!’’

The furious kicking starts then, and Killian gasps and chuckles in delight. “My lads!” he exclaims, rubbing gently where he can feel the tiny pushes. “Do you love your Mummy’s voice oh so very much? Dare I say she’s your very first love?”

“Oh, you bet I am,” Emma teases him, and Killian winks at her.

“That’s alright,” he teases back, “They’re they only two men I’ll ever surrender you to.”

~ Day 175

Building cribs is more difficult than it looks. Killian had refused help from Emma’s father, determined to accomplish the task all on his own. He’s literally sweating, even after cracking open the boys’ nursery window and taking off his coat and shirt. Despite the difficulty, he’s almost done…assembling one of the two, at least. Just a few more screws to tighten in and it would be on to the second one. He daydreams to pass the time, thinking about how one day soon Emma will bring their boys into the world. He physically aches with the need to meet them, to see their sweet little faces, to hold them and love them and never let them go. At the same time, though, he doesn’t want to meet them quite yet, for he knows how important it is for them to stay inside Emma for as long as there’s room. Emma’s doing a wonderful job carrying them, he thinks to himself. Despite the fact that her back aches and she pees every half hour, to Killian she’s an utter vision, his love, the grandest beauty there ever was. He’s so lost in thought that he fails to notice that the object of his affections is leaning against the doorframe, grilled cheese for him balanced against the top of her bump.

Emma too, is lost in thought, gazing down at her sweaty, chiseled, half-naked pirate. He’s a mess of furrowed brow and rippling muscle, and she swears that if he tries to build the second crib before taking her to bed she’ll kill him.

~ Day 197

At one of their ultrasound appointments, their regular ultrasound technician Amy asks Emma if it would be alright if a student joined her and helped. Emma smiles at the student (who looks nervous and terrified) and assures her that she’s fine with it. Normally Killian sits right by Emma to watch, but seeing as there are two technicians instead of one, he instead sits in a chair in the corner of the room so as not to be in the way. Emma makes small talk with the women, honestly doing her best to calm the student down. Her hands shake as she applies the gel, and apologizes for the temperature with a speech she’d definitely memorized. “It’s okay,” Emma tries to comfort her. “You’re doing great.” The student offers her a smile, and Amy tells her to find baby A’s heartbeat. She moves the probe and does so with ease, the fast rhythmic thudding music to Killian’s ears, as always.

Once it’s recorded, Amy tells the student she can do baby B now. The student nods and moves the probe, stopping the noise. She slides the thing upward, and presses it down. No thudding comes, and Emma smiles at the girl again when she notices her start to panic. “Try sliding it posteriorly a bit,” Amy instructs. The probe moves again, and still no sound. The student now looks like she wants to crawl into a hole and die, and Emma feels terrible. She turns away to share a pitied look with Killian, but is startled profusely when her gaze lands on her husband’s face. Killian looks white as a ghost. His face is contorted and his eyes are bulging wide, and he honestly looks like he might faint or throw up. Quickly reading his mind, Emma jerks suddenly, looking at the women again.

“Uhh, I’m sorry. Me and my husband were having a…huge fight in the car on the way here and I uhh..don’t feel settled because we didn’t resolve it. Could you give us like, 3 minutes alone? I’m so sorry. You’re honestly doing a great job,” she assures the young girl, patting her arm and feeling bad for lying.

“Sure Emma,” Amy agrees, motioning for the student to follow her out of the room. I’ll just let Alana look at your charts if that’s okay with you.”

“Of course,” Emma says, trying to get them out of the room as fast as possible. The minute they walk out of the room Emma moves faster than she’s moved in months, jumping out of the chair and going to Killian’s corner. “Killian, look at me. Killian,” she says firmly, his gaze lost far away still, but her voice snaps him out of it and he looks in her eyes, the terror in his face nearly blinding her. “Listen to me. That baby is fine. Absolutely, one hundred percent fine. That girl is a student, Killian. She’s just learning. The heartbeat is there, do you hear me? She’s just a kid. She’s just learning and she doesn’t know exactly where to put the thingie. But the actual baby is fine. It’s okay. I promise you.”

Killian starts to cry and she yanks him into her arms, the gel on her belly most likely smearing onto some of his leather. “Are you sure?” he croaks against her, and her heart almost shatters.

“Yes, babe. Yes. I promise you, he’s fine. They’re both fine. I’m so sorry you got so scared. Here, come here.”

She drags him over to her chair and grabs the probe, which is thankfully still on. Emma places it on her own belly, and within a few seconds she finds the right spot. Thudding once again fills the room and Killian presses his forehead to hers, basically collapsing with relief. She rubs his cheek with her free hand, kissing all over his face. “See? It’s okay. Your babies are fine. They’re both fine, I promise. I’m so sorry, Killian. You don’t have to be scared. Everything’s okay.”

Killian slowly collects himself, breathing deeply and rubbing at his eyes. Emma threads their fingers together, squeezing his hand. “She’s just learning, Killian. And she’s so nervous. Amy is probably her teacher and she’s afraid she’s gunna screw up. Are you okay now?”

