#ch2 is nearly done but i realized the whole thing was getting long so i thought why not split it & let us all enjoy a little treat teehee

[cloverthebarbearian]

Secret Meetings (P.1)

Uktar x GN!Tav 3,380 words (Suggestive not explicit) (P.2, P.3)

Tav's tongue ran down his exposed skin as far as his clothes allowed, before trailing kisses back up his neck, nibbling his ear as he ran his hand from their hair down their spine. "I wish I could kiss you," Tav sighed. "You know why you can't," Uktar muttered in response, wrapping his hands around the small of their back, pulling them closer. They felt his hands creep under their top, warm and welcome against their bare skin. "What if I promised to keep my eyes closed," they teased, nuzzling their nose against him. He let out a gentle laugh. "Not good enough, Sweetness," Uktar ran his hand up their spine, reveling in the touch of their bodies together.

Dusk was fast approaching, threatening storm clouds of grey and blue rolling across the horizon. The evening air was welcome in the busy streets of Wyrm's Crossing. That crisp and haunting chill of promised rain tickling Tav's skin as they approached Sharess' Caress. The familiar warmth of the brothel greeted them when they opened the front door, heady incense wafting through the air.

"Hello, Darling!" Mamzell Amira strolled elegantly from behind her workspace to give Tav a friendly hug, kissing both cheeks in greeting, "How was the trek today?"

"Nothing special, Mam," Tav removed the cloak draped across their shoulders and handed the Mamzell their outerwear to check in behind the counter, "Looks like a storms approaching. Lots of travelers needing rooms tonight, good for business I bet?"

Amira tutted playfully, "And what better way to shield from a storm than the warm embrace of a beautiful stranger, hm?"

She practically floated as she moved about the lobby, "Same room as always, dear?" she called to Tav while working through the Caress' room keys.

"Yes, Mam," Tav replied, "Everything cleaned and prepped I take it?"

"Of course, darling," Mamzell Amira handed them their room key. Just as Tav was about to take it, the Mamzell yanked it back, eyeing their patron playfully, "You know, I'm rather curious who this mysterious little client of yours is."

Tav rolled their eyes with a grin, "I'm sure you are Mamzell, but I've made it very clear they've requested discretion. You know how many powerful individuals come around here requiring silence, often times for our own safety."

Mamzell Amira pouted, "Oh, I know darling. But I can't help that my mind wanders. They're so mysterious! No one's even caught a glimpse of them, the way they manage to sneak in and out with such ease," she sighed, glancing at Tav again before handing them their key in earnest, "Well, I suppose as long as you feel safe and I get paid, that's all that matters," she waved Tav off nonchalantly, "Have fun, dear."

Tav took the key with a smile, a light blush creeping across their cheeks, "I always do, Mam."

Tav locked the bedroom door after checking the room thoroughly. All their standard requests were abided, as usual. Fresh water, sweet wine, and a small fruit and bread platter set up on the tea table. The inset stone bath was full and warm, their closet stocked with clean robes, fresh clothes, and warm towels. A few simple toys and tools by the bedside, in case the mood struck them.

No poison in the wine, no assassins hiding in any unlit corners. Old habits die hard.

They took a deep breath and unlocked the door to the balcony, leaving it open a crack and placing a small wedge of wood in the frame as a stopper. The wind of the incoming storm brought in a bit of mist and drizzle, and Tav shivered. They turned to the bath and began discarding their clothes, submerging their tired feet into the hot water with a sigh. They walked to the center of the large tub and sat down, curling their knees to their chest and closing their eyes as the hot water soaked into their aching bones.

And now they wait.

The waiting was always hardest. They never knew when he'd arrive. He's never missed a date so far, though there have been times he hadn't shown until the morning sun was already teasing the horizon. Tav's only knowledge he had even come at all from feeling him slip into bed to hold them as they slept, and a note left behind by their pillow when they finally woke.

They watched the steam rise from the tub as they listened to the rain. It was coming down steadier now. Rolling thunder echoed in the distance. They began wondering if he'd show up at all tonight, what with an impending storm fast approaching. This was supposed to be casual, and technically all just business. But they'd be lying if they said their heart didn't sink at the idea of a night without him.

They tipped their head back, submerging themselves completely in the heated pool. Their hair wisped around them as they gazed at the ceiling through the haze of water. The rhythmic thumping of their pulse in their ears acting as a metronome, counting seconds as they waited. Seconds that felt like minutes as they held their breath.

A muffled bump shook them from their trance, bolting upright and cresting the water with a deep breath of cool air. They stared at the balcony door, eyes wide and body crouched as if ready to pounce before registering who was causing the racket.

Uktar stood drenched in the open doorway, the earlier drizzles having turned into torrential downpour. Sheets of rain crashed like waves as he fought with the door against the wind. A comparative silence followed the slamming wood as he stood with his back against the door, chest heaving, head low. He finally glanced up and saw Tav, their head resting on folded arms against the edge of the bath, an amused smile across their face.

The masked man gestured to the door, "Couldn't help me with this then?"

Tav suck into the water, running their fingers along the surface, "I was a bit occupied," they said as they took in the sight of him, stifling a laugh, "Looks like you managed a bath before arriving for a change! I appreciate that."

"Ah Ha. Ha Ha Ha. You're hilarious," his head tilted with a mocking laugh as he shook his hands and removed his boots. He walked to the wardrobe, grabbing a change of clothes and moving behind a divider to change out of his now soaking wet attire. Tav watched with an anxious curiosity as he removed his mask and placed it on a table beside the wardrobe, straining to peak between the cracks of the divider's wooden panels. All in vain, they were already certain, but it didn't stop them from trying.

"You actually showed up fairly early tonight," Tav commented, "Usually I'm here at least an hour before you arrive… Thought you'd choose to wait out the storm or something," they bit their lip as they watched his silhouette.

Uktar draped his wet clothes over the divider, toweling himself off as he spoke, "I knew the rain was coming. Managed to talk my way out of any deals going on too late. Scared folks into thinking the sewers may flood. Gave me plenty of time to haul ass over here," he threw his towel over the divider and it landed on the floor within Tav's reach, "Didn't think I'd get caught in the storm though."

Tav picked up the towel and wrapped it around themselves as they begrudgingly left the warmth of the pool. Uktar was busy tying his hair back up and pulling on a fresh pair of underclothes as Tav approached. They glanced at his mask left laying on the side table, gingerly running their fingers along the cool, glossy porcelain. Still spattered with rain, it seemed like it were made of crystal with the way it twinkled.

They heard Uktar clear his throat loudly from behind them, and Tav swiftly turned their back to the divider. Carefully, they picked the mask up and held it out behind them until they felt it leave their grasp.

"Thank you," his low voice replied. His cadence still perpetually annoyed, but Tav could hear the shame tinged below it all. They gave him a few beats to shroud himself, rocking gently on their heels before glancing over their shoulder.

"May I?" they asked, their eyes still trained on his legs.

"You may, Highness," he said with a tease and an exaggerated bow. Giggling, Tav turned around to face him. He leaned back up, adjusting to finish tying his robe as they looked at him.

Tav walked slow, still wrapped in their towel, running their hands under his arms and around his waist, looking up into the eyes of his mask.

"Hi," they said, coy smile betrayed by the blush on their cheeks.

"Hello, Sweetness," he responded, caressing their head in his hand, stroking down their cheek and pulling them close to his chest. The smell of rose oil and ivory soap from their bath still lingering.

Uktar could feel Tav's damp skin seeping through his fresh clothes, "Could we get you properly toweled off?" He quickly ran his arms up and down their shoulders as he pulled away, turning to grab them another towel.

He draped the fresh towel over their head, running the ends up and over their face, down their cheeks, watching the way they seemed to melt against his touch.

"We need to get you dressed," Uktar muttered as he dried their hair.

"What's the point if I'll be taking it all off in a moment?" Tav teased, loosening the towel tied around their torso, letting it fall to their ankles. They stood damp and bare as Uktar continued to dry their hair, pretending he hadn't even noticed his partner's playful advances.

He took the towel off their head and held it against the small of their back, pulling their naked body into him, "The point's in how much fun it'll be to get you out of them myself."

Tav felt their cheeks flush. They reached their hands up to his neck and pulled him down to meet them. They kissed the cold lips of his mask as if they were truly his, before moving down to his chin and neck. Their skin still warm from the bath, they made sure to hold their lips against him long enough to share their heat.

Uktar dropped the towel he had been using to hold Tav against him and wrapped his hands around their bare back. He relished the softness of their skin, squishing the plush spot where their hips met their thighs, running his fingers down the curves of their ass while they kissed him.

He tasted like he had actually bathed before coming, outside of being caught in the storm. There was a taste of earth from the rainwater, but beneath it was a musk of soap and… aftershave?

Tav pulled back and glanced up at him, "Are you… wearing cologne?" They smiled as their eyebrows twisted, once again trying to stop themselves from laughing.

Uktar gently pushed Tav away from him, "You get mad when I come in smelling like the sewers, are you really gonna give me shit for trying to clean up for a change?" Tav covered their mouth as to not be rude, hiding their smile.

After the first few times they teased him, Uktar had either bathed before arriving or bathed at the Caress when coming straight from the Guild. But this was the first time he seemed to have put on some sort of fragrance oil, and it had caught Tav by surprise.

"No, no, you're right," they tried to calm their giggling, "Its sweet. And preferable. Thank you," They pulled him back into a hug, kissing the exposed skin on his chest that his shirt and robe didn't quite cover. Tav turned and made their way to the wardrobe as Uktar sat in a plush armchair. He took the opportunity of Tav standing behind the divider to lift his mask and expose his lips, picking off grapes and sipping wine as he waited for his partner to dress.

"What would you like me to wear?" Tav called out to him, lilt in their voice sounding coy and seductive.

"Whatever you want, Sweetness," Uktar replied nonchalant, popping another grape in his mouth. Tav groaned. It was so hard getting him to play along sometimes. They threw on undergarments, and settled on a thin, billowing shirt. It reminded them of something Astarion might've worn, though a bit see-through with the light weight fabric.

Seeing no point in wasting time with too much clothing, they cleared their throat before coming out from behind the screen. Uktar took one large sip of wine before lowering his mask again, and Tav gradually slipped their body out into the open.

They ran their finger along the edge of the wooden divider, looking up at the man sitting a few feet away as they took their time approaching. They saw Uktar shift in his seat, gripping the arms of his chair. They could practically feel the way his hungry eyes devoured them, hidden behind his porcelain guise.

Tav reached out for their own glass of wine and drank readily, letting one hand run up Uktar's thigh as they placed their goblet back onto the table.

Immediately, Uktar had their wrist in his hand. Pulling them down to him, he wrapped his arm around their back and practically threw them up onto his lap. Tav laughed at the way he tossed them around, letting their hands settle on his chest as he ran his own hands down their back.

"Sooo… what's on your mind tonight?" Tav asked teasingly. The man beneath them let his grip squeeze into their hips as he subtly rocked himself against them. Tav's mouth opened in a silent moan, smiling and running their hands up to his neck.

"Same as always, gorgeous," Uktar's thumbs pushed into the dips of Tav's hips, where their thighs curved in towards their core, "Let's just see what gets us there."

They let their fingers trace along his neck, the tips of their nails ever so delicately gliding across his skin. He sighed, letting his head rest back against the plush arm chair. He watched as Tav took the opportunity to plant kisses on his neck, running their hands down under the tops of his robes. His chest rose, taking in deep breaths under their touch. Tav could feel the warm air building under his porcelain mask - his breath smelling of wine, mint, and molasses. His hands ran up and down their sides, hips gently pushing up into them. They rolled their own body in response, tracing their tongue along the risen veins against his skin.

Uktar's hand knotted into their hair, holding them steady and forcing them slightly away from him. Not enough to stop their touch, but far enough to make them really have to work to keep their lips and tongue against his skin. They smiled and laughed wantonly, pulling at the collar of his clothes.

They felt the strength of his raw desire in his touch, and the ever stiffening length between his legs. Tav's tongue ran down his exposed skin as far as his clothes allowed, before trailing kisses back up his neck, nibbling his ear as he ran his hand from their hair down their spine.

"I wish I could kiss you," Tav sighed.

"You know why you can't," Uktar muttered in response, wrapping his hands around the small of their back, pulling them closer. They felt his hands creep under their top, warm and welcome against their bare skin.

"What if I promised to keep my eyes closed," they teased, nuzzling their nose against him. He let out a gentle laugh.

"Not good enough, Sweetness," Uktar ran his hand up their spine, reveling in the touch of their bodies together. It was short lived, however, as Tav groaned and pulled back, hands resting on his chest as they propped themselves atop him.

They toyed with the edge of his robes, untying the clasps and running their hands over his plain undershirt. Uktar watched them from beneath his refined veneer. Their hands weakly attempting to undress him, their expression seemingly disinterested now. Or rather... distracted. A slew of emotions were obvious across their face, now clearly frustrated and discouraged.

He removed his hands from Tav's back and ran them over his chest, meeting theirs and resting his hands atop their own. He brought their knuckles up to his masked lips, making Tav smile at his attempted thoughtfulness. He took their hands and moved them again. Letting each of Tav's hands rest on either side of his neck, directing their thumbs under the very edge of his covering.

Tav's heart fluttered, gazing into the doll-like eyes of Uktar's mask. At times, they swear they could see his true eyes peaking beneath, watching them wistfully. Swirls of grey and green. Maybe it was just wishful thinking, of a day they could gaze into his eyes in truth.

He nodded as Tav paused, a small gesture allowing them to continue. They let their thumbs travel the length of his jaw, stilling by his chin. His hands held their wrists loosely, allowing them the freedom to move them as they wished. Tav hesitantly ran their thumb over his chin and across his bottom lip, concealed beneath his veil. Their breathing shuddered in tandem at the tenderness of Tav's soft finger against his dry lips, shocked to feel a ring pierced through the center. Uktar went to lick them instinctively, grazing Tav's thumb in the process, causing them to release a breathy moan.

They dropped their forehead against his own cold ceramic disguise, cupping his head in their hands and kissing his porcelain lips with fervor. Short lived - their kisses slowed to a halt, and Tav's chest eventually started heaving.

They didn't cry. Gods, they couldn't cry in front of him. But the ache in their gut was all consuming. They held their forehead against his, praying he couldn't see the tears building up within them from behind his covered eyes. They managed to turn their growing sorrow into a weak laugh.

"This is torture, you know," they pushed themselves from his chest and off his lap, pacing around the room.

Uktar ran his hands over his mask and slumped into the armchair, "Gods, Tav, not this again."

"No, it's not fair, Uktar! We've been seeing each other for months. We're both involved with the guild now - If I found out you're hiding some sort of 'secret identity' and ratted you out, I'd be killed…"

"And we can't have that," Uktar interjected sarcastically. Tav shot him an annoyed glare, and he responded with an exasperated shrug before pushing himself to his feet, "What do you want me to say, Tav? We've been over this! I just…!" He gestured to himself, frustrated, "I just can't, okay? Can we leave it be?"

Tav folded their arms across their chest, looking away from him to hide the tears they felt creeping up on them once more.

"I'm not going to judge you, you know," they said, quietly, "I wouldn't do that. I wouldn't think you were…" they bit their tongue, careful not to inadvertently say something hurtful, "I wouldn't be scared of you."

The air went silent in the room above the caress. They heard Uktar's heavy footfalls approach cautiously until his presence could be felt behind them. Their breath faltering as they felt his hands running over their shoulders, down their arms, slowly enveloping their folded limbs in his own. They felt the rise and fall of his chest pressed against them as they stood together.

"I know you think that, Tav," he murmured, his chin resting on their shoulder.

"I don't just think that," Tav snapped back in defense, "I'm not heartless. I'm not some kid scared of a boogie-man. Need I remind you what my teammates looked like after eating Ilithid worms? On purpose? Hells, I honestly thought Gale looked better for it," Uktar scoffed as he tried to hide his laughter. Tav leaned their head against his, a hand snaking up around the back of his neck, "Besides… as much as I would love to see you, that's not even what I'm asking," they nudged into the exposed skin at the crook of his neck, "I just… I want to feel you, Uktar."

They felt his body tense at their words, gripping them tighter, humming to himself. Time slowed as he gently rocked his body with theirs, eventually relaxing, running his hands along their arms before releasing them slowly.

"Perhaps," he spoke at first with a small hint of unease. But after a pause, he continued, his tone shifting into something more alluring, shrouded in excitement. Tav turned to look at him curiously.

"Perhaps, we can… compromise."

[diudiudiu]

My AO3 Fanfics

Updates can be slow with what my adhdass brain decides to place focus on but rest assured I aim to complete all my fics. I'll try to keep this post up to date with where I'm at with them.

AO3 link for all of my works: @bogteats

Currently working on:

[2024-11-01] Working on a new multi-chaptered fic that wouldn't leave my mind. Aiming to post when I'm nearly done with the whole thing. Working through health issues so may take some time.

In-progress

[M] reverse the script [5/14] - Actor/Celeb AU

Or, in which, Enid is ecstatic when she manages to bag the coveted lead role for the highly-anticipated reboot TV show of The Abrams Family as dark and broody titular character, Winter Abrams. If only she didn’t butt heads so much with her on-screen roommate, but off-screen, rival-ish, co-star.

Going slow. But we will get there.

[M] sink your teeth into me (and i'll do the same) [1/7] - Vampire AU

Or, in which, Wednesday finds herself making a deal and living with a rather unconventional vampire roommate.

Bits of ch2 done. Have ideas where it will go but need to figure out rest of outline. Prolly 7-8 chapters.

[E] our immeasurable ties that bind [8/19] - ABO/Omegaverse AU

Or, in which, Enid’s new life under a hidden identity is disrupted when she’s reunited with her child’s uninformed sire.

Finally completed story outline with chapters and rest of planning. Prolly 19 chaps but who knows 🥴

[E] depravity leads to you [3/6] - Accidental Voyeurism

Or, in which, Wednesday hears a bit too much from her roommate. After that, everything descends into debauchery and madness.

I have a plan for the rest of the fic but unsure when I will be able to write this 👀

Upcoming (not posted yet)

[E] TBA (the nature of idiosyncrasies pt. 2) [0/1] - ABO/Omegaverse AU

One-shot set post pt. 1, or two-shot if it grows too long. Half-ish done. It is not half done at all lol.

[E] TBA (the nature of idiosyncrasies ABO swap AU retelling) [0/?] - ABO/Omegaverse AU

Plan is an absolute mess but it's vaguely there with a whole bunch of thoughts and ideas. Ch1 is nowhere near done.

Completed

Since I don't have a beta reader, all mistakes are mine and completed fics will undergo ongoing fixing of typos etc. whenever I spot them or have time.

[T] parce que toi et moi, ça fonctionne (même si ça ne devrait pas) [8/8] - Eurovision/Celeb AU

Or, in which, aspiring singer-songwriter, Enid Sinclair, tries to do more than win the biggest international song contest for the glory of France when she meets other front runner entry, Los Locos Addams, from Spain.

[E] the nature of idiosyncrasies [18/18] - ABO/Omegaverse AU

Or, in which, after Pugsley destroys a decent chunk of the Addams’ residence, they take this opportunity to do some redecorating. Upon recommendation by their mutual friend Eugene, Enid takes the project, not realizing it’s the home of her high school, kind-of, crush.

[E] hello there, it's me, the bull in a china shop [1/1] - 5+1 fic

Or, five times Enid tries to seduce Wednesday and the one time she doesn’t.

[T] what was i made for (and does it even matter) [7/7] - Christmas AU

Or, in which, Christmas elf Enid tries to win the ultimate promotion to Santa’s personal assistant by fulfilling one of the most difficult Christmas wishes: finding love for a human Grinch.

[swanslieutenant]

a place in time - chapter xiii

Summary: Emma’s an agent working to reunite missing people with their families when the biggest missing persons case of all time appears in front of her in a flash of bright, white light. Thousands of missing people from throughout history, including one particular pirate, appear on the shore of a lake in the middle of winter: none have aged a day since their disappearance and, with no memory of their missing time, must venture into a strange and uncertain future. Loosely based on the TV show “the 4400.”

Rating and Warnings: Teen. For now.

Catch up: ch1, ch2, ch3, ch4, ch5, ch6, ch7, ch8, ch9, ch10, ch11, ch12

Read on AO3

Note: *shows up nearly 2 years late with a Tim Hortons hot chocolate* - apologies for the length it took for me to get this updated. It has been a hard/chaotic two years for me and this fic is a hard one to write, but things are settling a bit, so I will try not to leave it for that long again. 

thanks to all the folks over at the @captainswanmoviemarathon discord channel for welcoming me in and helping me get this finished with the many many writing sprints it took!

___________________________________________________________

Neither Killian or Emma speak as they march back to her office, their steps quick and staccato against the polished floors. The world seems to be on a tilt, like Emma is walking through a funhouse with slanted floors, with the glass doors of the offices lining the hallway like the twisted and bendy mirrors of the carnival house, warping and distorting reality all around her. 

Emma supposes she should be used to this feeling by now. After all, her entire world has been on a tilt since that night down at the lake, with the sudden appearance of thousands of people.

But this time it feels different. Like her normal life, or what has been her new normal at this point, has been shattered once again. What she thought to be true, who she thought she could trust and rely on – broken, once again.

I know him from my time. 

When they reach her office, after unlocking the door, she gestures Killian ahead of her. He hasn’t said a word yet, and his face is solemn, the utter shock now an icy grit. His jaw is set, his eyes steel, the cold-hearted pirate that lurks beneath his charming veneer returned full force.

“This is his doing.” His voice is shaking with rage, the words more a growl than a sentence.

“This is crazy,” Emma says, swallowing the growing bile rising in her throat as she shuts the office door behind herself. She grips the side of her desk, her knuckles turning white, as she falls heavily into her desk chair. “How – are you sure that it’s the same guy?”

“Absolutely.”

He is still sanding by the door, hands curled into fists at his side, almost vibrating with fury. There is clearly some history here, and Emma remembers the vile that Gold spoke of Killian with when the returnees first arrived, how he had demanded for him to be locked up and kept away from the others.

“Who is he, Killian? How do you know him?”

“He’s a monster.” He spits the words, and then lifts his left hand, shaking his sleeve up his arm and rubbing at the scar that encircles his wrist, ragged and rough. “See this scar, Swan? He did it to me.”

She has wondered about the scar ever since she first saw it weeks ago, and now the shadow that had darkened his expression when she mentioned it then makes sense. She is truly sick now, her stomach twisting at the thought of her boss, the man she has sat across from in meetings and who controls this entire goddamn situation, literally attacking someone to the point of leaving such a horrific scar.

“He – dear god, Killian. That looks like he tried to cut your hand off!”

“It was no mere attempt,” Killian replies hollowly, eyes darkening. “He did cut it off.”

Emma blinks at him, and then stares at his hand, clearly attached to his arm. Now fair enough, she doesn’t know a lot about surgery or how re-attaching a limb would work, but Emma sure as hell knows there is no way Killian would have had his hand re-attached or be able to use it with 1700s medicine.

“He – what? I don’t understand. But your – your hand? How was it … fixed?”

“Magic.”

Emma’s heart stutters at the word. She leans back in her chair, stunned as if she’s been slapped.

“What?”

“A witch,” Killian continues, oblivious to Emma’s reaction, and he waves his right hand airily. “Or a fairy or some other manner of creature. I suppose I never actually asked her. My crew and I had come across her once before ever meeting Gold, and we retreated to her after his attack. She was a bit prickly, but she re-attached it for me after my crew begged her to. She had only a little magic left after running into trouble of her own, and she was no expert, hence the scar, but she did her best.”

Magic, witches, fairies. Her superpower remains silent, indicating Killian is telling the truth as he sees it, but Emma can’t believe it. Abruptly, Emma feels on the edge of tears. A hand re-attached by magic?

What?

Killian seems to finally notice her thunderstruck expression. “To you, Swan, magic is a myth. In my time, it was as common as your light switches. And clearly,” he adds, holding up his hand and flexing his fingers, “it worked.”

Seriously, what the hell is her life these days? Magic? Fine, she has no explanation for why Killian is standing in front of her, two and a half centuries after he should have died. But magic? No way. Aliens or scientific advancements in time travel make more sense than magic. But then she thinks of the video Anna had shown her of her sister controlling snowflakes as naturally as could be, and well, hell, magic at this point may make as much sense as anything else.

“I don’t understand,” Emma manages finally, wrenching her mind away from the literal concept of magic to the problem in front of her. Gold, Killian, time travel, his hand. “How – why did Gold cut your hand off?” 

“I stole something from him.”

… Of course he did.

Her mind starting to burst at the seams, she can only gape back at Killian as he explains his history with Gold, utterly lost for words. In Killian’s time, Gold had been a powerful landowner in England, who ventured to the New World after making a bad deal and losing his fortune. He didn’t know how long Gold had been in America before Killian heard of him, but he did know was already successful and rich in his new surroundings, a dangerous businessman who no one dared cross.

Except Killian.

“As you may remember, Swan, at that time I was a wanted man by the English Crown, having stolen and burned many of their ships. They had done their own damage to me, and it was my utmost desire at the time to ruin them in any other way I could. So, when I heard rumours of an enchanted object that Gold had brought over from England, the last of his previous fortune and a gift from the king and royal family themselves, naturally, I wanted it. Besides, my crew and I hadn’t had a good heist in months. It was a hard, cold winter, and the stormy weather had kept many ships trapped in European harbours, and my men were itching for some action.”

Even amidst her shock at this whole situation, Emma has to resist the urge to roll her eyes – pirates.

“My crew and I were moored in a town called Newport, near where his new estate was. We were restocking the Jolly Roger when I heard he’d left the town for business and would not be back for a fortnight, leaving his mansion unprotected.”

“So, you of course just waltzed in and stole it. What even was it?”

He flashes her a devious grin, a glimmer of his charming, mischievous self breaking through his dark demeanour. “I’m a hell of a pirate, love, even on land. It was only too easy to sneak into his manor. We took everything we could get our hands on, and then I found this object, the king’s gift.” Killian cups his hands, as if he was holding several apples in his palms. “It was roughly this size. I couldn’t tell you what it was called, for I’ve never come across anything like it before. I thought perhaps a music box or a small chest at first. It was circular, with the sides plated in pure gold leaf. The top of it was beautiful, no doubt painted by the finest artist to represent a dark indigo sky with white stars emblazoned upon it. I wondered if it was only the case for the true treasure within, but I could never get the damn thing to open. My crew and I tried everything we could think of – prying it, smashing it, hammering it. Nothing. It seemed empty inside, too, for when you’d knock on it, it was hollow. After all the efforts for seemingly nothing, I thought about simply selling it. But, then I heard Gold was desperate to have it returned, that he had ripped his manor apart looking for it, so I knew it was something valuable indeed.”

Emma is trying to picture the object Killian describes, and she has no idea what it could be either. Sounds to her like a little box, like something you’d find in an old antique or knick-knack store. “Okay, so what did you do with it then?”

“I buried it, somewhere safe where I knew Gold couldn’t find it.”

The entire tale is the most Killian has spoken about his past as a pirate since appearing in this time, and Emma supposes she shouldn’t be surprised it ends with a tale of buried treasure. Typical.

“Besides that,” Killian continues slowly, and he rubs one of his upper arms absently, as if recalling a past chill. “My crew didn’t like it. Once we realized we couldn’t do anything with it or allow Gold to have it again, we needed it off the ship as soon as we could.”

“Didn’t like it?” Emma echoes, her skin rippling with goosebumps. “What do you mean?”

Killian frowns, and he rubs at his chin thoughtfully. “I know you don’t believe in magic, Swan, but if you saw this, you would. Even though we couldn’t get it open, the damned thing seemed to suck the energy of the area around it. People were grumpier near it, more prone to anger, and more likely to need hours upon hours of sleep after being around it for a long time. As if it pulled their energy into itself and made them weaker, less honourable versions of themselves.”

He’s right, she doesn’t believe in magic. The thought of a strangle little box, gifted to her boss in the 1700s that caused hardened pirates to want it out of their sight, is something out of a movie. But … after all Emma has seen and all she’s heard, even just in the last few minutes, perhaps she better start believing.

“In any regard, we buried it and forgot about it for a few months until we returned one day to Newport. Gold knew my ship – hell, everyone knew my ship, then – and he was watching for it. He surprised us and thought to kill me and my crew, but realized rather quickly if we were all dead, he’d have no way to find out where the object was hidden. So instead … he thought to teach me a lesson.” He holds his left hand up again. “Hence, this.” 

Emma leans back into her desk chair, sinking into the old cushion and letting out a deep breath. She’s starting to get a tight, fluttery feeling in her chest she gets when she’s becoming overwhelmed, the feeling that usually spurs her to run, run as fast as she can.

But there’s no running from this. This, this twisted world with time travel and now apparently magic, is her reality.

Killian falls silent, finally taking a seat opposite her instead of standing, fuming, by the door. But Emma doesn’t know what to say back to him, so they sit in silence for several long minutes. After all, what do you say back to someone who is telling you about their adversarial meetings in the 1740s with your boss, who was the one to cut off his hand that was then re-attached with magic?

Emma has always been a logical person; she’s had to be. There was no room for whimsy or belief in the unknown during her childhood, not when she was burned too early by a world that only showed her its dark and cruel side. Her mind is so overwhelmed, she’s not even sure how to begin processing all this. If Killian wasn’t between her and the door, she may have started running. 

“So, you buried this object,” she begins, forcing herself to focus on the tangible parts of Killian’s story, though it’s not enough to not notice the irony of discussing ancient buried treasure with a pirate. “Probably in a place built over by a parking lot, or so deep underground that its lost to history, or found by a random person and sitting on someone’s grandma’s shelf –”

“That seems unlikely,” Killian muses. “I would hazard a guess it has never been found. After all, that must be why I’m here, in your time. He’s after the object again. He couldn’t get it from me then, and for whatever reason, he’s brought me here to find it.”

Emma has come to the same conclusion herself now, but she shakes her head in dismay. “I just don’t understand. If he wants this thing back so bad, why not get it from you back then, not invent time travel and wait nearly three hundred years for it?”

He shrugs, but his eyes flash. “Only the devil himself knows what madness lurks in that monster’s mind.”

Emma sighs and rubs at her eyes. If ridiculous was a line crossed back when Killian first said he knew Gold from his time, this situation is so far gone, Emma’s not even sure what to make of it anymore.

“So where is it buried? The object?”

Killian doesn’t answer, idly tracing the scar around his wrist. She watches him, wondering if he’s simply trying to remember, but when the silence stretches on, she realizes he has no intention of answering her, and for whatever reason, that hurts.

“Killian … you know you can trust me.” 

“I do trust you, Swan,” he says, and his voice softens as he meets her eyes. “It’s Gold I don’t. This object, whatever its value to him, has been safe for nearly three centuries. Its secret is safest with just one person.” He pauses briefly. “For now.”

Though still stung, Emma nods. “Okay. For now.” She lets out a deep breath, and runs a hand through her hair, combing out the tangles. “Well, if this object is really what Gold is after and you’re the only person alive who knows where it is, it makes sense why Gold wanted you arrested at first.”

“He what?” Killian’s voice is sharp, his eyes flashing with anger again, and Emma winces. She supposes she hadn’t told Killian that part yet.

As his expression darkens, Emma explains how Gold had first wanted Killian detained more formally than all the other returnees due to his reaction down at the lake where he first fought and argued with the Storybrooke agents, along with his past as a pirate and wanted criminal. How, now that she knows this history, it was most likely just a ruse for Gold to be able to keep a closer eye on Killian than the others.

“That slimy bastard.”

Silently, Emma agrees. She doesn’t know what Gold is planning, but she already knows whatever it is, it isn’t good. At her last meeting with him, when he’d asked her about ‘anything odd’ with the returnees, she’d left the conversation with a pit in her stomach, the root of doubt and suspicion that has now blossomed into fully fledged mistrust and, frankly, fear.

“We have to get you out of here. Out of Storybrooke, away from Gold. It’s not safe for you here anymore.”

“I concur.”

But then Emma frowns. Regina is away today, attending meetings offsite in regards to the returnees’ release, and Emma knows there is no way she is going to get Killian discharged from here without her permission. Any other returnee, maybe, but not Killian the media magnet.

She could attempt to sneak him out, but if they are caught … well, it was bad enough that Emma was seen by the media near him during his previous escape attempt. If they are caught again when she’s aiding him in an escape attempt … she’d be re-assigned to another returnee at the very least or fired at the very worst, and Killian will be kept here, in Gold’s clutches, for even longer.

“I can’t get you out of here tonight,” she says, swallowing down the anxiety that comes with the thought. “We have to wait until Regina is here, and do it all by the books or … well, I don’t know what will happen. She’ll be back tomorrow.” Emma sighs, and rises to her feet. “Come on. I’ll walk you back to the barracks. I think you may be safer there with the guards all around.”

They leave her office, walking carefully around the corner leading to the foyer where the media conference had been. But it’s over now, all the chairs and the podium cleaned up.

The walk to the barracks is mostly in silence, both of them lost in thought. When they reach the lobby, Emma grips Killian’s arm, pausing him in his tracks.

“Don’t get into any trouble,” she warns, her voice a whisper. “I’ll be back first thing tomorrow to talk to Regina about your release.”

���When have I ever gotten into trouble?” he replies teasingly, and he rests his hand over hers briefly before moving towards the staircase. “Goodbye, Emma.”

She watches him head upstairs to his room, until he’s gone through a door and out of sight.  Emma should go back to her office and get some semblance of work done, but she pauses instead. The cafeteria is just ahead of her, buzzing with the hum of conversation. It’s lunch now, and the returnees are free to move about as the media are gone. An idea has occurred to her, and instead of heading back to her office, she walks into the busy cafeteria.

Near one of the wide windows at the opposite end, Emma spots David and Mary Margaret. As she’s walking over, Mary Margaret notices her first, brightening with a wide smile and shining eyes.

“Hi Emma!”

Their enthusiasm still makes her a bit uncomfortable, but she tries to smile genuinely as she takes a seat opposite them. They are smiling widely at her, clearly thinking she’s here for a friendly chat or at least a step in the right direction for their relationship, and suddenly Emma wishes that was all she was here for. A pleasant, light conversation with the parents she lost for 28 years, returned to her miraculously by (as it’s truly appearing to be) magic. 

And yet here she is instead, a dark cloud of fear and suspicion hanging over her. She glances around before speaking, not really sure who she should be on the lookout for, but in any case, the other returnees and agents are pre-occupied with their own meal or conversation. And, besides, she supposes she has an excuse to be sat here talking with David and Mary Margaret – they are, after all, her parents.

“We’ve been wanting to tell you,” Mary Margaret starts brightly, before Emma can get up the nerve to speak. “Graham told us that once the first group of returnees start to be released, he thinks David and I will be allowed out for more visits. We were hoping, well …” she trails off suddenly, uncertain, and David grasps her hand tightly, squeezing it for support. Mary Margaret smiles at him, and continues, her voice much stronger now, “Maybe we could meet you and Henry somewhere for a meal one day?”

“Oh,” Emma says, taken aback. “Um, yeah, that that would be great.”

They smile in delight, and Emma finds she does truly mean that. If they had said something like this even a few days ago, she probably would’ve scowled and made up some excuse as to why it couldn’t happen, but instead, she is already imagining them at Henry’s favourite restaurant, with him showing them his favourite dishes and desserts. “Um, Henry will be so excited to hear about that. And I want to hear more about it too, but first – I came here to ask you for a favour.”

They nod, exchanging a glance with each other, plainly thrilled that whatever this is about, Emma has decided to ask for their help. Their willingness makes Emma’s heart twinge; they’re so happy to have anything from her, even if it’s an indication of a grain of trust, that it lights up their whole expressions as if she just agreed to start calling them mom and dad.

She gives herself a quick mental shake, and focuses again. She leans forward slightly, lowering her voice so they can only just hear her. “There’s something … weird going on around here, I’m still trying to figure it all out, but I need your help in the meantime.”

David and Mary Margaret trade worried glances at her tone. “Of course,” David says firmly. “What’s going on? What is it about?”

Emma hesitates. She wants to tell them what Killian told her, but it’s not her story to share. Besides, the less people who know about Gold, the better. Instead, she says, “Can you keep an eye on Killian Jones for me for the rest of the day? Make sure he’s doing okay and keeping himself out of trouble?”

David frowns, and crosses his arms across his chest. “The pirate?” he demands, and Mary Margaret glares at him.

“It’s important,” Emma continues, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. “I – can’t really say much else, but it’s important.”

“Of course, Emma,” Mary Margaret says, and she elbows David, who, reluctantly, nods. “That’s no problem at all. We’ll ask him to have dinner with us tonight.”

“Thanks, I really appreciate it.” She then gets to her feet, and disappointment flashes across their faces. She winces. “Sorry, I have to get back to work. But, I – uh, well I’m looking forward to that dinner one day soon.” 

The disappointment fades a bit, and they say their goodbyes. Emma returns to her office for the rest of the afternoon, trying to get through her stack of endless paperwork, but it’s pointless. She gets nothing done, her mind on Gold and buried treasure and even when she gets home, she’s a nervous wreck all night, unable to focus on anything at all.  

Henry is his usual chatty self, but Emma can’t keep focused on what he’s saying. She has no patience for cooking tonight either, so instead orders in pizza, much to her son’s delight. As he’s munching on his fourth piece of deep-dish pepperoni, Henry pauses mid-bite, glancing at Emma’s untouched first slice.

“Mom? Are you ok?”

“Sorry, kid,” she replies, and she forces herself to smile reassuringly. “Just distracted by work. Want to play a game tonight?”

He is satisfied with that answer, and playing Clue with Henry does help to pass the time, but her heart isn’t in it and she is soundly beaten in each of the three rounds they play. When it’s finally her son’s bedtime and he’s sound asleep, peaceful and warm in his bed, Emma herself gets ready for bed.

Sleep, however, has never seemed so far away. Her mind roils with the revelations of the day, her stomach turning with nausea and anxiety. With no wink of sleep in sight, Emma sits up in bed instead. She leans against the solid wood of her headboard, and hugs her knees into her chest, watching the tree outside her window sway with the cold wind.

It’s so simple, to watch the trees, illuminated by the street lights below. They are just as they were yesterday, unchanged by the revelation of magic such as controlling snow or re-attaching hands or transporting hundreds of people through time. 

She watches the trees for a while, and at one point, Emma finally drifts off, her dreams a jumble of pirate ships and bright white light.

Those dreams, however, are abruptly broken by a shrill ring of her cellphone.

Emma jolts awake, and grabs the phone from the nightstand, answering it without reading the caller ID.

“Hello?” 

“Emma, it’s Anna!” Her colleague’s voice is frantic and harried, and Emma sits up, her heartbeat accelerating.

“Anna?”

“You need to get back here to Storybrooke right away. It’s – it’s about Killian Jones. One of the returnees was found dead and –”

Emma swings her legs out from under the covers, the floor cold beneath her bare feet, as icy as the shot of pure panic running through her. “What? Is – is Killian –” 

“No, no, he’s fine,” Anna says hurriedly, as if just realizing the implication of her words. Emma’s heart stutters again, her emotions of fear and relief in whiplash. “Well, I mean he’s not hurt, he’s not quite okay as you would say, but –”

“Anna, what the hell is going on?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean – okay, like I was saying, I was staying here tonight with Elsa, and then – well, there was a commotion maybe an hour ago and when I went to see what had happened … well, one of the returnees is dead. It’s pretty clear they were attacked … like, with a sword.” 

Emma’s heart sinks though she’s sure she already knows. If he’s not the one dead, and the victim was attacked with a sword …

“And what does this have to do with Killian?”

“He’s been arrested for the murder.” 

_______________________________________________________

The drive back to Storybrooke is a blur. She’d woken up her neighbour across the hall and half-dragged her over to watch Henry and get him off to school in the morning, only telling her there was an emergency and she had to leave right now.

When she makes it onto Storybrooke’s grounds, she careens into an empty parking spot, half out of the vehicle before she’s stopped the engine. The main returnee barracks building is bright and illuminated, and Emma marches towards it, her heart pounding heavily with each step she takes.

On the steps leading to the building, outside the main doors, stands a group of several individual Emma recognizes as police and FBI officers from their emblazoned jackets. As she approaches, one holds her hand up to block Emma’s path.

“Hold up! No one is allowed entry right now. A federal investigation is underway.” 

Emma’s hands curl into fists at her side, and she digs out her identification badge from her jacket pocket. She has no time to argue. “You don’t understand, I need to get in there.”

The officers’ frown at her badge, and she opens her mouth to furiously continue, when a voice calls her name from within the main doors.

“Emma?” The guards move aside, revealing Kristoff Reinsdyr, one of the guards at Storybrooke, looking pale and frazzled. “Thank goodness you’re here.”

One of the FBI officers scowls, and looks Emma up and down. “We have orders to not let anyone else in until Commander Hua says –”

“Emma needs to come in. She’s Jones’ agent in charge of his case here.”

Kristoff gestures her forward, and Emma doesn’t wait to see if the officers complain again, though they do move out of her way finally. She and Kristoff hurry inside, where the brightness of the fluorescently lit building makes her eyes sting as he leads her towards the back staircase.

“Glad you’re here, Emma. Anna told me she called you,” Kristoff says, as they take the steps two at a time up to the fourth floor to the isolation and interview area. Emma is reminded sharply of the first time she had come up here, when she’d met Killian the first night, when he’d been belligerent and thrown in here to cool down.

The thought sets her teeth on edge. “Kristoff, what the hell is this about? Anna said there had been a murder?”

He hesitates. “Yes, it seems like it. There was some commotion around midnight in the residences. We thought perhaps it was a fight, but when we got there to see what had happened …” He trails off, and shakes his head once. “It was awful, Emma. Truly horrific.”

He doesn’t elaborate, and Emma decides she doesn’t want to know. “And – they think Killian did it? Where is he now?”

“In one of the interview rooms upstairs. He was with a few of the other guards for a bit, until the FBI got here about an hour ago. Now he’s in with their commander.”

They reach the top floor, and Kristoff leads her down a cold, empty hallway to the cluster of interview rooms at the end of the corridor. Kristoff opens a small side door, into a small observation room that faces the larger interview room through one-way glass. Three FBI officers are in the room already and they frown at her, but she simply flashes her identification badge in their direction before looking through the one-way glass at the scene ahead.

Killian is seated in a similar room to the one she first met him in, his face smooth and impassive, as cold as she’s ever seen it. His wrists are bound with handcuffs, chained to the table in the centre of the room. Mulan Hua, the commander of the Boston FBI who Emma recognizes from the lake, is seated across from him, watching him with a careful, quiet gaze.

“Let’s go over this again,” she is saying, her voice strained with patience. Emma isn’t sure how long Killian has been talking to her, but by his sour expression, she knows they’ve already been over this conversation several times. “Tell me exactly what happened this evening.”

“As I have told you a thousand times since I was dragged from my bed by your deranged guards,” he snaps, drawing the words out so they are each peppered with a near growl. “I have no idea what happened. I was in my room all evening, save for dinner. All I know is what you’ve told me: a man has been found dead, and you suspect I had something to do with it.”