Killian takes another deep breath. “Aye, Swan. I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Killian. You were just scared and that’s okay, okay? Here, pull that chair over here. Sit right by me, okay?”

Killian pulls the chair over, and kisses Emma's forehead. “Shall I go tell the ladies we’ve resolved our fake fight?”

Emma chuckles, squeezing his hand again. “Yes, please."

~ Day 212

She isn’t allowed out of bed anymore. Last week she’d been dizzy, and because she didn’t want to worry Killian she didn’t tell him. And then today, she’d fainted. Thankfully she was standing next to Killian when it happened, thankfully he caught her, and thankfully Leia didn’t see. She’d come to only minutes later, wearing no clothes and covered in cold towels, Killian crying and on the phone with the OB. For a split second she felt like laughing at the image of him freaking out and literally ripping her clothes off her (they were in a pile of shreds next to her) but then she felt like an ass because the whole thing had scared him tremendously and probably shaved years off his life. The doctor told him on the phone that it was probably her blood pressure dipping and that she should be on bedrest from now until the babies come. But nevertheless, he insists on driving her to Boston for a checkup. Thankfully everything is normal, aside from the fact that her blood pressure is dipping, and then the doctor repeats again, that she isn’t to get out of bed anymore.

~ Day 222

10 days in bed and she feels like she might die of boredom. Emma Swan does not lay in bed and do nothing - not her style. So it’s tremendously hard to let Killian do everything for her, even though he does it with zero complaints. Thankfully she has an entertaining 3 year old to help her pass the time. Today Leia’s activity of choice is to practice magic, and she does so by laying next to Emma and flicking her wrists to change the colour of the walls. And as she watches her tiny daughter wield her power, Emma errantly wonders whether the twins will have magic. Then she gets too wigged out by the idea of two identical male toddlers with magical fists, and promptly sends Leia to tell Daddy to make Mommy an ice cream sundae.

~ Day 230

“Mom. This is a little out of hand, you have to admit.”

“Oh, I fully admit to that, Emma. But just think. We won’t get to dress them ourselves forever. We have to take advantage.” Mary Margaret had went shopping in Boston, and Emma was fairly certain there isn’t a stitch of infant boy clothing left in any stores in the whole city, on account of they are all splayed out in front of her. Overalls and moccasins and sleepers and cable knit sweaters and onesies galore (2 of each, of course).

Emma smiles at her mother, who is so obviously proud of herself. “Thanks, Mom. I’m sure they’ll love all of it. So much so that I’m sure they’ll spit up or poop to prove their gratitude to you.”

~ Day 240

She wakes up in the middle of the night, and Killian isn’t in bed with her. At first, she just assumes he’d crawled in with Leia like always, but then something inside her makes her want to check to make sure he’s okay. She hauls her larger-than-life body out of bed (which secretly is a blessing because these days she never gets to use her legs. Killian has even taken to insisting she be carried to the bathroom) and walks down the hallway.

Sure enough, he isn’t in the giant Jolly Roger bed. Instead, she finds him across the hall, in the twins’ nursery. He’s sitting on the floor between the cribs, his legs curled up and his chin resting on his hands. He’s so lost in thought that it takes a few seconds for him to notice his whale of a wife in the doorframe. But he does, eventually.

“You shouldn’t be out of bed, love,” he scolds her lightly, and she just rolls her eyes at him, coming into the room. It takes great effort, (and a little of his help) but eventually she sits down on the floor next to him. She offers him her hand and he takes it, linking their fingers.

It’s silent for a moment as she waits for him to speak.

“It’ll be soon, aye?”

Emma blows out a puff of air. “I think so. I hope so. I’m tired of being pregnant. I hate it, you know.”

Killian chuckles quietly. “Never would’ve guessed,” he jokes.

“Don’t get me wrong, I love having babies with you. I just don’t enjoy the carting-them-around-on-top-of-my-organs-for-hundreds-of-days part.”

“I understand. I’m sorry. I wish I could do more.”

“Hey, you. You know you give me everything I need and more. Now, talk to me. What’s bothering you?”

“I’m worried about them, Emma.”

Emma crinkles up her nose. “What? Worried about what part?”

He sighs. “There’s two of them and there’s one of me. What if they both need protecting and I can’t-“

“Hey, now,” Emma interrupts, raising a hand to cup his face. “First of all, I have complete confidence that if for any reason one or several of our children were threatened, you would find a way to protect them. And second of all, you’re right. There is only one of you. But there’s also one of me. So there’s two of them, and two of us. You’ve told me from day one that we can handle this, so now it’s my turn to tell you. We can do this, Killian. Together, just like we’ve always done everything. It’s gunna be a hell of a crazy ride, but we’re going to love every second. I know it.”

He smiles then, putting his arm around her. She leans into him, and promptly yawns. “Best back to bed for you, my love,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“Fine,” she agrees, wiggling in an attempt to stand, “but you’re gunna let me walk there myself.”