“Murdered,” Mulan corrects, her face solemn. “He’s not only dead, he was murdered.”

Killian rattles the handcuffs pointedly. “Not by my hand. If I’d done it, I’d bloody well confess. I may be a pirate, but I’m no coward. I’ve committed my fair share of atrocities, but I will not confess to something I did not do.”

“How do you explain the fact that your sword was found discarded nearby, stained with blood?”

It could be a damning statement, but Killian laughs, rumbling and low. “You think me fool enough to leave a murder weapon lying about where any bumbling twit can come across it? Not to mention that I haven’t had my sword since I arrived in this bloody time when your guards confiscated it, so how, pray tell, do you think I managed to get my sword back?” 

Mulan sighs, irritation flitting across her features. “Well, we know how you did it. We have evidence. Video evidence of you removing the sword from the Collection Room.”

Emma’s eyes widen, and she feels abruptly like she’s been punched in the gut. They have what?

Killian, however, isn’t fazed by this bombshell; after all, he probably has no idea what a video is. “I don’t care what evidence you say you have. It’s all false, I didn’t do it and I haven’t had my sword in weeks. So, either arrest me and throw me in a dungeon, or let me go for I have nothing more to say to you.”

 And at that, he falls silent. Mulan tries to get him to speak again, but to no avail. Eventually, she sighs and gets to her feet, the chair scraping loudly against the floor and making Emma flinch. “Okay. You think about things, and I’ll be back with something for you to eat and drink.”  

As she heads for the door, Emma sees her chance to speak with her. She darts past Kristoff and the other FBI officers in the observation room, out into the hallway, catching Mulan just as she’s shutting the door behind her. 

“Commander,” Emma calls. “What the hell is going on?” 

“Oh, Agent Swan, I’m glad you’re here.” Mulan breathes out heavily. Now that she’s out of the interview room, she appears tired, her face pale, her eyebrows pinched together with stress. “I’ve been wanting to talk with you. Do you have any idea why Jones would want to kill Henry Jekyll?”

“No!” Emma replies vehemently. “Killian wouldn’t kill – who the hell even is that?”

“He is another returnee. Or rather, was. He was one of Jones’s roommates when he was released from isolation. He was found dead earlier by his current roommate. He’d been stabbed several times.”

Emma stares back at her, lost for words, as Kristoff peers out of the other room, as if making sure everything is okay.

Mulan nods at him. “Officer, can you get me a sandwich and water bottle for Jones?”

He agrees, and disappears back down the hall the way he had come with Emma. Mulan turns back to Emma, and at her expression, lets out another deep sigh.

“Emma,” she says gently, almost understandingly. “I know you must have gotten close to Jones while he’s been here –” Emma inhales sharply, but Mulan doesn’t seem to notice “– since you’re his agent and all. Obviously, you don’t want to believe he could have done something like this. But you have to remember that he’s a criminal. He was an outlaw and a pirate, wanted by the British Navy at the time for treason and murder. And that’s just the recorded crimes. We really don’t know anything about him, or what he’s capable of. I’m not surprised something like this has come up, honestly.”

“I am,” Emma replies bluntly. “There is no way Killian killed someone, not when tomorrow – I mean, we are trying to get all the returnees out of here not keep them locked up longer!”

Mulan pinches the bridge of her nose, and gestures for Emma to follow her. “Come with me, take a look at what we found.”

Emma follows her into a second interview room, empty save for a steel table with a laptop on it. Mulan opens the laptop, entering her credentials to log in. It seems to take an exorbitant amount of time, Emma’s nerves fraying further with each passing second. The screen opens to a generic Federal Bureau of Investigation backdrop, and Mulan clicks on a video saved to the desktop, labelled simply ‘surveillance footage.’

“This is from back in early February,” Mulan explains, as the video loads up to reveal a room Emma recognizes as the Collection Room in the basement, where she visited once before to collect Mary Margaret, David and Killian’s belonging, with its shelves upon shelves of boxes and plastic containers.

“Security pulled it for us once we identified the sword. Watch.”

The recording is of the deserted collection room for several moments, blurry and shrouded in shadows, the time blinking in the corner of the video as 3:30 a.m. Then, grainy white light floods the room, the main door swinging open to let in the hallway light.

Through the pixelated footage, Emma recognizes Killian as he strides into the room, confident as ever. He walks to the back of the room without hesitation, to a small area behind a chain link fence which reaches to the ceiling. He disappears off camera as he steps into the fenced-in area, but he’s only hidden for a few moments before he steps back into view.

In his hands, is a sheathed sword, its handle black and simple, apparent even in the poor footage. He removes it from the sheath, and holds it up to his eye level, admiring the blade. He then re-sheathes it and slips out of the room, the light fading from the room as the door swings shut behind him.

The video stops, and Emma stares at it, dumbfounded. There it is, plain as day. Evidence of Killian retrieving the sword.

But she shakes her head as she remembers her own visit to the Collection Room more clearly. “No, no, that’s not possible. Listen, I know he couldn’t have gotten the sword. It was checked out, I remember because I went and got his other stuff and saw it on the list.”

“The list?” Mulan frowns. “What list?”

“There was a list in the Collection Room, a list of each person’s items which weren’t allowed to be checked out, but his sword had a note that it was taken out. So he couldn’t have done it, because you needed special permission to get those restricted items out. I remember because I was –”

Emma trails off, because Mulan is watching her with a skeptical frown. She clearly doesn’t believe Emma, and after all, why would she? There’s video proof of Killian getting the sword himself.

Kristoff knocks on the door to the interview room then, opening it to show the water bottle and wrapped sandwich in his hand. “Here you are, Commander.”

“Perfect,” Mulan says, closing the laptop and striding towards him. “Thank you, officer.”

She’s already back in the hallway, food in hand, marching down to the Killian’s interview room, before Emma, still stunned by the video, springs into action.

She hurries out into the hallway and, before Mulan can open the door to re-join Killian, blocks her path. Killian may be her … well, Emma’s not sure if she could even call him a friend, but whatever he is, he’s her responsibility. Returnees are always given legal counsel if they require it for any reason, including an active criminal investigation whether they are defendant or plaintiff.

“Does he have a lawyer on their way?”

“No, he declined one.” 

Mulan says it calmly, but something about it is the last straw for Emma. The last twenty-four hours have nearly broken her – the video of Elsa, the knowledge that Gold is from the 1700s too, that magic is the most probable reason why all these people have shown up here, and now this: her … returnee arrested for murder and being questioned without legal counsel.

“He’s from the 1700s!” Emma shouts, and Mulan flinches in surprise. Even Killian glances over to the door, as if he heard her too. “Of course he declined one, I don’t know if they had lawyers back then. He has no idea about our laws or processes or anything. Killian doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into, he needs a lawyer!”

Mulan regards Emma quietly, and she shrugs. “Well, I’ll speak to him about it again, but I doubt he’ll change his mind.”

She opens the door with the food, and as she does, Emma leans slightly around her, to peer into the room. Killian is watching Mulan enter, stony-faced, but for a moment, a single moment before the door slams shut behind Mulan, he catches Emma’s eye.

If only magic was real; maybe she could send him a telepathic message to ask for a lawyer. But, Emma’s no magician, and the door swings shut, the breeze catching her in the face and rustling her hair. 

“Here,” Mulan says, her voice muffled by the door, and Emma hurries back to the other room, to the one-way glass so she can hear better. The other agents are glaring at her now with open hostility, but Emma ignores them, moving past them so she is standing directly in front of the one-way glass.

Mulan has resumed her seat, the water bottle and sandwich on the table between them, but Killian doesn’t move to reach for them.

“Listen,” she says, casting a pointed look to the one-way glass. “Before we talk anymore about this, I’m going to remind you one more time that you are allowed to have legal representation before speaking with me.”

Killian remains silent.

Mulan huffs a sigh. “Alright. Okay, so let’s go over this again, shall we?”

Killian leans forward, the handcuff chains jangling loudly against the steel table.  “Commander,” he says, intently staring now at her across the table. His tone has changed, the defensive snarls replaced with a charming lilt, soothing and persuasive. “You are a smart woman, smarter than those oafs who were in here before you. You know I didn’t do this. Even if I was so idiotic to kill a man I had met only a handful of times on the eve of being released from this prison, you know as well as I that any criminal worth their salt wouldn’t leave a bloody murder weapon tied to them and them alone near a massacred body should they hope to get away with the crime. Whoever did this wanted you to find that sword, to know that it was mine so you would come to me right away and keep me locked up here.”

Mulan narrows her eyes, and she asks, only half-jokingly, “So what? Someone is setting you up?”

Killian’s gaze flicks over to the door, to where he had seen Emma, before he shrugs, as if the suggestion is ludicrous. But it’s enough to clue Emma in.

Of course. He’s right, he has no motive to kill Jekyll. But someone else does. Someone else, who has something to lose if Killian is released from Storybrooke with the rest of the returnees.

Gold.

He must’ve seen them at the news conference, must know Killian would’ve told Emma everything about their history together. Know that, of course, Emma would try everything in her power to get Killian out of here before Gold could do anything like lock him up like he had always wanted to. So he moved faster, found a way to keep him here, in his grasp where he hopes to get the location of the mysterious object out of Killian, once and for all.

“Emma?” Kristoff asks, reaching out a hand to her in concern, and Emma realizes he and the FBI officers are staring at her.

She waves them away, realization and horror roaring in her ears as loud as thunder. She is still trying to process this, when in the interview room, Killian leans back in his chair, his expression dark and cold.

“Perhaps it is time I speak with an attorney.”

[lilzebub]

The Here and Now (Through the Years CH2)

Summary:  Five has returned, and no one expected the condition that he would be in. Can (Y/n) and Five navigate the major set backs, thwart the Apocalypse, and resume their happily ever after?

Five Hargreeves x F!reader Word count: 11k total

Warnings: TUA typical violence, angst, awkward interactions, brief mention of spicy time, brief description of depression Also posted on AO3!

She stared blankly at the young man that stood distressed on her porch. “Five…I….Hurry up, get inside.”  Her hand darted out to grab the sleeve of his tailored blazer, and she quickly dragged him through the threshold.  He awkwardly stood in the foyer of their house, with his hands shoved in the pockets of his shorts. “(Y/n) this is a nightmare.  I’m an old man trapped in this body.  Ever had growing pains and indigestion at the same time?”  He glowered up at her.  A quiet snicker escaped from her lips.  “You think this is funny? Huh?”

The snicker sparked a roar of laughter that erupted deep from her belly, and Five could do nothing but stare blankly at her.  He considered the last time he saw her looking genuinely this amused by something was the day of their wedding after they had tossed his Commission tracking device.

“I mean, no. It’s not funny. It’s just…ridiculous.  I waited all this time. Counted all these days. And you show up here….like….” she gestures vaguely. “It’s absolutely absurd, and honestly, kind of unfair.  Here is was, expecting my 100% normal, thirty year old husband to poof into my house today.  And I get the awkward teenager slash old man version of you.  This is too much.”  She dramatically wiped tears from her eyes.

“Okay, are you done now?” Five stated frankly, with no hint of irritation. He opened his arms to her and she met his embrace, throwing her arms over his shoulders.

“It’s really hard to hug you like this.  You lost a few inches in the fray, buddy.”  She pressed a kiss onto the top of his head. He pulled away from her to protest, but she just pulled him back in tightly.

“Come on my grumpy little man.  Let’s get you over to the Academy and see if your family can possibly help with this.  They’re used to things outside of the ordinary.

The couple walked down the street, awkwardly meeting the glances of everyone around them. The uniform jacket was telling, and it was apparent that everyone was shocked to see the prodigal son of the Umbrella Academy, alive and in the flesh, looking exactly how he did nearly fifteen years ago.  A man pushing a two seat baby stroller gave them a wide berth on the sidewalk, and gave (Y/n) a double take.

“(Y/n) (Y/L/M/N)?”  He proclaimed, causing Y/n to screech to a halt.  She turned to face the man, quickly glancing down at the stoller.

“Um, yes? It’s actually (Y/n) Hargreeves now, but yes, that’s me.”  Realization dawned on her, and hit her in the face like a runaway freight train.  “Uh, how are you, (ex F/n)?”

“I’m great! So great, it’s really fantastic to see you! I’m just on the way to surprise the wife at work, it’s her first week back after her maternity leave, and I know she’s missing the kiddos.” (Y/n) glanced down at the pair of cooing babies in the stoller.  “And who’s this strapping young gentleman?  I didn’t know you had a little brother.”

Five took an immediate offensive stance.  “I’m Five Hargreeves, and I’m her HUSBAND.”

“Oh, God I’m sorry.  I guess you just looked a little different the last time I saw you….At our, uh, or rather, your, uh. Wedding.”  The young man stammered, and (Y/n) watched Five grow increasingly more irritated.

“Yep, Five is a time traveler extraordinaire.  Just had a little mishap with his calculations.  He’s not normally a teenager, or anything. Like, it’s not like that at all, I mean…God that sounds so weird. Sorry.”  She was beginning to grow flustered, and no longer felt the need to explain herself.  “It was nice seeing you, we’ve got to be going now.”  Her arm linked around Five’s, as she began dragging him away.

“Well you couldn’t have possibly made that any more awkward,” Five fretted at her.  “Bad enough you dumped him at the alter and now you had to explain how your husband, who I don’t know if I mentioned it already, but you DUMPED HIM FOR, is stuck in a teenage body.”

She whipped around him in front of him, staring him down.  “Look, you don’t get to be angry at me for your mistake. It’s not my fault that you aren’t even old enough to DRIVE now.” “Well you could have driven if you had ever taken the time to learn how to drive a stick shift.”  Five puffed up his chest to look tougher, but it was futile in his current form.

“You’re the one who was never around long enough to teach me how to do it.”  He flinched, and she instantly felt a wave of guilt wash over her.  “Five, I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean it.  We’re both just…tense right now.  The world is ending, you’re hormonal and also crabby because you probably won’t get to take advantage of the senior citizen discount at Griddy’s today.”

He couldn’t help but laugh at her.  The moment he fell through the portal, and realizing his body was now in shambles due to his miscalculations, all he could think was how she would react.  Would she faint?  Would she promptly turn him away?  Instead, she surpassed all of his expectations and was making jokes at his expense.  He paused for a moment and grabbed her hand, rubbing his thumb across her knuckles. “You know, now more than ever, I’m so glad I married you.  I can’t imagine anyone else being able to handle this curveball.”

“What can I say, Mr. Hargreeves.  You had me on the hook for a long time.  A little hiccup like this isn’t going to scare me off.”  He smiled, lacing his fingers with hers as they continued down the street, the Umbrella Academy looming just a few blocks ahead.

The pair quietly entered the front door, only to be bombarded by all of the siblings at once.  Five sulked behind his wife, as each of his family members warmly embraced her. Klaus picked her up and spun her around, quickly locking eyes with his brother. “Oh Jesus Christ, what do we have here?”  Klaus murmured, gently placing (Y/n) down on the ground.  “If it isn’t our dear little brother, alive and in the flesh…And perhaps a few inches shorter than last time we saw you, hm?”

Allison spoke next without giving Five a chance to respond, a look of shock on her face. “So I’m guessing something wasn’t quite right with your math, was it?”

Five pulled on the sleeves of his blazer. “You can say that again. I fucked up royally.  That’s the least of our concerns now though. We only have a few days to stop the Apocalypse from happening, and I still have no idea how we’re going to do it.”

Days had passed, and the family was no closer to determining the catalyst of the Apocalypse than they were when Five and (Y/n) had returned to the Academy.  They sat around the kitchen table on the day that Five had so loudly proclaimed would be the end of the world, all eyes sunken in from lack of sleep.  Luther dragged his hands down his face, as he looked over at Five sulking over his late night cup of coffee.  “Maybe it’s just inevitable.  We should have had at least some clue by now.”

Allison scanned over the newspapers scattered along the table.  “I mean, there’s nothing in the news that indicates anything out of the ordinary.  Nothing political, no threats of nuclear warfare, literally nothing.”

“Or maybe it’s just not going to happen at all? I mean, today is the day isn’t it? Everything has been completely normal.” (Y/n) yawned, her forehead meeting the wooden table

“Maybe it’s you, little brother,” Klaus said, pausing to light the joint pressed between his lips.  “I mean, think about it.  You’re the only one who experienced the end of the world. Did you ever think, maybe it has something to do with you?”  Vanya nodded her head in agreement.

“Klaus might actually have a point.  Have you done anything you know of to alter the timeline at all?”

“Yeah, you know like, in time travel movies where someone accidentally kills a bug and it causes the entire future to change? Killed any bugs lately, Five? Or like, Presidents, or whatever it was you had to do with the Commission?”  Klaus coughed.

Five thought for a moment, taking a sip of his coffee.  “Not really, before I left the Commission, I only did one thing….”  (Y/n) jerked her head up from the table, eyes widening.  The family looked at him expectantly, then over to her.  “You know, the whole crashing her wedding day thing.  The head of the Commission, the Handler warned me she would kill us, but I didn’t really think much about it.”  The group collectively groaned. Diego stabbed a blade into the table. “Well, these are the kinds of things you might want to tell us, Five. Your former boss literally threatening to murder you seems like a pretty good reason to be on high alert.”

A loud rap at the front door of the Academy put everyone on high alert.  They all rose from their spots, quietly making their way towards the door. “Hey, maybe it’s the Apocalypse knocking.  We can just ignore it, maybe they’ll think we aren’t home.” Klaus whispered, throwing the remains of his spent joint into a potted plant.  Diego peeked out a window near the door. “It’s some blonde woman in a dress. Sound familiar?”  He whispered, and Five immediately straightened his tie. “Yep, I’ll take this.”  He moved towards the door to unlock it, coming face to face with the Handler.

“Good evening, Five…Assorted Hargreeves.” She flourished her hand, shoving past Five into the living room, depositing a large briefcase by the door. “And Mrs. Hargreeves, a pleasure to see you once again.”  (Y/n) felt her heart tighten in her chest, recalling the last ill fated encounter with the woman, and the impossible choice she posed for the pair.

“Wish I could say the same,” (Y/n) scoffed.  “Care to tell us why you’re here? You’re getting a bit too familiar with these unexpected housecalls.”  The family gathered around her in a protective stance, and she felt the tightness in her chest dissipate.

“Well, I did advise you that I’d be back at a date of MY choosing to dispose of the pair of you, didn’t I?”  The Handler towered over (Y/n) in her heels, frowning down at her.

Five shook his head. “That wasn’t part of the deal.  I came back to the Commission, I did what you asked, and you sent me to that God-forsaken wasteland.”

She advanced towards Five. “Ah, yes, that much is true.  But what I didn’t anticipate was you defying the odds.  Do you know what the odds were that you’d be able to time travel back to any point in time to your wife?”  She emphasized, venom dripping in her voice.  “One in thirty million.  Now, wouldn’t you say, the odds of that are simply astronomical?”  Five looked over at (Y/n) and his family.

She paused, looking back at the family, then pointed her icy gaze to (Y/n).  “You two couldn’t just leave well enough alone, could you?” The Handler smirked at the distressed boy, as she positioned herself in between him and his wife.  “Did you really think I could allow you to take everything from me?”

“I didn’t do anything to you. I did my job, I did my time.  I just want to live the rest of my life with my wife.”  He glowered at her, as she chuckled.

“Five, tell me, why do you think I had such a vested interest in you and your boring little wife here, in your holy union, hm?”  She gestured behind her. He shrugged. “I haven’t the inkiest, enough with the damn riddles, why don’t you fill us all in on why you’re so hell bent on killing us?”

The Handler nonchalantly looked at the gun in her hand, then turned towards (Y/n), cocking it in her direction.  “It’s really nothing personal, dear.  It’s about your baby.  Specifically, the baby that you’re set to have in…oh…” She thought a beat, “four years, give or take.  If I eliminate you now, the Apocalypse can resume right on schedule.”  The family exhaled a collective gasp.

Klaus laughed, “Well, congratulations to my dear brother and his wife on their non-existent baby. But I have to ask, when did you get in the business of murdering babies?”

“Let me break it down for you.  If Five had followed orders, he never would have married (Y/n). (Y/n) would have settled down with….that boring guy, what’s his name?  Five would have continued working for the Commission, and everything would have been hunky dory. But the moment he defied his orders, the entire timeline changed.  He and (Y/n) had their happily ever after, and eventually, (Y/n) will give birth to a beautiful, bouncing baby girl.  Not just a girl though, the most powerful time traveler in history, in any timeline. With the inherited skills of her father, and with the complex ability of their mother to become a big flashing beacon in the space-time continuum, which might I add, didn’t seem like much until we determined Five could find her in ANY timeline under any circumstance, you have a recipe for someone powerful enough to overthrow the entire Commission, namely me. Because this child was born, the entire scenario for the Apocalypse was avoided completely, no matter what variables we changed, infinitely into the future.  It just never happens.  The only variable that changed was me.  My entire life’s work, bypassed, like a bump in the road.  The Apocalypse that I deemed absolutely necessary, gone, thanks to a single choice.”

Allison stared at the Handler incredulously.  “So what you’re really saying, is you’re too selfish and drunk off power to give it up.  Someone more suited to the job, who doesn’t even exist yet, is so much of a threat to you, that you’ll eliminate anyone involved?”

“Well, I was only going to eliminate (Y/n), I don’t particularly enjoy getting my hands messy.  There would have been no greater delight than seeing Five suffer for his indiscretions; however, since the whole family is here, I might as well make a day of it.”

Chaos erupted in the expanse of the Umbrella Academy’s living room. (Y/n) wasn’t sure who cast the first stone, but a flurry of bullets began raining down on the Hargreeves family.  Diego curved as many of the bullets as he could, as he ushered her towards the hallway.  She craned her neck to peer over his shoulder, desperately trying to find Five in the fray, as she was shoved into a bedroom in the hallway, a gun being thrust into her hands by her brother-in-law.  In defeat, she pressed herself against the wooden door, trying to hear anything at all, only to be met with the sounds of glass and furniture breaking, guns being fired, indiscernible shouts of her family fighting for their lives.

Gathering her resolve, she crept from the room, unable to stand not knowing what was occurring just beyond the walls.  Gun outstretched in front of her, she quietly made her way down the hall, just as all of the fighting abruptly stopped.

“Where the hell did she go?”  Vanya hissed, as the family peered around, puzzled.  “We had her pinned down?”

Luther cautiously evaluated the rest of the family.  “I don’t like this one bit. She wouldn’t just zap out of her, would she?”  Allison looked towards the front door, noting the telltale briefcase that sat by the door. “She’s still here somewhere, she couldn’t get out without the briefcase.”

 (Y/n) peeked around the corner glancing around at the scene before her.  All of the lightbulbs in the room had been mostly shattered and the room was awash with the little light that shone in through the innumerable windows. In the dim light, chairs and tables could be seen upturned and scattered around the room.

“Five?”  She called out weakly, in a desperate bid to get his attention.  His gaze quickly turned towards her, and a look of terror overtook his features.  A loud pop resounded through the space, and a searing pain shot through the center of her chest.  Slowly, (Y/n) peered down, noting the slow stream of dark red that stained the front her shirt.  Everything started to go black, as Five rushed towards her.

“What did you do? WHAT DID YOU DO?”  He screamed at the Handler who stood smugly behind where (Y/n) had collapsed on the floor.  Five removed his blazer and pressed the fabric to her steadily bleeding chest.

“Restoring order, that’s what, Five.  Her being alive was a conflict of interest I suppose you could say.  I think there’s going to be a little change of plans though, seeing the anguish on your face, I think that’s the best punishment I could ask for.”  She glided past the family towards the briefcase, and no one moved.

“(Y/n) please stay with me, stay awake, you’re going to be fine.”  Tears welled up in the corners of his eyes, as he desperately fumbled with the compress on her chest.  Her breath began to slow, as she reached up and pressed a hand to Five’s cheek.  Klaus crouched down beside the pair, and placed his hand over Five’s.

“Five, I can feel her leaving.  She isn’t going to make it.”  Klaus whispered, remorseful.  Five stood beside her, the space all around him glowing blue.

“I didn’t come all this way through time just to lose her.”  He tightly shut his eyes, and the room began moving slowly in reverse, the Handler moving slowly backwards towards the clandestine hallway.  (Y/n)’s crumpled form rose from the spot on the ground, the dark blood receding back into her body, as Five’s nose began bleeding profusely from his efforts.  He felt himself weaken, as the scene resumed before him.

“Where the hell did she go?”  Vanya hissed, looking towards Five who stood in his new spot near the hallway.  “We had her pinned down?”

“She’s in the hallway,” he replied weakly.  “She’s going to kill (Y/n).  I just….reversed time by just a few minutes.  We have to make sure she doesn’t kill her this time.”  A moment later, (Y/n) peered around the corner.  Five rushed forward with the last bit of strength he had left, pulling her into the living room and shoving her aside as he collapsed on top of her.  The Handler revealed herself, looking thoroughly confused.  The gun fell to her side. “Well, this is certainly odd.  Did our boy just manipulate time here?  So much power, so much wasted on a perfectly normal girl.”

Klaus strode forward, fists illuminated.  “She’s not perfectly normal, she loves Five and that’s a feat all on its own.  The kid’s hard to love, no doubt about that, but she does, and that’s worth saving.” In a flash, a barrage of tentacles burst forth from his chest, and the ghostly figure of Ben could be seen just beyond Klaus’s form.  The Horror reached forth, grabbing onto the Handler’s limbs, gruesomely tearing her apart bit by bit.  The family looked on in shock at the grisly scene, until there was nothing left of the Handler but a puddle of blood and gore, spewed on the floor and walls.

And just like that, the Handler was gone, ripped apart by otherworldly forces that seeped from Klaus’s body.  The family stood, stark-still, covered in entrails, before erupting in fits of laughter.  Luther swept Allison up in his arms, her shrieking delightedly. “I can’t believe that’s it. That it was just that easy.  Klaus, I think dad might have been wrong about your powers being totally useless.”

Klaus’s hands were still shaking, as he peered down at them in disbelief.  “That….bitch.  I can’t believe she would have just killed (Y/n) to intentionally cause the Apocalypse. And (Y/n)…” he shot a glance over at her. “I can’t believe you were the key it all along.”

She hadn’t moved.  The ringing in her ears had barely subsided, when she pressed her hands into Five’s chest to meet him face to face.  His expression was barely readable, save for the telltale upturn of the corners of his mouth.  The words came out so soft, the family could barely make it out.  “Our baby?  The Handler couldn’t handle the idea of being replaced…That’s why.  That’s why they warned me we couldn’t be together.  Why they tortured me, making me see you be with that asshole over and over again.  If we were together, the Apocalypse would never even happen.  I really ruined her timeline, didn’t I?” He chuckled, rolling over onto the bloody floor, wiping his nose of his own blood.

Diego walked across the room towards the phone, wiping his knives on his already bloodied pants. Vanya looked at him incredulously. “Diego what on earth are you doing? Is now really time to make a phone call?”

He picked up the phone and dialed quickly. “It is. I’m calling (Y/f/n).  Knowing how close we were to the whole world ending, I’m not taking anymore chances.”  (Y/n) turned to him, shocked. “You know, she’s been hung up on you for years, Diego.  I think everyone deserves a chance at a happy ending, now.”  Five stood and stretched his hand down to hers and pulled her up. He carefully snaked his arm around her waist, pressing a chaste kiss on her bare and bloodied shoulder.  “Even us, Five.”

He smiled, peering up at her through his dark hair.  “Especially us, Mrs. Hargreeves. Especially us.”

Luther lurched over to the liquor cabinet, and sighed. “You know, I know it’s usually Klaus that suggests we start drinking, but I propose we go ahead and pop one of these nice bottles and celebrate tonight.”  And they did.  Vanya pulled out her violin, creating lively, happy music for the group as they danced and laughed around the living room.  Allison stole a not so secret kiss from Luther, and the family loudly teased them, secretly grateful that they were no longer hiding their affections after so many years.  Klaus was able to manifest Ben once more, who although he couldn’t drink, still engaged in the party just as much as any living person could.  Diego had snuck out quietly sometime after his phone call, and (Y/n) hoped with all hope that he was finally going to apologize for being a such a jerk to her closest friend.

Five had pulled her into what she could only describe as an “awkward middle school style slow dance”, with her arms clasped loosely around his shoulders as they swayed side to side.  “You know”, Five started, “my father taught all of us how to ballroom dance as kids.”

(Y/n) laughed, pulling him in a bit closer. “Is there anything you can’t do, Five? You’re remarkable.”

“Well obviously I’m not great at time travel, but I think those days might be behind me.  At least, after I figure out how to get my normal body back.”  He frowned.  “(Y/n), have you considered what we’re going to do if I’m stuck like this? Permanently?”

She considered him for a moment.  “Truthfully, no.  I hadn’t really considered that to be a possibility.  I mean, it would be kind of nice, you’d be able to take care of me when I get old and senile.”  He pushed his foot forward and tripped her, easily causing her to lose her balance in her tipsy state . “HEY! Come on, Five, you know I’m kidding.  I think…..I think we’ll just have to cross that bridge when we come to it, okay?  I love you. I love you no matter what.  Even if we can’t really….do the thing normal married people do.  It’ll be okay.”  She yawned, slowing her movements.

“I admire your persistent optimism. But my wife appears to be growing weary.  Want to go relax in the library while I go over some of my old notes?”  She nodded, craning down to place her head on his shoulder.  “Alright, let’s go.”  He gently pulled her arm across the back of his shoulders, and they made their way towards the stairs, calling out their goodnights to the family as they went.

The math was right there all along, in one of his oldest, most worn down notebooks.  In disbelief, he reread his notes over and over, and was sure he couldn’t have possibly gotten it wrong.  (Y/n) was dozing off in the plush arm chair, and he took a moment to admire her:  all of the stress from the impending doom was gone.  No tell-tale gunshot wound, no signs of excessive blood-loss.  Her shoulders were no longer tense, the space between her eyes no longer creased.  A peaceful expression had fallen over her, as though she would be perfectly content to live out her days in that chair with Five’s company, illuminated only by the small lamp in the middle of the table.

He drew a large red circle around the offending equation, and rose from his spot.  He peered down at her snoozing form, and ran his hand through her hair.  Careful not to wake her, he placed the notebook on the arm of the chair and strode quietly towards the door, knowing what he had to do.

He whispered something softly to himself, towards the empty hallways of the Academy.

The ocean waves were breaking softly along the shore, now littered with seashells after an afternoon rainstorm. The only chaos that remained was the wind that whipped through her hair, now unruly and wild from the rain.  She turned around and saw him standing there, frozen in time with a grin on his face.  Everything moved in slow motion as she ran towards him, crashing into his embrace. His palms rested on her cheeks, capturing her in a passionate kiss, until a small voice interrupted them.

“Mommy? Daddy?”  She turned to peer down at the source of the small voice, to be met by a tiny girl with dark hair and verdant green eyes.  Five bent down, finding purchase under the child’s arms, hoisting her to his chest.  (Y/n) gingerly kissed the child’s forehead, then pressed another dizzying kiss to Five’s lips.  He whispered words against her flesh that she had read so long before, words that were so real, she’s certain she couldn’t have dreamed them. “If something happens, just know I’ll find you eventually. I promise.”

(Y/n) woke with a start, knocking something off the arm of the chair.  She slowly reached down, peering down at the foreign numbers and figures, outlined in bold red, then glanced across the room.  Five was no longer situated at the table, and she began to panic.  The woman leapt from her chair, sprinting down the hallway, shouting at the top of her lungs.

“Five? Five where are you?!”  The pounding of her feet and the thundering of her pulse led her straight to his childhood room’s door. Before she could connect with the doorknob, a flash of blue illuminated the space beneath the door, accompanied by the telltale “pop” of her husband attempting some sort of jump.  She flung the door open wide, only to be met once again with darkness.  The room was empty: Five was gone. Again.

Weeks had passed, maybe even months at this point.  (Y/n) wasn’t sure.  No longer having the list of dates to guide her now that the Apocalypse had been avoided, she had, for the most part, lost herself in time.  She could only assume it was midday, judging by the light that cascaded through the windows.  Padding down the halls of their still empty home, she stopped to stare at herself in the bathroom mirror:  her eyes had grown weary, and her hair was a matted mess, sticking up in all directions.  Gently, she prodded at her ribs, which protruded slightly more than usual, a testament to her terrible diet since Five had…..Disappeared? That didn’t feel like the right word for it.  Someone can’t disappear when this is their entire modus operandi.  The absences were something she had grown accustomed to, but this time felt entirely different. There was no carefully curated list of dates, handwritten by Five. Nothing to look forward to.  Nothing to expect.  Not even a “goodbye” or “I’ll see you soon” to soothe her addled brain, only the words echoed in her dream from the note he wrote her as a child.

Starting the shower, she went through the motions.  “This is what he would want me to do, right?”  She thought to herself.  “He would want me to try to be normal. Whatever that means.”  Tears pricked at the corner of her eyes.  “Come on, don’t cry.  You cried it all out the first week. You’re too dehydrated to cry anymore.”  Throwing her clothes haphazardly across the bathroom, she climbed into the shower.

And there she sat.  She sat on the floor of the walk-in shower until the water ran cold.  When she finally collected herself from the floor and wrapped herself in an oversized towel, she could have sworn she caught the wafting scent of coffee, but she waved it off as wishful thinking.  (Y/n) glided towards the kitchen, a towel-clad phantom of a person haunting her home.  Just beyond the threshold, she stopped dead in her tracks.  A full pot of coffee sat brewed on the countertop, steam floating towards to ceiling.  For a moment her breath left her lungs. Clutching her towel to her tightly, she raced towards the living room where Five Hargreeves, looking about fifteen years older than their last encounter, sat on the couch.  The moment he laid eyes on her, he moved towards her as fast as his legs would carry him, stopping short as he saw her chest heaving in what he could only assume to be rage.

“I can explain. I can explain everything.”  Five spoke calmly, as though he were trying to persuade an animal to not attack him.  “I had the equations right years ago, I just didn’t realize it before. I was such a cocky asshole kid back then.  I knew I could make this jump, it had to be just the right moment in time to get it perfect, to get me back to my normal body. Back to you.”  

“Are you….Are you really home? For good? Just like this?”  Her breathing was still erratic, knuckles turning with how tightly she squeezed the towel.

“For good.”  He nodded, taking a step closer.

“And no more big jumps? No more accidentally getting stuck in the wrong body?”

“Nope. No more Commission. No more assassinations.  I think it’s time to grow old…again. The right way.”  He reached towards her, his palms resting on her shoulders.

“And what’s the right way, Five?”  She closed her eyes, relishing in the warmth of his hands.

“Together. With you.”

She moved so quickly Five was afraid he may not be able to grab her in time.  She darted forward, throwing her arms and legs around him, nearly knocking him to the ground.  He supported her weight and held her flush against him.  A sob erupted from her against the side of his neck. “Promise me, Five. Promise you won’t ever leave me like that again.  I was so scared you were gone. For good. That you would be lost and I would have no idea.”  She grabbed his face, kissing him in earnest over and over, her lips salty from the broken dam of tears that ran down her face. “God, I never want to stop kissing you.  It feels like I haven’t been able to in ages.”

Five felt his emotions getting the better of him, and thought for a moment that he may cry.  “You know I was always going to make it back to you. My lighthouse.”  He smiled against her kiss, returning it with equal fervor.

“Take me to bed, Five. I think we need to make up for lost time, no pun intended.”

[7deadlycinderellas]

I have no use for rings of gold, I care not for your poetry, ch2

AO3 link

Gendry, it turns out, does not care for hunting. Riding in general is still a new skill for him, though he does feel like he’s getting better at it. Arya seems determined to show him every single thing in the north, and frankly, outside of his lessons, Gendry welcomes the reprieve.

Gendry knows his letters and numbers, more than well enough to keep track of his own accounts. The types of reading and writing that are expected of him as a future Lord, are quite different. Maester Luwin is beyond patient (reminding Gendry that he had managed to teach both Arya and Rickon to read and write with some degree of skill), but the process makes Gendry’s hand ache and eyes cross.

While he’s practicing one day, he glances down the table to Arya, who had quietly come in and began scribbling on a sheet of paper beside him.

“What are you working on?”

“The household accounts. Who needs to be paid, what needs to be ordered, that sort of thing. I need to finish before Mother and I meet with Varyn Poole and make the rounds before supper.”

Gendry raises an eyebrow, and she smiles.

“This is a Lady’s actual work. This I know I can do.”

She had been pleased to come home to Lady Catelyn insisting that she assist with her own duties rather than just sitting in lessons with Septa Mordane all day. Though, those still happened too. More of them than before, truly, ones about scary future things, potential queenly things.

Something strange had happened as well, the first day she had been back at Winterfell. She had left her chambers quite early, when the sun was still low in the sky, to practice the exercises Syrio had taught her. Arya missed her old master greatly, but she knew he had longed to return to Braavos, and the least she could do was keep up her practice. The only other thing she missed from King’s Landing was Ned, and waiting for every raven from him brings both anticipation and trepidation.

When she was finishing up, she had turned and realized with a start that her mother was watching from the corner of the yard. The shock hit her so hard, she braced herself for a reprimand.

“Nice to see something could teach you a bit of discipline. Go clean up before breakfast.”

Arya had been so confused she had actually done as she was told.

When she finishes up checking her numbers, she asks Gendry.

“What’s on your plate after this?”

“Luwin says history and strategy.”

“Well some of that’s fun at least.”

Gendry leans forward and pushes his head against the smooth wood of the desk. Maester Luwin had left for a moment, so he felt like he could without insulting the old man.

“Then lunch, then I’m free for a bit.”

“Same place as usual? I might be there too.”

Gendry chuckles before she gets up to leave.

“There” was the Winterfell smithy. Mikken had taken to taking a long lunch to avoid the warmest part of the day and working past supper, leaving the forge free for an hour or two to be used by an upjumped bastard who missed his trade. Gendry was confused why the man didn’t have apprentices of his own. Arya had merely shrugged and said that was how it had always been.

“Do you miss it that much?” she asked him today, while he’s beating out a practice piece.

“The work, yes, if not the customers.” He wipes his hands on his trousers. “It was how I knew my worth. I worked hard, my results were good, people paid me. Here- here I don’t know. Do highborns ever take up trades?”

Arya shrugs. She does that a lot it seems, no wonder Maester Luwin said she was a beast to teach.

“Some likely do, as a hobby. Sansa writes that Willas Tyrell breeds hounds and horses. Maybe smithing could be your thing, the way wenches and ale are King Robert’s.”

Gendry’s blood boils, he knows she doesn’t mean it that way, but the very idea of his greatest skill being compared to boozing and whoring made him light up.

“What will yours be, the queen who flings food at people?”

Arya raises an eyebrow.

“Been holding onto that for these six moons? I only did it because I thought Mother was upsetting you, I thought you realized.”

He...had not. It made sense though. He imagines he’s not a subtle man when it comes to emotions.

“The reading and writing will come easier. Eventually, it will be like second nature.” she tells him, before leaving.

And it drives him up the wall to admit she’s right, that with practice both of them become easier, even the longhand letters with all the fancy flourishes.

She’s reading something one day beside him in lessons again, and he asks what it is again.

“Letter from Sansa.”

He raises an eyebrow. For all she used to complain about how Sansa did everything right and she never could measure up, she seems to miss her now that she’s home and getting letters from her.

“How is she?”

Arya sighs softly.

“Not sure really.”

Sansa’s letters have been...odd, is the only way Arya can put it.

“She’s betrothed to...someone from the Reach right?”

Their conversation is interrupted by Maester Luwin coughing. Gendry sighs and recites.

“The Reach, second largest kingdom in Westeros after the North. South of the Westerlands, east of the Stormlands. Ruled by House Tyrell at Highgarden, sigil is a golden rose. The most fertile of the seven kingdoms, they produce much of the kingdom’s food.”

At least that’s something useful to be known for.

Maester Luwin nods approvingly, and Arya continues.

“Sansa’s betrothed to Willas Tyrell, heir to Highgarden,” she bites her lip, “When she left here, she was ecstatic.”

“You think she changed her mind, that she doesn’t want to marry him?”

Arya makes a face. It’s not like it would matter if she had. She had asked Catelyn once why they had accepted the betrothal given the age difference. Catelyn had spoken a bit about the strategic importance of the Reach, especially with winter coming. And then she had said,

“And with your sister’s romantic heart, we thought she might enjoy having a husband who could not go off to war and leave her behind.”

It was something to think about, when she replies to Gendry.

“I don’t know. She speaks very well of him. He is quite a bit older than her, so maybe she doesn’t think they have anything in common. He’s crippled too, he fell from a horse years ago.”

More reason not to spend more time riding than he had to, Gendry decided.

“He did write a very sweet letter to Bran after he woke up from his fall ...Sansa’s always been so certain she knew just how she wanted her life to go, maybe the reality is hitting her a bit hard.”

She’s not sure that’s it, but that’s what she’s decided to go with. Suddenly, she brightens with an idea.

“You have a brother now too, living in Storm’s End. If you need writing practice, you should write him letters, get to know him better.”

Gendry winces. Even if he weren’t self conscious about his writing, he still wouldn’t want to reach out cold to a brother he’s never met.

“That won’t...draw attention to us or anything?”

Maester Luwin interrupts again.

“Edric has been acknowledged by King Robert when he was young. His mother was of noble blood, so his existence was treated quite differently than yours. A letter or two should not arouse any unusual suspicions, and would be a fine time for me to teach you the finer points of formal correspondence.”

That’s something else everyone has begun to talk about too. That as a future king, he should start making connections with other nobles. While Robb and Lady Stark agree that’s not safe for him to travel right now, with eyes from the capital potentially everywhere. Arya sometimes speaks to him about fearing for her father being all alone in the south.

They do insist, however, that whenever one visits Winterfell, he at least be introduced. Whether they are making a petition or simply pledging fealty, he must greet them.

Gendry’s still a Waters, and they don’t wish to draw attention to his parentage, so if asked, he is introduced as a Ser, and Arya’s betrothed. The northerners still raise eyebrows, but Gendry forces his face to remain impassive. The back of his neck drips with sweat through every exchange.

The Manderly’s from White Harbour are the first. Their Lord is a very large and boisterous man who Gendry doesn’t think he could get a single word in edgewise with. His two daughters are both polite, and Arya is immediately drawn towards asking the younger one about her garish green hair.

After the first, they all begin to blend together. Umber, Karstark, Cerwyn, other names.

One, rather than an old man, perhaps with a younger relative or two, is a young woman with curly hair. She is here, she says, on behalf of her ill father. She carries a spear, and Gendry sees the spark appear in Arya’s eye, the spark that says she has spied a potential friend, a kindred soul, a ghost of which had been on her face meeting Wylla Manderly. Gendry loves that spark, it warms him inside to see it. Quite a lot about her seems to warm him nowadays.

It’s after they finish and Arya runs eagerly after, that Gendry asks Lady Stark.

“If I’m going to be king one day-” the words spill out, stumbling, running into things. The idea still will not take root, even as he finds himself growing so much more comfortable with the clean clothes, regular food and friendly faces within Winterfell. “Shouldn’t I get to do this with the whole country before I make any decisions about anything.”

Lady Stark’s mouth forms a tight, thin line.