~ Day 246

He wakes up in the middle of the night to the sound of her sniffling. He reaches for her instinctively, but soon realizes she’s sitting on the edge of the bed and out of reach. He jolts upright, jostling the bed. “Are the babies coming?!” he asks her frantically, shaking his head to wake himself up.

“No,” she sniffles, and her answer comes out in somewhat of an angry snarl. He crawls to her, reaching with his good hand to massage her shoulder, but she shrugs his touch away, leaving him confused. “What’s troubling you, darling?” he asks gently, trying to get her to meet his gaze.

“I’m so big,” she cries, frustration in her tone. “I’m tired of it.”

“Hey now,” he clucks at her, and he climbs to sit next to her so he can pull her against his side, but she again resists his touch.

Then she starts yelling. “I’m tired of your “hey nows!” And I’m tired of your side hugs! And I’m tired of being the little spoon and then waking up with you having rolled away from me. I miss when you could hold me all night long with my face against your neck and your chest chair against my nipples. When you hold me like that I feel safe. And I’m just sad cause I can’t remember the last time I actually fit in my favourite spot and I woke up and had to pee of course and when I came back to bed there was no foreseeable way for me to get myself close to-”

She’s rambling now, and working herself up to cry harder, so he deems it an appropriate time to interrupt her. “Oh, my love. I’m so sorry, sweetheart. Come right here, darling. We’ll fix it. You’ll fit right here, right where you belong. Emma, my love. Let me hold you, sweet.”

She tries to argue but he just pulls her with him to the middle of the bed, her towering belly peeking out from under her tank top. He pulls off said tank top before laying on his back, beckoning her to follow suit. She refuses and it’s difficult, but he is determined to please her. He continues pulling at her and it’s awkward at first, but he situates them so that she’s on her side facing him and her ginormous belly is resting on top of his flat one. She fusses about crushing him and he just hushes her, yanking pillows to tuck behind her so she’s comfortable and maneuvering his arm so she can use it to rest her head on and ensuring that his chest hair is fulfilling its rightful duty. After many wiggles and huffs, she finds she can miraculously cuddle against his collarbone with ease, and his arms are tight around her, his good hand trailing lines up her arm.

“Would you magic the blankets over us, love?” He asks, and she sniffles a final time, summoning the sheet and duvet to drape over them the way she likes. One of her legs is tucked between his, and she realizes she can feel the warmth of his skin in a way she’s missed desperately for what seems like forever.

“Better?” Killian whispers, and she kisses his jaw, letting the scent of him calm her further.

“Yeah,” she sighs, and though he feels like her belly might indeed suffocate him, he does admit to himself that he missed holding her like this, close, where he knows she’s safe, where he can see her lovely face and watch her fall asleep. He can feel the babies kicking then, and he pauses rubbing her arm to rub the side of her belly.

“See? You fit. No matter what, you’ll always fit right here, Swan.”

She wiggles a bit, sighing contentedly, and he tightens his hold on her. They lay in silence for a few minutes, just holding each other, and Emma closes her eyes.

Killian’s lips play at her forehead and he whispers his love to her, his voice a soft cadence that he’s used many a time to get her to sleep. Just when he thinks sleep is about to pull her under though, her eyes snap open and she practically growls.

“Fuck my LIFE, KILLIAN. I HAVE TO PEE. TELL YOUR SONS THEY NEED TO GET OUT.”

~ Day 249

It’s movie night. Henry insists they watch Star Wars again, and everyone struggles to get settled on the couch as the opening monologue of episode IV slides across the screen. (Thankfully, everyone in the house has it memorized. Even Leia.) Leia ends up on Killian’s lap, and Emma sits between them and Henry. Her belly makes for a perfect table for the popcorn, until a baby kicks so hard that the bowl tips over and pieces fly everywhere. Emma screams and Henry startles and Leia tries to clean it up quick with her magic, but she accidentally makes the whole couch disappear. The four of them land on the ground with a thud, and they all laugh so hard tears streak down their faces. Once the couch is conjured back they focus on the film, Leia zonking out midway through, as always. Emma dozes too, her head on Killian’s shoulder, but Henry swats her periodically and tells her to pay attention. She does her best to comply, for she knows the days are numbered, and that it’s only a matter of time before a duo of tiny jedis take over their home.

~ Day 251

In the early hours of the morning on the 251st day, she wakes to the feeling of a gush of liquid rushing down her thighs to soak their bed. Shit. Shit. She realizes in that moment that her days are up, that she’ll never make it to day 280, that these boys are coming and they are coming now. She turns over to the sleeping man next to her, to the man who has been her rock and her strength for the past 251 days and well, eons before that too, of course. His hair is tousled and his face is peaceful and all she wants in life is for their sons to look like him. “Killian,” she whispers, voice cutting through the silence, “Killian, hey. You’ve gotta wake up.”

#captain swan #cs ff #cs fluff #cs crew #daddy!Killian #canwetalkaboutcaptainswan #cs + L #+ twinsies

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