“As a king, you will have advisors aplenty. Additionally, you may wish to suggest reviving the idea of a royal progress so that you may see much of it for yourself. Your father took his throne when much of what he knew of the country was through waging war against it, and from what I’ve heard he relies very heavily on the knowledge and experience of others to rule, so I imagine you shouldn’t be held back too much by the shortcomings of your birth.”

Gendry’s blood boils again. Whenever he talks to Lady Stark, he nearly always comes off with his blood boiling it seems, and Arya’s not here to distract him now. He grits his teeth and decides it would be best to leave right now.

He ends with a curt, “I think I will be going now, milady,” his voice very carefully emphasizing the shortened pronunciation.

After leaving, he finds Arya with the other woman (Meera Reed, Arya will chide him, while rolling her eyes later, for him forgetting her name so quickly) in the training yard, carefully examining the points of her three-pronged spear. Gendry just holds back and watches until they finish.

Once they are done, Gendry notes that Arya had an odd look on her face.

“Something got your tongue?”

Arya chews her lip.

“It’s just a story Meera told me.”

Gendry looks at her quizzically.

“Has anyone mentioned my aunt Lyanna to you?”

Gendry frowns. The name sounds familiar, but he can’t place it.

Arya nods over her shoulder.

“We’re not needed anywhere right now. Follow me.”

They’re halfway across the Keep, when Gendry realizes she’s leading him towards the crypt, and feels a queer sensation in his gut. This is deeply personal.

“Lyanna was my father’s sister. She was supposed to marry King Robert, but was kidnapped by Rhaegar Targaryen. That’s why your father started the war, to get her back. She died regardless. That’s all I ever really knew about her, that she died and King Robert never seemed to get over it.”

The crypts are dark, even in the middle of the day, they have to carry a torch, but Arya leads him easily. She tells him a bit of what Meera told her, about the Tourney at Harrenhal, and Lyanna attacking the three squires who had been beating a defenseless man.

“I knew of the Tourney, but only that it ended with her being abducted.”

They’ve reached the correct statue, and Arya raises the torch. The sculpture is of a pretty woman, only a little older than her. Gendry doesn’t have to ask before seeing the resemblance.

“Father sometimes said I reminded him of her. But all anyone ever said that meant was that she was beautiful. If what Meera says is true- then I like the comparison much more.”

On an impulse Gendry can’t quite understand, he reaches out and takes her hand.

“I still can’t get my head around possibly being Queen one day...but if there’s an upside, it’s that. I would be able to protect the people who can’t protect themselves. Maybe, anyway.”

It’s the best reason to want to be queen, Gendry supposes.

As the moons go by, he is incredibly grateful for Arya. It’s only with her that he feels like he truly belongs here.

It’s not like the others don’t try. Bran will sit with him frequently during lessons, animatedly adding and asking Maester Luwin for more information on whatever they’re studying; history, strategy. It must be the best thing Bran can find to occupy his time now. Sometimes he came riding with them, but he was far more skittish than he’d been as a child, Arya told him, even with the saddle Tyrion Lannister had helped design.

Maester Luwin had shown him a few drawings at one point, asking for input on a couple of design ideas for a way Bran could get around without someone needing to push or carry him. There must be a way, Gendry thinks, he’s hardly the first injured lordling in history.

Robb too, reaches out to him. Gregarious, dutiful Robb, always inviting him to join them on rides and hunts (he often goes) or to explore Winter Town (he’ll go sometimes during the day) who tries to teach him to play dice and cyvasse (Arya taught him the first on the down low- she’s not supposed to know how, but she’ll often join the two in a game of cyvasse).

He tries, but it still feels like there’s a wall between them. This isn’t helped by the discovery that though he has spent a decent part of his life making swords, Gendry doesn’t have much idea how to wield one.

Arya was horrified. Until his lessons with Ser Rodrik began going better, she can hardly bear to watch him practice. It made him sad a little, but it was still better than the gazes he got from Robb that always felt like pity.

He is improving though, in nearly everything. He can hold his sword right now, his handwriting is legible (and Edric does seem pleased to have a penpal), he can remember nearly all the regions of Westeros with very little prodding. He wished it felt like enough.

He’s been at Winterfell nearly a year and a half when the betrothal announcement is made official. They will marry once Arya turns seven and ten, and then they will leave for King’s Landing.

Robb invites him out to Winter Town to celebrate. Gendry wasn’t going to say yes in the first place, but wants to go even less when Theon joins in.

He hasn’t been rude or dismissive, or anything really, but Gendry still can’t bring himself to like Theon’s often brash, occasionally lecherous self at all.

And if Theon’s involved, Gendry knows exactly why they’re going into town.

When he finally begs them off, Theon ends with, “Seven hells, he’s even less fun than Jon.”

So he’s in a spectacularly grouchy mood when Arya ambushes him and asks if he wants to go for a ride. He jumps out of his skin. All this time, she still can sneak up on him. Her doing it in the forge after lunch a few weeks before ended with them in another childish wrestling match. Sometimes he wonders if even marriage will quell these situations.

“Didn’t want to go to town with them?” she asks while one of the grooms saddles their horses. Autumn has well and set in in the north, but the snow is only a light powder today, “I know Robb sometimes hogs the attention, but there are usually enough fawning girls to go around, and I’m pretty sure Theon is on first name basis with most of the whores in the whole place.”

There’s a tone in her voice he can’t quite put his finger on. And there’s a new sort of offense in his gut.

“Arya, we’re betrothed. I’m not celebrating by immediately going out and fucking someone else.”

Arya’s expression softens, but still has that odd look on her face.

“Gendry...I’m the one who’s virtue is considered paramount. If this weren’t happening here, a maester would probably examine me to prove it. No one much cares about yours, you can do what you want.”

The offense Gendry feels twists and changes into outrage. Going to a brothel when you were betrothed to someone else is something his father would do. Something he always knew his father would do, even before finding out he was the king.

“That’s horrible,” he tells her hotly, pulling back on the bit and stalling his horse so he can look straight at her.

“Look,” he starts, trying to mild his voice, “I’ve never had much attention from girls. Not many go for a nameless bastard living among filth. You saw what happened the last time a woman showed interest in me.”

All he got for that brief hand drifting down his breeches was a brick to the head and loss of his first commission.

“Wait,” Arya interrupts, “Are you saying you’ve never-”

Gendry takes a deep breath before responding, the back of his neck only a little red.

“No, I’ve never. Never had any offers, true, but also never wanted to get any bastards on anyone.”

He watches her face shift again, but still can’t quite read it.

“And once we’re wed, I don’t plan on being the sort of husband who can’t stay faithful. That’s not me, that will never be me.”

Even with the words, Gendry feels a bad taste in his throat at the thought.

Arya’s voice when she speaks again is much quieter. They’ve made the rounds and are back approaching Winterfell again .

“Thank you,” she starts. “Not many men would admit to that.” Her eyes go off onto the horizon, and Gendry has a sinking feeling when he spots Lady Stark waiting beside the stables.

“You’ve done just what I asked you to,” she continues, sliding out of her saddle as her mother approaches, “You’ve been on nothing but your best behavior.”

She then turns to face the music and leaves him behind, only a little befuddled.

Catelyn walks with Arya silently until their alone.

“You shouldn’t go off with him unchaperoned,” she starts, only a little bit scolding, “It will make him think he can take indecent liberties with you. You must remember, he is born of lust and debauchery.”

Arya’s chest burns with indignation. It would normally too, but it does even moreso after their conversation.

“Mother, we used to wrestle-” well, two weeks ago was technically “used to” wasn’t it? “If that didn’t make him think he could do those things, I don’t think a pleasant evening ride will.”

Her insides are in a twist though. In the past few days, Septa Mordane had begun to give her more specific lessons on what to expect on her wedding night. While the idea of seeing Gendry naked had slowly stopped inciting giggles and instead become mildly intriguing, none of the older woman’s words had been reassuring. Her conversation with Gendry had confused her even more.

Catelyn sighs softly and brushes the light dusting of snow off of Arya’s jerkin.

“I would think that if he tried, you would howl like the she-wolf you are, but the two of you do seem to be fond of each other, and you would probably enjoy it, so it is up to the rest of us to remind you of propriety and decency.”

Arya feels herself blushing from head to foot. Her voice sounds almost sulky when she speaks.

“The way Septa Mordane tells it, I’m not sure if I’m even meant to enjoy it.”

Catelyn smiles fondly, and squeezes her daughters shoulders.

“You must remember Arya, that while Septa Mordane is very wise and educated, and demands your respect, that she has never been married. If the two of you have respect for one another, there’s no reason what happens in the marriage bed cannot bring joy to the both of you.”

Arya’s nerves are somewhat lifted, though the slight against Gendry from earlier still stings.

Catelyn leads her back towards her chambers.

“Your sister wrote us from Highgarden,” she says, changing the subject. “She will be coming home to Winterfell in a few moons. Said she would not even dream of missing your wedding. She will be bringing Willas’s sister Margaery with her as well, and speaks of wishing greatly to help with the planning.”

Margaery, Arya recognizes the name from her letters.

“How long will we have to do all of this.”

Catelyn brushes her hair down gently.

“Your seven and tenth name day is only seven moons away, and then you will be on your way to King’s Landing.”

Arya stomach plunges down even further than it had been before. All this time, all the extra lessons, that it still the part of this whole arrangement that frightens her the most.

For what may be the first time in her life, Arya can’t wait to talk to her sister.

[awkwardnessandbaseball]

LET’S GET THIS PARTY STARTED!!!

It’s @csrolereversal​ AND @cshalloweek​ time!!! Roughly one BILLION thanks to @sherlockianwhovian​ for making sure my words make sense and, of course, @courtorderedcake​ for her lovely art that inspired this story. Without further ado, I present:

A Fan of Every Part of You

A Captain Swan Halloweek Story in three parts

AO3 if that’s your jam: Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 

Killian Jones has a really loud, destructive upstairs neighbor, and he's about to lose his patience with them. But when he discovers that it's a beautiful witch with a soft spot for his dangerous familiar, Captain, that complicates things just a bit.

Chapter One:

*BANG*

Killian jumped in the air at the noise, dropping the jar of bearberry he’d been holding.

“Bloody hell. That was expensive,” Killian groaned, leaning down to clean up his mess. It was far from the first time he’d dropped an expensive ingredient for one of his potions, but until recently, it had at least been his own fault. Now, however, he had a new neighbor upstairs.

A very loud neighbor.

He’d never met them, of course, but it seemed like perhaps it was not one, but several hundred people up above his head.

Or perhaps several hundred elephants.

*BANG* *CRASH*

That’s it, Killian thought to himself, grabbing his broom.

*TAP TAP TAP*

He poked the handle of the broom against his ceiling at what he hoped was a loud enough volume that the mysterious, noise-making neighbor would hear it. He didn’t dare poke any harder for fear of breaking the old thing clean in half.

*BANG BANG BANG*

It was the unmistakable sound of a foot being stomped on the ground above his head, at the same rhythm at which he’d just poked the broom.

“Seriously? Is there a six-year-old living above me now?” Killian grumbled at what he thought was an appropriate level for his own living space.

“No, is there a jackass living below me now?” a muffled voice responded from above.

Ah, his new neighbor was a woman then. At least he knew something about her now, although that didn’t make him any less frustrated by her noise level or the fact that she could apparently hear him through the floor of her apartment.

“No, just someone who’s tired of dropping all of his expensive ingredients due to a bunch of surprising noises from above!” Killian yelled back.

“Then maybe you should be more careful!”

“Pot, meet kettle!”

There was silence then.

Followed by a lot of noise on the stairwell, and then a loud banging on Killian’s door.

He groaned.

“Come to show your face then, finally?” he asked as he swung the door open, holding it carefully so that his familiar, Captain, was just out of view. What he saw in front of him was… not what he expected. The woman standing in his doorway, who was so angry there were literal red waves of infuriated energy coming off of her, was beautiful.

Beautiful, and angry, and with a loud, vibrant energy that glowed around her much brighter than anyone he’d seen before.

Of course.

He held the door steady with his right hand, ignoring Captain’s low groan from the couch.

It wasn’t that Killian was ashamed of Captain. Not at all. Killian was quite proud of the large creature taking up residence on his couch. It was just that Captain was… misunderstood.

Growing up, as all of his friends had started showing off their familiars, Killian had been without one. He had waited, and waited, and waited. He wanted to know that companionship so badly. But it wasn’t until his older brother had died that Captain had appeared. Without Liam, Killian was forced to grow up very quickly, and so Captain had been borne of grief, sorrow, and loneliness.

The problem was that Captain wasn’t an ordinary familiar. Most witches had created birds or cats, or even a few dogs. There were a few others -- some large cats among his friends with tendencies toward dark magic.

But Killian’s own familiar was the only hybrid he’d ever seen. Captain was larger than a panther, though he had the look of one. He had a lion’s mane, which would have looked a bit out of place if not for his constant look of regality, and huge bat-like wings. He was quite intimidating to say the least.

At first, before Killian had realized just how out-of-place his familiar was, he’d ventured out as usual, walking down the street to the store at any time of day, Captain steady by his side.

But then the strange looks had begun, and the whispers. It took Killian a month to realize that people were, in fact, scared of him.

“It’s not your fault,” Ruby, the witch who ran the local herb store, told him. Ruby had been the only person to tell Killian to his face that his familiar was… not normal. She was also the only person whose energy didn’t immediately turn to a cold, ice blue whenever they saw Killian with his familiar by his side. “You said his name’s Captain?” Killian nodded. “Well, Captain looks pretty dangerous, you know? Which means… you could be dangerous. So… that’s why people are acting so strangely.”

Killian didn’t ask why she wasn’t afraid of him. The glint in her eye told him he probably didn’t want to know.

Ashamed of himself and whatever danger must lie in his soul, Killian had stopped venturing out during the day. Ruby stayed at work late whenever he needed supplies, and that arrangement had meant that no one new had seen Captain in about five years.

It also meant that Killian hadn’t really spoken to anyone besides Ruby and the grocery delivery boy in that long.

Until right now.

“Can you please stop banging on your ceiling when I’m trying to work?” the angry blonde woman nearly screamed in his face. “It’s very distracting, and I’m working with very sensitive spells.”

“Pardon, milady, but your raucous noises are causing me quite a bit of disturbance as well.” Killian gestured towards the mess of bearberry on the floor of his kitchen. “That was rather expensive, and I can’t get to the store for at least another six hours.”

He winced, realizing belatedly that he’d revealed too much. He was really terrible at the whole personal interaction thing.

Just a bit rusty, he thought to himself.

“Why not?” the woman asked, arching an eyebrow suspiciously.

“I… er… I can’t…” Killian stammered. Finally, after an embarrassing amount of ear scratching (his) and death stares (hers), he decided it might just be easier to show her than to continue this silent battle. “This is Captain,” he said, opening the door wider and revealing the oversized winged panther lying on top of his couch. “If you cross the threshold, I can’t promise he won’t do something stupid. He’s very protective.”

“He’s beautiful,” she said quietly, and the energy around her shifted from dark, angry red to a soft green. “I’m Emma,” she added as an afterthought, holding out her hand.

“Killian,” he said, shaking her hand once. “Killian Jones.”

“Well, Killian, I’m sorry I made you spill your… what exactly was that?”

“Bearberry,” he answered automatically. She looked genuinely apologetic, and Killian wasn’t sure what exactly changed her attitude, but he was certainly thankful for it.

“I’ll try to keep it down, or at least give you some warning.” She smiled softly at him.

“Er… thanks. Thank you,” he responded awkwardly. She nodded once and then turned towards the stairs to go back to her apartment.

An hour later, there was a soft knock at Killian’s door. He looked through the peephole, but no one was there. Cautiously, he opened the door just a tad, and there was a soft thud by his feet.

A bundle of bearberry had fallen over without the door to hold it up. There was a note, and Killian found himself smiling before he had even opened it.

Mr. Jones, I apologize again for making you spill your bearberry. This should be enough to get you through for a bit. I’ve also thrown in a small treat for Captain.

Enjoy,

E. Swan

********

The strange thing about quiet is that it makes you miss the noise. So when two days went by without a single crash, boom, or clunk from upstairs, Killian grew worried. It took him a third day to gather up the courage to knock on her door.

As soon as it opened, he heard a whole plethora of noises. Whirrs and clanks and, of course, crashes.

“Swan, what the hell?”

He wasn’t sure why it came out of his mouth. But when she’d signed the note “E. Swan” he’d pictured her and her beautiful face and well… okay, she wasn’t exactly graceful or swanlike but somehow, still, ‘Swan’ seemed to suit her.

She hesitated a moment, a blush creeping up her neck.

“I charmed the apartment. So you wouldn’t hear… all of this.” She grabbed a loose strand of hair and started twisting it in her hands. “I felt bad. About before.”

It really wasn’t a grand gesture. She had cast a fairly simple charm so that her neighbors wouldn’t be disturbed by all the noise constantly coming from her apartment. A miniscule part of Killian’s brain wondered why she hadn’t done that to begin with, but he ignored it in favor of the more prominent thought in his mind: she’d done this for him.

“You didn’t have to… that’s very kind.”

An awkward silence fell over them before Killian glanced behind her into her apartment. It was nearly identical to his in layout, but where he kept his living space organized and tidy, Emma lived in what looked to be the middle of a biohazard. There were potions and ingredients and empty jars on nearly every surface. A stack of boxes towered far too high for Killian’s comfort just beside the dining room table. And a strange metal contraption right in the middle of the kitchen seemed to be the source of all the noise, whirring away and shaking far more than it looked like it should be.

And there, on the couch, lay a giant white… creature.

He knew, of course, that this must be her familiar. What he couldn’t figure out was what exactly it was. It looked both furry and feathered, and as Killian stared at it, the white color he’d originally seen started morphing into spots. And then stripes. And then back to white.

“What the--”

“Nothing. It’s nothing. I have to go now.”

And then the door was slammed in his face.

[ikenbar]

Mr. Love: Ike’s Choice Ch2 Pt3

Warnings:... there really isn’t any. Unless you’ve got a problem with some fluff and plot development... oh, and cliff hangers :)

(Chapter One parts one, two, three, four, five, six, seven,  chapter two’s prologue, parts one and two here :))

((Please read the author’s note on chapter one part one if you’re new here :D))

Chapter Two:

Part three:

I walked into the familiar building with Sam’s hand in mine. Gavin walked next to us with the perp perched over his shoulder. Sam swung my hand playfully as he looked around. I kept my eyes trained on him. I couldn’t quite pull myself from his smile. “Hey, wait!” Sam’s face filled with realization as he looked up at me, catching my eyes perfectly, “Did you say Officer Gavin was your neighbor?!” I nodded wryly. “Really?! So you’re Sr. Yells-a-lot!! Jeez, from the way Ike talks about you, I always pictured you as an old m-”

“OK!” I shouted over Sam, cutting him off uselessly, “Let’s not mention nicknames I give to an officer of the law while we are in a police station.” Sam’s smile only grew as he watched how flustered I had gotten. I swear, that kid had a whole dark side that he hid so well behind those puppy eyes. I stole a glance at Gavin who was looking at me skeptically. He opened his mouth but was cut off by an approaching officer. The officer was chubby and smiled joyfully as he neared us.

“Ike!” He greeted me with open arms, “What a nice surprise! We haven’t seen you here in ages!”

“Landsman,” I folded my arms, refusing his hug, “Wish I could say the same but I can’t.” I flashed a glare towards Gavin, who didn’t seem to notice my movements. Officer landsman chuckled.

“Same ‘ol Ike.”  Landsman directed his attention to Sam, who promptly jumped at the sudden attention, “So this is the perp you were talking about, Officer Gavin? Ah it seems the criminals just keep getting younger.” Landsman shook his head playfully as he pulled Sam into a bearhug, cradling his head in his arms and dramatically petting it, “Ah the youth of today. Getting so carried away with the ‘fun’ they are always having.”

“I’m not the perp!” Sam laughed pushing Landsman away from him.

“Oh?” Landsman tilted his head, “Then what’s your name, kid?”

“I’m Sam.” Sam held out his hand politely, “Sam Bearhreak.”

“Well it’s nice to meet you Mr. Bearhreak!” The officer shook Sam’s hand. Gavin gave me a confused look.

“How is it Landsman gets to know his name and I don’t?” He asked with a tinge of offense.

“Landsman didn’t sit me next to a sleeping perp in the back of a police car.” I gave Gavin my arched eyebrow. Gavin returned my gift with a frown. Sam poked my arm, directing my attention back to him.

"How do you know so many people here?" He asked, "Sr. yells-a-lot, Officer Landsman, you talk to them as if they were your old friends!" I hesitated.

"You don't know?" Landsman chuckled, "Ike was a bounty hunter!"

"What?!" Sam's jaw dropped.

"Yeah! A dang good one too!"

"Landsman!!" I protested. 

"What?" Landsman looked nervously at me, "I thought you were proud of that! She brought in ten criminals a day! The fastest I had seen anyone do it! Not even Gavin… is… that…." Landsman made eye contact with a scowling Gavin. Landsman cleared his throat and stopped talking.

"You were a bounty hunter?!" Sam looked at me with distance in his eyes. Whether it was from fear, or from confusion I didn't know. What I did know was that I didn't like it.

"I'm retired." I said patting his head reassuringly, "I stopped after a year and a half. I don't do it anymore, I promise." Sam's distance was replaced by worry. I bit the inside of my lip sheepishly.

"Don't worry, Sam." Gavin spoke up, looking past me to catch Sam’s stare, "She wasn't as good as Landsman makes her out to be."

"Thanks." I sarcastically mumbled. Sam laughed nervously. It was almost as bad as not hearing him laugh at all. 

“Why don’t I get you a nice cup of hot chocolate as the adults start talking.” Landman said as he stood up and offered Sam a hand. Sam’s soft, growing smile soon dissipated as he heard those words. He looked at me nervously. 

“I don’t know.” Sam pulled closer to me, “I want to stay with Ike.” My gut turned uncomfortably. I didn’t want to leave Sam either but I knew how grueling interrogations could be. I didn’t want Sam to see a side of me that I had purposely left behind all those years ago. Something had to be done.

“Landsman’s right.” I said pushing Sam closer to the officer, “But, how about you show Sam your hidden donut collection as well? You know, to seal the deal.” Landsman gave me a mixed look. As did Sam. I bent down next to Sam. “You’ll be alright.” I reassured him.

“I’m not the one I’m worried about.” Sam whispered slightly.

“I’ll be alright too.” I stroked Sam’s hair gently, “I’ll meet you for hot chocolate soon, ok?” It took Sam a long moment before he slowly nodded. He gave me a quick hug before turning to Landsman. I watched silently as they walked away.

“You really care about him, don’t you?” Gavin’s voice was soft. I hated the way it sounded. What does a cop know about caring? Nothing. That's what. The perp moaned slightly on Gavin’s shoulder. “Welp, that’s my cue.” Gavin said, waving to a police officer a couple of feet away, “I’ll set him up in an interrogation room so Officer Sean will be the one to check you in. Try not to break anything while I’m gone.”

“I’m gonna break anything.” I muttered childishly as Gavin walked away and Officer Sean approached me.

It felt as if I had been waiting for hours in that empty room. Since all of the interrogation rooms were occupied, I was put in the waiting room. The room was nice and cozy. Couches and chairs took up the middle of it and a coffee table, which I had my feet firmly planted on, made for a good centerpiece for everything. I looked down at my watch for the twentieth time. Forty six. It had been forty six minutes since Officer Sean dropped me off there. I groaned and slid down the couch slightly. If this was Gavin’s way of angering me it was working. Sam had been left alone in the police station for far too long as it was. He was already having a bad day. I couldn’t be yet another reason to make it worse.

I rubbed my face, trying to wipe away the tension I was feeling. I couldn’t believe Sam got tied into this. Just because I couldn’t shut my mouth and get along with my neighbor. Mister Rogers is turning in his grave because of me. I grunted and shifted my position on the couch, restlessly. "That no good, pathetic, excuse for a cop." The thoughts in my head escaped my mouth as I sat in that empty room, "Who the hell does he think he is!? The moment I get out of this police station, I am gonna-"

"Gonna what?"

The door opened and I stopped my murmurings. Gavin walked in with an arched eyebrow and a folder in his hand. “Finally.” I huffed, “You realize I could have grown a vegetable garden big enough to solve world hunger from the amount of time you’ve kept me here?” Gavin locked eyes with me. Something about his stare was off. It was softer than if it was before. So he chooses now to feel bad for me. I rolled my eyes and thought to myself, He should have thought about that before he locked me in here for nearly an hour.

 Gavin walked further into the room and sat on the couch across from me. I folded my arms and glared at him. He carefully placed the file on the coffee table.

“Would you... like some coffee?” He asked awkwardly.

“No thanks.” I answered, defiantly, “If I say yes, you might make it an excuse to travel to Costa Rica to brew it, thus leaving me here longer, making me tend once more to the vegetable garden.” Gavin sighed and held his eye contact with me. His gaze was steady and had an emotion that was unrecognizable to me. My stare was stronger; full of determination and hatred. Whatever that emotion was in his eyes, I couldn't stand it. I couldn't stand him.  Does he even realize how he isn’t just hurting me here? Didn’t he care when he saw how scared Sam was? How scared Sam was of… me? Ugh, why must Gavin be such a… cop?

 Gavin held his stare as he leaned back on the couch. He folded his arms and finally spoke up, “Why don’t you save us some time and tell me everything happened before I got to the scene?” His soft voice turned into one of business. 

“Because you care so much about saving time.” I rolled my eyes. I tapped my shoulder for a moment, in thought. When I decided to speak up, I chose my words very carefully, “Sam and I were walking home from school. There is a shortcut down an alley so we decided to take it. That man you found came out from behind the dumpsters and pointed a gun at us. He told us to go with him but we refused. He fired the gun. I punched him. He dropped the gun and fell to the floor, unconscious. Sam and I were debating how we were going to take him to the police station when you came.” I became silent and waited for Gavin to speak. He didn’t. He just looked at me with a sense of anticipation. “....That’s it.” I added.

“Oh really?” He asked, “That’s not what Hickman said.”

“Who?”

“The gunman. He woke up just a little bit ago and confessed to the whole thing.”

I shook my head in disbelief. “He confessed?!” This just adds to the theory I had going in my head since the car ride.

“He confessed out of fear.” Gavin said, leaning forward and resting his arms on the coffee table, “He told me that he shot the gun three times and he hit you every. Single. Time. But you didn’t bleed. The bullets just fell to the floor. Care to explain?” It was my turn to be silent. Millions of excuses came to mind.  He saw the holes in my fashionable shirt and made an assumption! The gun was firing blanks and he didn’t realize it! This is all just a prank to promote my new TV show, Guns VS Glam!! Come on, Gav, you would trust a criminal more than you’d trust me?! But the more I thought about how I could get out of the situation, the more I realized how useless it would be. If my theory was right about this guy, people could be in danger. I had to be honest with Gavin if I wanted to keep them safe.

“I’m bulletproof.” I deadpanned. Gavin shook his head, clearly taken aback.

“What?” He asked, slightly laughing.

“I’m bulletproof. It is part of my powers as an evolved human being.”

Gavin wasn’t laughing anymore. His face became serious as he slowly sat up. He searched my eyes for any lies. I grew impatient and leaned forward in a hurried whisper, “Long story short, I’m an evolved human being with super abilities unknown to man known as Evol. There are loads of us that live in secret so the government won’t do experiments on us. I’m only telling you this because I think the perp knows this. I think he knows about Evolvers. When he shot me the first time, he acted as if he was afraid but his eyes remained calm. There wasn’t any sign of fear in them. No dilation or raising of the eyelids, nothing. You’d think he was high or something but he was putting up such a front to act as if he were terrified of me. He started shaking and shot me again as if he thought he missed. He even dropped the gun. When I came at him, he didn’t move to defend himself. He just let me knock him out. And then he immediately confesses when he wakes up?! Something isn’t right here.” Gavin still had his eyes trained on me. His expression was indistinguishable. He was clearly lost in thought. I groaned impatiently, “I know it’s a lot to take in but if his guy knows about Evolvers then millions of lives could be at stake. He could be trying to expose us, which could cause a war larger than you will ever know. It will send a panic into the human race as people start mistrusting everyone around them. Life as we know it would disappear. Everyone you love, everything you cared about, torn away as we are thrust into a battle against the natural man. I know it’ll be hard for you to do, but I need you to trust me. I know you don’t and I know you likely never will, but you have to. This one time. If anything happens it would be my fault. I can’t live with that. So, please, Gavin.” I took Gavin’s hand in mine, “Trust me.” Gavin’s eyes looked at our hands then back at me. There was a moment of silence as he made his choice. 

He furrowed his brows and nodded.

“Alright.” His tone was one I had never heard before, “I trust you.” Relief washed over me as I sighed. Gavin leaned slightly forward in thought, “Do you know the gunman?”

“No.” I matched my tone to Gavin’s, “Which leads me to believe he may be working for someone who knows me. Someone who knows I’m an Evolver.”

“Who knows you’re an Evolver? Does any of your family know? What about the people you put away as a bounty hunter?”

“Sam knows.” I looked down in thought, “So do my foster parents. As for the people I put away…” A memory came to mind. I was chasing after a mobster down an alleyway. A car was waiting for him at the end of it, honking noisily. He was nearing it steadily and I knew I wouldn’t be able to catch up to him in time. I made a split decision. I took one of the dumpsters in the alley and chucked it at the mobster. It flew in the air and landed right in front of him, stalling him just enough for me to catch up and take him down.

 I cringed slightly. “There’s one.” I awkwardly muttered, “but he is behind bars. It can’t have been him.”

“Well then, there is only one way to find out who it could be.” Gavin said matter-of-factly, “We have to ask Hickman himself.” I looked up at Gavin. His eyes were full of determination. I straightened my posture and matched his gaze.

“Right.” I nodded with courage. Gavin nodded back and looked down at the table. He cleared his throat slightly, his ears turning a slight red

“I… uh… need my hands back.” His voice was awkward as he evaded his gaze both from the table and me. I looked down and saw that I was still holding his hands. I felt my face burn as I quickly pulled them back.

“S-sorry.” I muttered, rubbing my face casually to mask my red cheeks. Gavin swept the file from the coffee table and stood up. He walked to the door and opened it. I leaned back on the comfy sofa and waited for the door to shut... I looked up and saw him still standing at the door.

“You coming?” He asked, gesturing to the door.

“You… want me to come with you?” I asked, stupidly. Gavin’s face fell into one that only an idiot would receive.

“Do you want to know who paid this guy?” Gavin asked. I nodded, “Then come on! I don’t know who you put away. I need you there to tell me if the name he gives us is real. Besides,” Gavin rubbed his neck and looked away from me, “you could tell this guy was lying to you with his eyes alone. I could use that in an interrogation.” I slowly nodded and stood up.

“Give me a moment to talk to Sam first.” I said as I walked through the door. I scanned the area for any sign of my little brother.

“That will be kind of hard to do.” Gavin closed the door behind us.

“And why is that?” My tone returned to its initial darkness.

“I took him home.”

I blinked.

“...you what?”

“I took him home. I didn’t know how long we would keep you here and he didn’t do anything wrong so I drove him home after he gave me his story.” Gavin’s eye contact with me seemed sincere. I leaned away from him slightly, “Which strangely matched your initial story perfectly, might I add. It almost makes me wonder what kind of kid he really is."

“OK, one more question.” I said, “Who are you and what have you done with my crabby neighbor?” Gavin chuckled. That was the first time I had heard him laugh. The sound made me slightly uneasy… but it wasn’t an awful sound.

“Maybe I’m not as bad as you make me out to be.” Gavin gave me a pat on the shoulder as he walked past me. “Which reminds me, Sam told me to tell you to call him when you get released.”  I stared at him as he walked down the busy hallway. Was he just… nice to me? To Sam? What happened to that heartless cop I once knew? Did Sam say something to him to make him change?... Did I say something to him to make him change? What... I shook the thoughts out of my head. There was no time to be thinking about these things. There was a criminal that needed to be taken down. I quickly caught up to Gavin and walked with him down the hallway and to the interrogation room.

(Next part to be posted on Wednesday April 29th)

[tngrayson]

Once More, With Feeling - Ch2

A/N: Sorry this took so long, I’d honestly hoped to be finished with this story by now. I’m in my last semester of college, so I haven’t had much time to devote to this story. With that being said, after this chapter, I have no idea how much of it is going to follow the events of season 2. There’s a lot of that season that’s difficult to work with for various reasons. Thanks for sticking around, guys.

Characters: Billy Russo x Reader

Word Count: 2000

Warnings: Angst

“Sure about this, Kid?” Frank asked as you stood at the door, not walking into the apartment with him.

You gave a feeble nod as your heart pounded and a chill ran down your spine before you stepped in.

Frank sighed. “Told you I don’t mind you staying in my place. I meant that.”

“I know. But you’re leaving, and I don’t want to be there alone, surrounded by ‘you,’ you know?”

“You’d rather be here? Surrounded by ‘him’?”

“The place is paid for, Frank.  For a while, at least. Despite everything, I feel like I can start fresh here. Move some things around, get rid of all his stuff--I just don't want to let him run my life anymore. This was my home too…”

Billy had only slept in the apartment one night after you left, and this was your first time back, so most of the place was exactly as you’d left it a couple weeks ago. The bed was unmade, most of the food in the fridge had spoiled, the ceiling fan in the living room was running, collecting dust, and the LED bulb was still going strong. Dust accumulated on nearly every surface in the place.

You started in the bedroom, stripping the covers off the bed to wash them or burn them; you hadn’t quite decided yet. As you cleared the bed, a pillow collided with one of the frames on Billy’s nightstand. It fell to the floor, cracking.  You picked it up, and though you’d been trying not to look at any of the pictures here, you couldn’t stop yourself from flipping the frame over to look at the familiar photo.  

You and Billy were soaking wet. He was in swimming trunks and you in your favorite swimsuit with the sun setting behind you. Billy was laughing hard –eyes crinkled, white teeth showing, and hand on his chest hard—and you were doing your best to hold back a grin. For the life of you, you couldn’t remember what had been so funny, just that Frank Jr. had snapped the photo with his disposable camera on a beach vacation a few years ago.

Frank pulled you from the now somber memories, taking the broken frame from your hands.

“I got it,” he said when the tears started flowing. You hadn’t even realized. After that, Frank made a point to gather up the photos in the apartment and put them in a box in the office. You did the same with Billy’s things from the bedroom and bathroom. You threw away things like old razors and his toothbrush, but boxed up his cologne and instead of boxing his clothes and tossing them or donating them, you just moved them to the closet in the office. The office seemed to become the dumping ground for all of Billy’s things that you didn’t want to see but weren’t quite ready to get rid of.  Frank, of course, had his objections to you keeping Billy’s stuff, but he helped you sort through it anyway.

__

Since Frank left New York, your life here had been pretty quiet. You went to work and came right back, cooked yourself dinner, and ended the night with tv or a book before starting over the next morning.  Every so often you’d get a call from Frank—checking in or checking on you, inadvertently reminding you of things you didn’t want to think about. For the most part, things were uneventful now and you liked it this way. To say that life this time last year had been an emotional rollercoaster would be an understatement. You were kidnapped, tortured, found out the love of your life was cheating and knew about the orchestrated murder of your family. It had been a lot to go through at one time. It felt like the trauma was never-ending. Needless to say, the whole thing left you with the more than occasional nightmare.

When Billy saw you sleeping there, he didn't know what to do with himself. He thought of leaving. Since you hadn’t visited him in the hospital, he didn’t know how you would react to seeing him now. Would you be angry, happy—he raked his fingers through his short hair and realized he looked very different from the last time he remembered seeing you. Had you already seen him like this or would the scars on his face frighten you? He was about to walk away when you stirred in your sleep, calling his name as what was clearly a nightmare started brewing.

Without a second thought, he climbed into the bed with you, getting close so he could wrap his arms around you. To his relief, you snuggled closer to him and relaxed into his embrace. He let out a heavy sigh, closed his eyes, and kissed your forehead. For the first time in a long time, he felt safe and calm. His racing thoughts slowed until he wasn’t worried about anything at all when he closed his eyes—no skulls, no blood, no broken glass.

__

You woke slowly, stretching and readjusting in the bed before opening your eyes. You saw Billy sleeping there peacefully, and for a moment you didn’t register how wrong this was. For a moment, you were back to your old selves—back to when it was completely normal to wake up next to him in this bed. For a moment, your thoughts betrayed you and told you that this was the way things were supposed to be; the way they had always been.

That moment passed quickly though, and reality came crashing back to the forefront of your mind. Billy should be in police custody at the hospital, not in bed with you. The last time you saw him—awake at least—he’d left you and Frank to die in the power station.

You took a deep breath to steel yourself and tried to get out of the bed without waking him. As soon as you moved away though, his hand shot up to your waist to pull you closer. He frowned in his sleep; fingers twitching and eyes roaming behind his closed lids. You remembered when he would really struggle with the nightmares after coming back from a tour. It looked just like this.

Usually, the best thing to do after the dream had gone on for too long was to get out of the bed. Billy had accidentally hurt you in his sleep before, and the last thing you wanted was a repeat of that night. The dream seemed to pass quickly, and his grip on your waist fell lax enough for you to slip away.

Billy woke in a start, he sat up, and you finally noticed the blood on his hands and shirt. Billy looked pallid as he sat there sweating and gasping to catch his breath; he looked afraid and confused as you watched him try to get his bearings, and in that moment, it was care, rather than fear, that took over.

You took a deep breath and closed the distance between you too to help him into the bathroom to wash the dried blood from his hands. You helped him out of the shirt that was bloodier than you initially realized, and you took a second to get a good look at him in the mirror as he went back to scrubbing absently. His hair was buzzed shorter than you’d seen in years, he was toned, but thinner overall than you remembered and his face was littered with scars. You knew they were a year old, but a lot of them looked like they were still very painful. You remembered Frank telling you that he’d put Billy’s face through a mirror repeatedly; that he wanted Billy to wake up every morning, remember what he’d done and wish for death. Your voice broke the silence that lingered over the apartment since either of you woke.

“Why don’t um…how about we get you clean.” You turned on the shower and made to leave the bathroom, but Billy caught your arm, gripping a little too tightly. “I’m just gonna get you some clothes, I’ll be right back.” You turned and looked up into his dark, uncertain eyes. Billy looked at you like he was seeing you for the last time like he was memorizing every detail of you in case you were lying. “I promise,” you said. He released you and you left the bathroom, closing the door and taking a deep breath.

When Billy turned off the shower, he heard you crying from the living room. You tried but failed miserably to hide your tears when Billy came out into the living room wearing the clothes you sat on the bed for him. Billy noticed the tears but chose to ignore them for now.

“These mine?” he asked, tugging at the loose t-shirt he was wearing.

You looked up at him from your spot on the couch and nodded. Billy looked around, his eyes settling on the room full of clothes and photos on the other side of the apartment. There were no photos of him in on display—of you and the rest of the Castles—but none of him, or of just the two of you. You weren’t even wearing the engagement ring he’d given you. He remembered the engagement for sure, but you weren’t wearing the ring. You didn’t even have any mark on your finger indicating that you’d worn it recently. He still had so many questions.

“We live here? Together?” 

You nodded again, “used to.” 

“Did we break up or something?” Billy sat on the couch and you stiffened, closing your eyes to take a slow, deep breath. You looked anywhere but his side of the room. Billy grabbed a pillow, clutching it to his chest nervously before shifting away from you a little. “I know I…look different, but-”

“I don’t care about your scars, Billy,” you said, cutting him off before a long silence.

“I don’t remember.”

That got you to look at him. “What?”

“I don’t remember,” he said, a little more anxiously, his voice rising with every sentence. “I don’t remember this place. I don’t remember what happened to me. I don’t remember why we’re not together or, or what I could have done for you to be afraid of me, to piss you off so bad that you erase me from your life!”

Billy made pointed looks around the room, counting objects to calm himself.

“I just want answers, Y/N.”

“What am I supposed to do with this?” It was Billy’s turn to look at you like you were crazy. “You hurt me, Billy, and goddamn if that isn’t a major understatement. I told you I was pregnant and you still left me and Frank to die down, and now you’re telling me you don’t remember any of it. You show up in my bed, covered in blood and ‘you’ want answers.”

Billy looked around with new eyes, looking for any signs that there would be a baby there. When he found none, his heart sank. “The baby, what happened-“

“I was never pregnant. I only told you that because I thought it would make you help me, but you left anyway.”

“Why would I do that?! Why would I leave you and Frank—what happened?” Billy reached for you. And you shot off of the couch, putting as much space between the two of you as possible. “You don’t have to be afraid of me.”

“Don’t I?” you asked.

“Looks like you can’t help me either,” he said, before storming out of the apartment.

You made sure to bolt the locks behind him in case he decided to come back. You grabbed your phone and scrolled through your contacts until you found Frank’s number.

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[sollea]

Dolorem et Consolationem Ch10

Ch1, Ch2, Ch3, Ch4, Ch5, Ch6, Ch7, Ch8, Ch9 Words: 3825 Poorly done recon with Lea!

Tag this as AkRk and I eat your bones.

“Remember how to do recon, Roxas?” Lea’s hand rested on Roxas’s shoulder, leaning down slightly to be closer to the teen’s face.

“What kind of question is that?” Roxas rolled his eyes. “You didn’t even teach me how to, it was Even. I’m glad he’s way less creepy now, by the way. One time before you all went to Oblivion, he sat in the Grey Area and just kinda laughed at me? Like he wanted to eat me or something.”

“I mean, obviously something. He’s not that weird, c’mon. Give him a little credit.”

“When he was Vexen? I don’t want to. He said something about dissecting when talking about me? He was fucking weird.”

“Roxas, watch your language.”

“Really? Seriously?”

“Yeah, serious Lea. Now don’t fucking curse.”

Roxas looked up at Lea, expression giving away the fact that he was moments away from kicking the man’s ass for what he just said. “Why wasn’t Isa just glad to have you off his hands when you stopped hanging out with him? You’re the worst.”

Lea rolled his eyes and shrugged. “It’s because I’m delightful and hard to not love. Everyone knows that.”

“Alright, whatever you say. Isn’t talking a stupid thing to do during recon?”

“You went on recon missions with me, did that ever stop me? Besides, we’re checking out a bunch of nobodies without orders to do anything, this isn’t a real mission. Lesser nobodies don’t seem to mind us being around anyways.”

“They’re really not after hearts, are they?”

“Nah, if they were, they would’ve attacked a bunch of us members. That would’ve been real bad. They’re looking for their own if anything. Nobodies are all real self-serving, but they can be given objectives. If they think something’s gonna further their one life’s purpose, gaining a heart and returning to who they were, they’ll drop almost anything. A heart in someone else isn’t going to give the walking corpse who shouldn’t exist anything.”

“Sounds like you don’t actually know anything about them,” Roxas said as he walked down the neon-lit streets behind Lea.

“What d’you mean by that?” There was a moment where Lea’s face twisted into a grimace and he was glad he and Roxas weren’t standing next to each other.

“Sounds like projection, honestly. I might be younger than you, but if you want to talk about stuff, can you do it in a straightforward way?”

Lea continued to thank Roxas’s recon training for not having them in a position where his face could be seen. He sighed and collected himself before turning to face Roxas, rubbing behind his head with one hand and openly shrugging with his other.

“Listen, that’s how I understand it. I’m not projecting, not sure who you learned about that from-”

“Olette’s homework,” Roxas interrupted, seemingly unaware of Lea’s annoyance. If he was aware of Lea’s annoyance with him, he looked like he was refusing to let it bother him. The more Lea thought on it, the more likely the second option seemed. Roxas really did grow into someone completely different than Sora.

“Alright, well, don’t interrupt me, all questions can be answered later if they’re actually questions.” Lea’s mouth tightened into a flat line, trying his best to not sound as aggravated as he was. “Olette’s obviously not teaching you all her homework’s saying, but the dusks do want hearts, they just don’t attack everyone with hearts. They’re not mindless like heartless are. So I made some assumptions about them, sue me. Once we do attack them, they’re not gonna be too happy about that. You know as well as I do that lesser nobodies can suck when they swarm you.”

Roxas waited a moment, not wanting to interrupt again, watching Lea nod his head and gesture to go on. “I just wanted to say, maybe not as well as you do. Didn’t that kill you?”

“You don’t actually have to worry about interrupting me, just not as… in the middle of my sentence.” Lea sighed, relaxing almost as quickly as he’d tensed up in defense of himself. “Let’s not talk about death right now, we’re about to try to get a group together to go around killing things in hopes of their heartlesses meeting the business end of a keyblade too.”

“What happens if we injure the nobody too badly? And what is too badly since we have to kill them? Ienzo said Even took longer reforming for some reason?”

“Yeah, well, keyblade traumas seem to be relatively quick on the recompletion, fire’s a little bit of an issue. Unless you’re doing it to yourself and survive past it. I said no more death talk, Roxas.”

“Oh, did you… to Vexen?”

Lea sighed and rubbed at the back of his head. He guessed there was no way to control the conversation topic with Roxas as curious as he was. Today was gonna be a day full of deep breaths and uncomfortable questions. “Yeah. If you want me to be forward with you, I’ll tell you this one thing and you can decide if you still want me to talk to you about stuff, okay?”

“This is a weird way to do recon, but okay.”

“Listen, I did most of what I needed to know before you got here, you just said you wanted to hang out, okay? I already know what I’ve gotta do. besides, you’re the one asking all these questions.” Lea looked around at the surrounding area, making sure the nobodies who were around were still acting like he expected them to. Once he was sure they were safe, he dropped to the ground in a dramatic motion, pulling out his keyblade just to lay it on his lap and lean his elbows against it. “Alright, Roxas, sit down so I can tell you a bunch of shitty things I did to people who deserved something, but not what I gave them.”

Roxas was more hesitant to join Lea on the ground than he’d been with anything else. Hesitation wasn’t in Roxas’s nature. He got placed on the ground in need of some kind of start-up, but he hadn’t stopped since. Lea’s words and their current location combined in a way Roxas wasn’t sure if he particularly liked.

But he trusted Lea.

After he was seated, Roxas looked up at Lea, ready to listen and make the call on if he wanted to let Lea talk to him. Of course, no matter what Lea said, Roxas was determined to get comfortable enough with it fast so he could help his friend.

Lea was, however, not planning on actually giving Roxas a choice. It was a formality, he just wanted to see how being open would feel around the kids. There were a lot of them and they were all close. Roxas was the best one to test how much he could tell someone about half his age before he felt like he was creeping too far into an unhealthy place.

“So, you want to know what actually happened in Oblivion?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright, you better like to listen to me talk, because I’m about to get into it.”

Roxas immediately regretted what he had just gotten himself into. Not that he minded listening to Lea talk, if he did, his whole time in the Organization would’ve been an unbearable hell instead of just hell, but… he didn’t like the implication that Lea would be talking more than he usually did.

There were a long few moments where Lea looked towards the castle and wondered if it would continue to look like it did, cast out of the passage of real time, or if it would crumble and fall apart as the people whose memories likely held it together stopped thinking about its halls. Lea lost himself in thought, unable to pull himself back to what he was planning on doing.

There was suddenly a hand over his that pulled him back into reality. “Hey, Lea, you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to? We’re kinda sitting on the ground in a city of dusks?”

Lea looked up at Roxas and laughed, rubbing at the back of his head. The laugh felt at home in the city of the dead and lost, as did the two somebodies for just a moment. “Nah, Roxas, I’m fine. Just keep thinking things about being here. The world’s kinda falling apart in some places, did you notice?”

“Yeah, in some places.”

“The lesser nobodies and their shattered memories are holding this place together while we’re not thinking about it. I’m willing to bet on that one.” Lea gestured to one of the dusks meandering nearby as he spoke. Their home wouldn’t vanish completely until they were all defeated.

“You think a lot more about real questions than you act like you do. I thought you just kinda listened to Isa most of the time?”

“You saying you thought I was stupid? After all the stuff I taught you?” Lea’s laugh this time wasn’t nearly as hollow, but his eyes didn’t have the usual glint behind them.

“Ugh, no. Don’t twist my words around like that! I’m just saying… I thought you didn’t think as much as you’re thinking now?”

“That’s because thinking about things is never fun anymore. I’d rather just focus on the here and now. The here and now is the there and then right now, though. So. Here I am, stuck thinking about everything happening around me again.” Lea sighed and tapped his fingers against his keyblade’s fire. “So, you wanted to hear about Oblivion?”

“Yeah, but now that you’re back from zoning out, can we do this somewhere else? Maybe we can RTC and talk where there are some chairs?”

“C’mon, Roxas, I just got comfortable,” Lea said, sitting up straight and cracking his back. He realized when he did that that he didn’t really want to be sitting on the ground either, not in the middle of the World That Never Was. Slouching when he could see assassins and their bowed forms was… uncomfortable now that he was a person again. Though, hearing RTC coming out of Roxas’s mouth wasn’t all too comfortable either. “One last RTC to talk about that time I killed some coworkers. Cathartic or something.”

Roxas just looked at Lea for a moment before getting up. “Have you always been like this?”

“What? Hilarious and amazing? Yeah.”

Roxas seemed to decide that responding to Lea wasn’t the best choice as he began to walk forward without waiting for the older man to get up. Lea quickly scrambled to get up, long legs almost a hassle to deal with when hurrying. Keyblade vanishing as he let it slip from his grip, Lea held his breath as he watched it return to wherever keyblades stayed when they weren’t being held.

“Hey, Roxas, you ever get told where keyblades go?” Lea looked at his hand while they walked towards the castle, slowly closing his fingers into a fist.

“What? No? I never asked. It’s like all the other weapons you guys used to have, right?”

“I dunno, I guess I just think keyblades are probably a little more special than weapons used by the science cult we were all in.”

“Science cult?”

“I mean, I guess you could call it a lot of various kind of things, but science cult’s what I know about it. You not thinking of it like that’s kinda my fault, isn’t it?”

“I guess! I still don’t know what happened at Oblivion, you haven’t told me yet!”

“Oh, right, well. Isa gave me instructions that came straight from the boss man’s mouth.”

“Xemnas?”

“Sure, we’ll go with that still.”

“Lea, can you ever just summarize something?” Roxas rolled his eyes as they reached the divide that there was between the city and the castle. “Also, how are we getting over there?”

“No, I can’t, and I’d say next question, but you’re bombarding me.” Lea raised a hand to the side and summoned a dark portal. “Small trip, should be easy, even if our clothes weren’t specially made by the fairies.”

“I don’t think you should really be using those as much as you do, Lea, it’s not healthy to be using so much darkness.”

“Eh, it’s fine. It’s been ages and my heart’s still strong as ever.”

“Yeah, but, without a heart?”

“Well, yeah, but there was some time before we lost our hearts…” Lea trailed off, rubbing at the back of his neck. He hadn’t really given much thought to what happened in the short time between becoming apprentices and dying before. It took him a moment to collect himself again enough to realize he was still handing out answers to questions without much thought. “Hey, don’t try to get more information out of me than I wanna give. Just get in the portal so we can cross the death chasm that apparently exists now.”

“Okay, okay, wow. You’re the one who was answering stuff, it’s not my fault,” Roxas said as he entered the portal and rushed across the darkness to the exit.

The exit brought the two of them into the Grey Area and Lea immediately walked to the window, standing where Saïx always used to and staring out with the same intense longing he’d always seen on his friend’s face. Isa really had always been there, no matter how much they both changed over the years. It hurt Lea to think about it, so mocking was the only answer he could think of to make it hurt less. With no Kingdom Hearts in the sky, it was too close to the early days where everything was new and terror resounded in every echo of his empty chest despite not being able to truly feel it.

Roxas walked over and stood next to Lea. “You okay?”

Lea looked down and laughed. “Yeah, I’m just making fun of what Saïx was like.”

“Oh, can we still say Organization names?”

“Yeah, kinda? I’m talking about the disjointed person that Isa became. Axel sure was something else for a while. Looking back, I think I know exactly when I started to be myself again and it sure wasn’t the whole time. It’s part of what I’m about to talk to you about, so, lucky you.”

“Is it really lucky?”

“Nah, not really.” Lea immediately hopped over the back of a couch and slouched onto it after speaking. “I’ll start the story when you sit down?”

Roxas sat down and looked at Lea expectantly. No words were spoken as the teen waited for Lea to begin the explanation of what happened in Oblivion… until Roxas saw something out of the corner of his eyes. “Wait, sorry, there’s something over there. I’m gonna grab it then you can tell me the story.”

Lea watched Roxas dart over to the corner of the room and snag a piece of paper, folding it up carefully and putting it into a pocket carefully before casually walking back to sit down next to him. Tilting his head and raising an eyebrow, Lea looked at Roxas with as much expectancy as Roxas had just been looking at Lea.

“Oh, uh, it’s nothing? I’ve just been finding someone’s letters all over the place.”

“Alright, well, tell be about that?” Lea was all too happy to change the topic and Roxas could see that in the way he leaned forward and opened his previously closed off way of sitting. “You’ve got the floor if you need help figuring it out.”

“Nah, I think it’s really time for you to tell me what happened when you left. Why’d everyone go? And are you going to keep having me try to guess if you’re talking about Xemnas or Isa?”

“Alright, whatever you say.” Disappointment that Roxas didn’t take the chance to talk about anything else crossed over Lea’s face. “Well, alright… Oblivion. Everyone went for science reasons, research regarding replicas, I think you know that much, but it was also research regarding the castle itself. You’ve seen what it turned into, Xemnas probably wanted that. We weren’t told exactly what to look for, just that it was a chamber of waking or something.

“There were actually a few people assigned there who were organizing a coup, Marluxia and Larxene, so it was perfect timing to get rid of them for Xemnas… along with some people in the way of Isa’s rise to the top. It was probably too suspicious to get all the people that were in the way, so Isa sent Aeleus and Even and… Ienzo. Which would’ve been fine with me if I hadn’t already been assigned babysitting duty and if Naminé wasn’t… so hard to watch get hurt. And the replica…” Lea trailed off and rubbed at his face, sighing and sitting up so he could lean against his arms. “It’s probably my fault Xion wasn’t treated right, I never reported that replicas could develop personalities of their own.”

“You knew?”

“Yeah. Didn’t want to. I did something horrible with the Riku replica that was being used in the castle.”

“What?”

“I made him murder Zexion for me.”

Roxas and Lea sat in silence for a few very long seconds as they both took in what was said. Roxas, having had no idea what had happened in Oblivion, and Lea, having never said it aloud before.

Lea looked up at the ceiling and took in a deep breath before continuing, “I made the kid kill the only member of the Organization beyond Isa that I respected at all. Ienzo was a kid when everything happened and a pretty cool one at that. We weren’t friends or anything, but I like to think he didn’t mind me that much. It was easy to understand what I had to do, even if it was told to me in a way that allowed for plausible deniability from Isa if I was stopped, but I didn’t fully want to do it by the end of that trip to the castle. It really felt like a lot changed in me then. Felt like I must’ve been giving up.”

Lea paused to catch his own thoughts before they drifted even further away from the conversation than he could handle. “Stop me anytime you need.”

Roxas was sitting in a stunned silence, staring hard at Lea’s shoulder as the man spoke. It was the kind of thing Lea had initially wanted, but there was nothing fun about talking about things only to be shut down. It was good that Roxas wasn’t about to shut Lea down. “You can keep going, I’m okay.”

Being told to continue hadn’t been expected, but maybe it was good. “I don’t know if I was or not. Maybe I was giving up on Isa’s way. It was getting to be too painful and I didn’t realize it was real pain. I… don’t really want to keep going. I hate the part I’m about to tell you. I think about it constantly.” Lea clenched his hands into fists and breathed in slowly, holding hands to his chest as he curled in on himself. “Killing Vexen was… cathartic. Thinking back on how freeing it was is horrifying, especially because Sora was right there. I shouldn’t have let Sora be right there.”

“Lea?” Suddenly, Lea felt a smaller hand on his.

Looking up, Lea’s heart broke into a million pieces. Roxas was visibly worried, his eyebrows pulled together and his expression soft. He wasn’t used to being the adult in the situation. He reached up and touched his cheek, feeling the warm, wet tears fall against his fingertips. The crying adult who needed to pull himself together, that was what he was. “Sorry, Roxas. That’s basically it. Marluxia and Larxene were killed fighting Sora, Naminé escaped because I let her as far as I’m aware, Aeleus was killed fighting Riku. Sora’s memories were wiped, Naminé repaired them. Oh, right, Marluxia was having her insert herself into his memories instead of Kairi, that was a whole plot. Didn’t work, but it broke Sora a little bit.”

“Oh, is that all?” Roxas laughed as if nothing was wrong and sat back again. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good. Talking stuff out sucks no matter how many times you do it.”

“How many times have you managed?”

“Once? Twice, maybe. Plus this.” He prided himself on a tone he felt seemed casual, even with the tears in his eyes.

“Thanks for telling me what happened.”

“Yeah, no problem.” Lea paused and stared at his lap. “I’m gonna tell you one more thing before I have to just ask you to not ask me questions for a while, okay?”

“Yeah?”

“I think I figured out why I can still use the dark corridors when nobody else can. Or will, I don’t know, maybe Isa can.”

Roxas just continued to stay quiet, face still soft with concern despite his entire body leaning forward slightly because he wanted to know.

“Ienzo couldn’t figure it out because I don’t know how much of the experiments Isa and I were in he remembers. We woke up in the coats, I don’t know how I managed to forget before.” Voice cracked as Lea cried, unable to hold himself together like he’d wanted. “We were apprentices, but if you weren’t family, it didn’t really matter. Sometimes experiments happened on even Xehanort from what I’d heard. We could do it then, we were pushed into darkness then, of course we continue to hold power over the corridors. It’s too bad nothing in them was ever helpful like anyone wanted, they really only worked to move us around.”

“... That sucks, Lea. Do you want to be alone? I can come back later?”

Lea wondered briefly if he was really making it feel obvious that he didn’t want to be having this breakdown around Roxas, but he couldn’t do anything but nod. Roxas immediately got up and stood awkwardly in front of the couch for a moment before wrapping his arms around Lea. It took the man a moment to comprehend what was happening, but when he did, he lifted his hand up and placed it on Roxas’s shoulder blade. “Thanks.”

Roxas backed up and nodded.

Lea didn’t watch him leave, he didn’t watch much of anything until he felt the couch move beneath him. Even then, he didn’t lift his head, he just watched as familiar fingers intertwined themselves with his.

“Roxas told me you went to the castle. Why are you here?”

Lea just shook his head, suddenly realizing he was sobbing as he did. He wondered how long that had been happening. Was he sobbing the entire time? He touched his cheek and it was warm and wet. Trying to take a breath hurt his chest.

Despite asking to be alone, he wanted nothing less and allowed himself to collapse on Isa. “I need help.”

[lastbluetardis]

Chemical Potential (6/11)

Summary: Slightly homesick and stressed about her abysmal chemistry grade, Rose Tyler meets quirky James Smith, the boy who sits in front of her in their chemistry class. They become fast friends as James makes it his personal mission to help Rose get through the semester.

Ten x Rose University AU

This chapter: ~6000 words, light teen

Notes: This was written for the lovely @thegreenfairy13 as part of the @dwsecretsanta gift exchange.

AO3 | Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | Ch5 | Ch6 | Ch7 | Ch8 | Ch9 | Ch10 | epilogue

Rose was looking forward to her sleepover with James all day. All of her classes seemed to drag by, impatient as she was for it to be four o’clock, the time James said he would meet her at the library.

Finally, hurrying to the library after her final class of the day ended, Rose spotted James’s figure slouched in a cushy chair near the front doors of the library, an open newspaper in front of him. She took a minute to admire him and the graceful curve of his body as he sat sideways in the chair with his legs slung over the armrest.

He hadn’t spotted her yet, so she snuck up behind him and breathed into his ear, “Guess who?”

He yelped far louder than was appropriate for a library, earning them both a sharp glare from the librarian on duty.

James sprang up from the seat, nearly tripping over his feet in the process. His cheeks were bright red, and Rose felt a little bad for startling him so badly.

“Rose!” he exclaimed, breathless. “Hi!”

“Hi,” she giggled. “Ready to go?”

“Yup, let me just…” He hastily folded up the newspaper, not even following the creases, before he shoved it into his bag.

“You performed your civic duty, I see,” she noted, spying the tiny “I Voted!” sticker on his jumper.

“Yep! Got to the polls right as they opened this morning. I’m glad, because rumor has it the lines are impossibly long now.”

He slung his bag over his shoulder, then touched her wrist briefly before he let his hands drop to his sides. It was an automatic response for Rose to thread their fingers together as they made their way outside.

“Isn’t it supposed to be cold by now?” Rose asked as they walked into the late afternoon sunshine and the unseasonable warmth. Across campus, some students were in t-shirts and shorts, or were carrying around jackets that had become unnecessary as the temperatures approached sixty.

“Well… climate change, y’know. The Earth is dying.”

“Very cheerful,” she muttered, reaching over to pinch his ribs.

He squirmed out of the touch, but didn’t relinquish her hand as they walked to his car.

James remembered the way to her apartment, and fifteen minutes later, he’d pulled up in front of her building.

“D’you… want to come up?” Rose asked awkwardly. “I might be a few minutes. I’m an idiot and didn’t pack an overnight bag yet.”

“You’re not an idiot,” he said softly, and while she’d meant it offhand, a piece of her heart fluttered at his immediate protest. “But sure. I’ll come up.”

He turned off his car and exited. He dug through his pockets for a quarter that he fed into the parking meter.

“Will fifteen minutes be long enough?” he asked, glancing at her.

She nodded, then guided him into her building and up the flights of stairs to her floor.

“It’s a bit small,” she said apologetically when she unlocked her front door. “But make yourself at home.”

She was all too aware of James’s roaming gaze as he drank in her flat. It was small, even for one person. Thankfully she didn’t have much stuff, so it wasn’t cluttered. There was a loveseat sofa and a dining table in the living room, but the table was so covered with her art supplies that she often ate her meals standing over the kitchen counter.

“Help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge,” she said as she made a beeline for her bedroom.

She pulled out a bag and stuffed a change of clothes and pajamas into it, then she moved to the bathroom. Her makeup was spread all across the countertop, and she collected them into her makeup bag, which she stuffed on top of her clothes. She then grabbed her shampoo, conditioner, and body wash, which she rolled into a towel. All of that she placed into her pack as well.

After making sure she had everything she would need for staying overnight somewhere, she joined James in the living room. He was towering over her table, and Rose was mortified to see him looking at the various pages of sketches littered across the surface. She knew there were several portraits of him among the pages.

He jumped when he heard her approaching, and his cheeks flamed red.

“I- I’m sorry,” he squeaked. “It was all right out there in the open. I didn’t mean to snoop. I just… You’re very good, Rose. They’re beautiful.”

Her sharp rebuke about invading her privacy died on her tongue. She knew he hadn’t meant anything by it, and if she hadn’t wanted anybody to see, she should’ve put them away. After all, it wasn’t as though she was unused to sharing her artwork; but she was unused to her artistic muse seeing the final results.

“Thanks,” she mumbled, accepting his compliment.

She decided not to draw any more attention to her drawings, on the off chance he somehow hadn’t seen the ones she’d done of him. Instead, she moved to the fridge for the unopened bottle of wine that had been there since her first week in the flat.

James frowned.

“How the hell…? The drinking age in America is twenty-one,” he blurted. “How did you even buy that?”

Rose raised an eyebrow at him, then said slowly, “Because I am twenty-one?”

He blinked. “What?” His voice went high, and he coughed to clear it.

“Yeah. I turned twenty-one last April,” she said. “I took a few years off school before deciding to try uni.”

James nodded, and his throat bobbed. “Good. That’s… good.”

Rose cocked her head. “Why’s that good?”

His cheeks burned redder and he stammered for a moment before saying, “Well, I wouldn’t want you to get into any trouble here on foreign soil is all.”

A lame excuse, and certainly not what he’d meant, but Rose didn’t push it.

“Shall we?” she said.

He nodded and reached for the wine, then guided her back to his car.

He drove them to the outskirts of town, to a small residential development. Quaint brick houses lined the streets, and a twinge of jealousy flared through Rose. But she pushed it down when she considered where James had gotten the money to afford a house: he’d probably inherited any money his parents had when they died.

“Home sweet home,” he said, pulling into the driveway of one of the smaller houses in the development. “Oh! Er… are you allergic to cats? I completely forgot.”

Rose shook her head. “I had a few cats when I was growing up.”

He looked relieved. “Great.”

She followed him into his house, and was immediately greeted by the happy, screaming meows of a black and gray tabby.

“This one’s Pippin,” he said, bending down to scratch the cat’s chin. “He’s a love bug. If he gets too annoying, I’ll shut him in my room.”

Pippin purred loudly, then turned to Rose and rubbed himself against her calves and feet.

A few moments later, a brown and tan tabby padded over to them. He wasn’t quite as affectionate as Pippin, but he sniffed Rose curiously then bumped his head into her shin before trotting back in the direction he came from.

“That one was Merry,” James said.

Rose stifled a grin. “Are Frodo and Sam in hiding?”

James giggled, looking pleased that she understood the reference.

“They live with my Aunt Sarah,” he said, toeing off his shoes by the front door. Rose followed suit, and was amused to see his socks had chemical structures printed all across them.

She followed James down the hall and to the kitchen, where Merry and Pippin were circling two of three empty bowls.

“Watch out for Gollum,” James warned. “He doesn’t take kindly to strangers. Or even to me, honestly. He’s a grumpy old man. I should’ve let him drown in the storm drain honestly. But I felt too sorry for the bastard.”

Rose turned at a growling meow, and saw a Siamese cat slinking further into his box on the cat tree.

“That whole tree is his,” James said, shaking his head. “He won’t let Merry or Pippin on it. I had to get them their own tree. And Gollum will sometimes even take over that one, the little shit.”

She watched James move around his kitchen, filling the three bowls with food. He gave Merry and Pippin each a full body stroke before letting them eat their dinner in peace.

“I’ll show you where you can put your stuff,” he said, beckoning with a tilt of his head before he strode down the hall.

He guided her to the first door on the right and stepped into the room. There was a large bookshelf completely covered with books, as well as a long bay window with cushions that looked like the perfect place to curl up for a few hours to read. Judging by the distinct scent of James that lingered in the room, she suspected he spent a lot of time reading here.

Against the opposite wall was a full-size bed.

“My aunt stays in this room when she comes to visit,” James said. “I put fresh sheets on. The loo is directly across the hall. And my bedroom is at the very end of the hall, should you need anything in the middle of the night.”

“Thank you,” Rose said, setting her bag onto the bed. “Your house is lovely.”

He smiled a little awkwardly, as though realizing the very different lifestyles they lived.

“Ready for pizza? Results probably won’t start coming in for another couple of hours. But we can put an order in a while and maybe play something? Do you like board games? Or we could play a card game? Whatever you want.”

Rose’s stomach flip-flopped, suddenly nervous that she was alone with James in his home, and that she would be spending the night here. Not nervous for her safety—never that—but nervous about the implications of it all. Did it mean the same thing to James as it did to her? What did it even mean to her? Was this just two mates hanging out together? Or was it… more?

“I’m fine with anything,” Rose said. “And yeah, let’s order the food now.”

James nodded, and together they walked back to the kitchen. Pippin had already finished his food, and was slinking closer to the cat tree and the full food bowl there.

“Oi, you know better,” James warned. “Do you want to get gutted?”

Pippin continued towards the food bowl though, and just when he was about to snitch a piece, Gollum let out a hiss and jumped on top of him.

“Stupid cat,” James grumbled.

Pippin rolled out from underneath Gollum, and trotted towards James, meowing rather pathetically. When James paid him no mind, he turned to Rose and rubbed against her calves.

“Does he like being picked up?” she asked.

“Mhm, oh yeah. I told you, he’s a total attention whore.”

Rose laughed, then she reached down to scoop the cat into her arms. He nuzzled close to her chest and purred loudly.

“Don’t let that mean ol’ kitty boss you around,” she cooed. “You’re an absolute sweetheart. Aren’t you such a beautiful boy?”

“Toppings?” James asked as he held his mobile to his ear.

“Cheese is fine,” Rose said.

He gave her a thumbs-up, then started speaking into the phone, placing an order for a large cheese pizza, a medium supreme pizza, an order of fries, mozzarella sticks, and two dozen chicken wings.

“It’ll get delivered in an hour,” he said, sliding his phone into his pocket.

“Are more people coming?” she asked. At his frown, she said, “You ordered a hell of a lot of food.”

The tips of his ears went pink.

“Er, well, I like a variety. And I’m starved. I haven’t eaten since breakfast.” He shrugged. “And in any case, I’ll have leftovers for dinner for the rest of the week. Mind if I open the wine?”

“That’s why I brought it,” she teased.

He stuck out his tongue, then rummaged through a drawer for a few noisy seconds before procuring a corkscrew.

“So,” James began as he worked on uncorking the wine bottle. “You’re twenty-one? What did you do between finishing up school and coming to uni?”

Rose nuzzled her nose into the soft fur of Pippin’s forehead, then bent down to set him on the floor. “It’s a long story.”

“Oh. Right, yeah, you don’t have to talk about it,” he said softly.

Rose nearly took the out he gave her. But he’d entrusted her with his grief and heartbreak over losing his family. Not that she felt she had to reciprocate and spill her own personal misfortunes, but he made her want to share with him. He made her want to give him every piece of herself, both the light and dark parts of her.

And maybe she was naive to have this much trust in someone she’d only known for a month, but maybe, just maybe, James was worth it.

“I left school when I was sixteen, after I finished my GCSE exams,” Rose said. James paused for just a moment, but then he continued working at the cork. “I was okay at school, in the subjects that interested me at least. But I was young and stupid and fell head-over-heels in love with my boyfriend.” James’s hands spasmed, and he dropped the corkscrew. “Jimmy. He was my first serious boyfriend. He was a year older than me and in a band. The band was decent enough, I suppose. They had a bunch of local gigs and had a self-made album out.

“Anyway, I thought he was the one.” Rose shrugged, her heart aching at how carefree those early days with Jimmy were. “He seemed to love me as much as I loved him. I didn’t hesitate when he asked me to move into a flat with him. It was a small flat, just one bedroom, but it was just the two of us, and it was ours, so it felt perfect.

“And we were happy. We really, really were. I’d quit school to help out with the bills, and I honestly didn’t mind it. School bored me, and I felt a lot better about myself to have a job and get paid and help out with the rent. My job wasn’t exciting—just working in a clothes shop—but it paid well, and I had steady hours.

“Jimmy’s band had been doing well, too. They’d gotten seen by some producer, and long story short, they were asked to sign a contract for their first real studio-produced album. Of course, all the guys jumped on board. I was so proud of them.

“But they began pulling long hours at the studio. Which was fine. They were busy. But there’d be weeks when I saw Jimmy for only an hour or two.” Rose’s voice died as she remembered the nights she’d go to bed alone, only to be woken up a few hours later by Jimmy’s wandering hands and lips. Sometimes she enjoyed their midnight romps, but other times, she wished he would let her sleep. She’d yelled at him the morning after that first night he’d ignored her wishes to keep sleeping. He’d yelled right back, eventually storming off. He’d called her a few hours later, apologizing and begging her to forgive him, promising that he wouldn’t do it again.

James was looking at her curiously, but without an ounce of pity. She could’ve kissed him for that kindness. He’d finished with the cork, which lay in a few mangled pieces on the counter, but his attention was fixed on her.

“We sort of… grew apart,” Rose said softly, skipping over the details of her deteriorating relationship. Living through them had hurt enough; she had no desire to recall them to memory if she could help it. “I was getting restless. I made decent money at my job, but I knew I didn’t want to be folding clothes for the rest of my life. But Jimmy… well, he thought I should be happy with what we had. And that I wouldn’t need to work once the album was finished, because he was gonna be a famous rock star.” Rose snorted and shook her head. “We got into it over me not wanting to be a trophy girl for him to parade around like a prize. And how I wanted to have a partner in a relationship. I didn’t want to be dependent on someone.”

Jimmy hadn’t taken well to that statement. He’d sneered at her that she was damn lucky to have what she did, and any other girl would be grateful to be in her shoes. But if she wasn’t happy, she could damn well leave and see how far she could get in life on her own.

That had been one of the cruelest thing Jimmy had said to her.

“Good for you,” James murmured.

Rose sighed. “Thanks. Jimmy didn’t think so, though.”

“He sounds like a bit of a wanker. Er, no offense.”

Rose snorted out a laugh despite the crack in her chest. “He kinda was. But I still hadn’t realized. I was still in love with him, and blind to anything he said or did. I figured he was stressed because of the album he was making.” She shrugged. “Anyways, he stopped coming home at a reasonable hour, and there’d be days when I didn’t see him. He and his band would go off partying with other up-and-coming musicians. He started drinking. A lot. His half of the rent went to booze and God knows whatever else. I made good money, but not enough to cover the full rent. We got into huge rows about it, but he always said we’d be fine when the album came out.

“This had been going on for a few months. We’d been together for over a year—which to me, seemed like forever. It was proof that he was the one and we’d grow old together and get our happy ending. I figured we were going through a bit of a rough patch, but everything would be fine when the record came out.

“Well, the album was released, and it was a local hit, but that was it.” Rose smiled wryly. “No fame and fortune for Jimmy Stone. But he still partied like a rock star, still spent all our rent money, and still stayed out ungodly late. He was never home on the weekends. And one day, he just never came back.”

Rose’s eyes burned as she remembered the helplessness of sitting around the flat, waiting for word from Jimmy. She didn’t know if he was performing in a nearby city, or dead in a ditch. Her calls and texts had gone largely unanswered.

“After two weeks, he called me to say he was moving in with this other girl.” Rose shook her head and rolled her eyes. “He’d been seeing her on the side for months. They were in love, apparently.”

Devastation pulled at James’s face. “Rose, I’m…”

She shrugged. “I was left with almost six-months back rent, and all the current utility payments. I called my mum, told her what happened, and asked if I could move home. And that was that. I released the flat, chatted with the landlady to explain the situation, and got myself on a payment plan to pay off the debt. She was really, really sweet about it.

“Mum was nice enough to not charge me anything when I first moved back. I chipped in with groceries when I could, but most of my pay went to the rent. I sent Jimmy a courtesy text, telling him I let go of the flat and to pick up his stuff, but other than that, I wanted nothing more to do with him.

“I worked for a year, then got restless, and went back for my A-levels. It took a bit longer than it should’ve but I was working as often as I could. I’d paid all my debts, but was utterly broke. I saved up all the money I could to pad my bank account and chip in with my mum’s bills. When my A-levels were finished, I started entertaining the idea of going to uni. Mum thought I should keep working. I had a good job, made good money, and if I stuck it out for a few more years, she thought I could probably get promoted through the shop.

“But I’d told Mum I didn’t want to work in a shop my whole life. Which she took offense to,” Rose added, pursing her lips at the remembered argument with her mother. “She worked in a shop her whole life, and she didn’t know why I didn’t think it was good enough. I said I wanted something different with my life. She still doesn’t really understand.

“I applied to universities, hoping to get some financial aid. I’d built up my bank account and didn’t want to deplete it, if I could help it. And this uni gave me the best offer, and I’d always wanted to see America, so here I am.”

Rose’s cheeks burned at exactly how much she divulged. Hearing the story aloud, listening to the way Jimmy had treated her… She was mortified and ashamed. What must James think of her? He probably thought she was the most naive, ridiculous girl who was an idiot to stay with someone who had treated her so awfully. Even her mother had been full of ‘I told you so’s when Rose had moved home.

But James… James was looking at her with the softest expression on his face. There was no judgement. No pity. Nothing but acceptance and sympathy.

God above, she loved him for that. For being here and letting her talk, and not sneering at her for her past mistakes.

He took a step towards her and opened his arms to enfold her in a hug. She went gladly and wrapped her arms around his waist, burrowing her nose into the fresh scent of his sweatshirt.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured, resting his cheek on the top of her head. “I’m sorry Jimmy was a wanker. But you should be proud of yourself, Rose. So proud. Look at what you’ve done, eh? Look at what you’re doing. You pulled yourself out of a shit situation, and made a better life for yourself. You’re amazing, Rose Tyler.”

Rose smiled into his chest, and felt her eyes prickling at the warmth of his words and the utter conviction in his voice.

“Thanks for listening,” she whispered.

“Thank you for trusting me with your story,” he countered, giving her a tight squeeze. She could’ve sworn she felt his lips press against the top of her head, but it was too gentle and quick of a motion. Perhaps it had merely been a bump of his chin.

He released her and smiled softly down at her.

“Wine time?” he asked, jutting his chin to the bottle.

They took the wine to the living room, where a stack of board games and a deck of cards sat on the coffee table.

As they waited for their dinner, they played a few rounds of War.

When the food arrived, James scooped up Merry and Pippin and shut them away in his bedroom.

“They’re obnoxious around food,” he explained. “They’d be walking all over it, and Pippin would eat half of it, no matter if it made him sick for days. I sprinkled some catnip on their beds, so they should be stoned for the rest of the night.”

Rose chuckled and shook her head at him. He sat down on the floor with his back to the sofa, prompting her to sit beside him as he opened up all the bags and boxes of food.

“What do I owe you?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he replied. “I would’ve ordered this much food even if it was only meself tonight.”

Rose nodded. “Thank you for dinner.”

As they dug into the vast amounts of food, James flipped on a news station and taught her a few of his favorite board games.

Rose had never really played board games before, but she found she thoroughly enjoyed it. He introduced her to Risk, Settlers of Catan, and Pandemic, explaining to her his bastardized rules for two people versus the real rules when more players joined in the fun.

“I had game nights with my mum and dad every Friday,” James told her out of the blue when he moved his playing piece across the Pandemic board. “We would stay up ‘til almost midnight, sometimes playing one game for hours, and other times hopping between a few different games. After they died… I refused to play with my Aunt Sarah. It wasn’t the same with two people, y’know. And- and it hurt.

“But then one night, I’d gone to the kitchen and Sarah was playing Solitaire at the table by herself, and she asked if I wanted to play Rummy. Being the sulky fourteen-year-old I was, I grumbled for a few minutes, but eventually gave in. We only played one round, but it was the first time I’d played something in the five months I’d been living with her. We slowly made our own tradition of playing games. Not Friday nights, though. But special occasions, usually. Holidays, nights I couldn’t sleep—” James tilted his head to the TV, where news anchors were debating the odds of Clinton versus Trump winning the election— “election nights. It became a once-in-a-while thing for me and my aunt.”

Rose swallowed though the lump in her throat. Not knowing what to say, she just shifted closer to where he sat on the floor and rested her palm on his thigh. She felt his leg muscles tense, but before she could retract her hand, his covered hers and he said, “S’your turn.”

Even though it made eating and playing their game a bit harder, she kept her fingers twined with his.

As the night wore on and results started coming in, they called game night quits and instead moved to the sofa, where they continued laying into the wine. The bottle was nearly finished, and Rose’s face was hot as she got tipsier.

“How is it still too close to call?” James screeched at the TV. “How has Hillary not completely swept up all of the votes?”

“It’s only nine o’clock,” Rose said soothingly. “The entire west coast hasn’t closed their polls yet.”

“Hmm, true. California alone can probably steal this election for Hillary,” he mused. He reached out for the wine bottle and frowned when he saw it was empty. “Did we spill some?”

Rose giggled. “Nope. We drank the whole thing.”

“So that’s why the room is all wibbly-wobbly.”

“Wibbly-wobbly? Is that a technical term?”

“Oh, definitely,” he said, setting the bottle back on the coffee table. “I think I should switch to water now, though.”

“Yeah, you’re a bit wine-drunk.”

“Wine-drunk?!” he spluttered. “I am not!”

“Yeah you are,” she countered, sticking her tongue out at him.

He blew a raspberry back at her, then shuffled to the kitchen. When he came back, it was with a platter of biscuits and two glasses of water balanced in his hands.

“Found come chocolate chip cookies in my freezer,” he said, passing her a glass. He then carefully plopped back onto the sofa and set the plate of biscuits onto the table before them.

Rose grabbed one and nibbled slowly. They lapsed into an easy silence as they watched the news. She could feel the tension coming off of James as the time grew later and things were still too close to call.

“What if he actually wins?” James murmured quietly, frowning at the television.

Rose shrugged, not knowing what to say. Instead, she scooted nearer to him under the guise of wanting to grab the blanket that was draped behind him.

“Oh, sorry, is it too cold in here?” he asked.

“Nah, I’m fine,” she said. “A blanket will be enough. D’you need it too?”

His mouth worked for a moment, before he nodded slowly. Perhaps it was the alcohol giving her a boost of courage, but she pressed herself into James’s thigh and threw the blanket over their laps. His body was warm beside hers, and it took every ounce of strength to resist resting her head on his shoulder and wrapping her arm around his waist.

Instead, she mangled the blanket in her fingers and sat perfectly still as they watched the news anchor.

After a few minutes, when it was clear that James wasn’t uncomfortable with their close proximity, Rose let her muscles relax bit by bit. She no longer flinched away when their legs brushed against each other, and she stopped caring if she was half-nuzzled into his side.

Her heart thudded hollowly in her chest as she committed the feel of this moment to memory. She remembered when she and Jimmy would cuddle on the couch. Wrapping herself around the person she loved, leaving no space between their bodies, had been one of the best feelings in the world.

It felt even better to be pressed up to James. The smell and feel of him soothed her and left her aching for more.

She glanced up at him through her lashes—he was utterly entranced by the TV and had shoved half a biscuit into his mouth, making his cheeks bulge out. She watched his jaw work as he chewed, then the way his throat bobbed and flexed as he swallowed. He swiped his tongue across his lips and at the corners of his mouth, getting any lingering crumbs, and his bottom lip shined so invitingly. God, she’d never wanted to kiss him more than she did in this moment.

And really, what was the worst that could happen?

He could freak out and get upset or angry and I could ruin the closest friendship I’ve ever had and never see him again and as a result utterly fail chemistry and get kicked out of uni and have to move all the way back to London where I’m sure to never ever see or hear from him for the rest of my life.

Rose deflated at the tiny voice in her mind. Right. Of course. Stupid Rose. James was her friend. He was her friend who was helping her study for a class so she didn’t fail out of uni. That was it. That was all they could be.

Something deep in her chest cracked, cleaving an ache that left her cold and empty.

She let out a soft sigh and returned her attention to the TV rather than the beautiful boy sitting beside her.

Another hour passed, and as the clock neared midnight, the television finally heralded good news.

“Thank God!” James crowed when Hillary Clinton surpassed the necessary 270 electoral votes. “Blimey, there’s no reason this election should’ve been this close.”

Rose beamed, weak with relief at the outcome.

“Oh, Trump’s sure to go on a Twitter tantrum,” James chuckled. “Wanna see?”

He was already reaching for his mobile, and after tapping a few buttons, he leaned into Rose’s side and held the phone out in front of them. There were a series of Tweets proclaiming all sorts of awkward things about “Crooked Hillary” and “voter fraud” and general insults of the nation as a whole, specifically Democrats.

“What an arse,” Rose said, rolling her eyes. “Thank God that man-child isn’t going to be in charge of a nation.”

“Thank God indeed. Hopefully there are no universes where that imbecile got elected.” James scrunched up his face in an expression of disgust, but Rose cocked her head at him.

“No universes?”

“Have you heard of the theory of parallel universes?” he asked.

“No, but I’m pretty sure the name sort of implies what they are,” she teased, poking her tongue out as she grinned. He pouted, and she couldn’t contain her laughter. “Oh, all right. Tell me about parallel universes.”

James sniffed, but quickly got over his feigned offense.

“It’s the idea that there are an infinite number of worlds all stacked around each other, and that every decision we make branches off a new parallel world where maybe we made a different decision. Like maybe rather than eating a burger for dinner one night, you had the salad, but it was contaminated with E. coli and you had to go to the hospital, where you then met a someone who you befriended then fell in love with, and you go on to get married and have kids and you grow old together.” Rose marveled that he was able to say so many words all in one breath. “Well, there would be a parallel you who ate that burger instead of the salad and you didn’t get sick and you didn’t find your future husband and you’re still going on with your life.

“Therefore, there have got to be universes where Trump got elected president, or where the UK left Europe. Or…” He shuddered. “Or both.”

Rose shook her head at his daft, over-the-top reaction. But her heart stuttered and she couldn’t help but beam at him. He was just… so very James-ish in this moment that her whole body thrummed with love for him.

In an attempt to shove that thought to the side, Rose said, “So there’s probably a universe where I decided to not come to uni in the States?”

James went still beside her, but he nodded, a short, quick dip of his head. He looked so sad that she wrapped her arm around his and hugged it.

“For the record,” she whispered, “I’m very glad I’m living in this parallel world.”

His throat bobbed. After a moment, with a raspy voice, he said, “Yeah. Yeah, I’m glad I’m living in this parallel world, too.”

Kiss him kiss him kiss him kiss him. Rose ignored the little voice in her head and instead hugged his arm tighter. That little voice in her head grew louder as she felt his breathing go unsteady, his head ducking down towards hers. She peeked up at him, and saw his eyes were a shade darker than they’d been before. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and his eyes flashed to her mouth too.

Oh God oh God oh God.

“Well, it’s late,” she blurted, panicking. “We should probably go to bed.”

“Yeah,” he mumbled, his voice flat. “Yeah, you’re right.”

Rose tossed the blankets off of herself and stood up from the sofa. She nearly ran from the room, but didn’t want James to think something was wrong, so she forced herself to move normally as she gathered up some of the dirty dishes and took them to the sink.

After a moment, she heard James following her.

She turned towards him as he walked into the kitchen. His eyes were shuttered, his face wary.

Shit.

“I had a really nice time tonight,” she said, wringing her hands in front of her. “Really. This is the most fun I’ve had in a while.” She chewed on her bottom lip and squeezed her fingers so hard that she popped her knuckles. Then, before she could even think, she skipped up to him, rocked up on her tiptoes, and brushed a kiss to his cheek. His skin was soft and warm, and his day-old stubble tickled deliciously, and god-fucking-dammit she was making it a thousand times harder for herself to not press herself closer and move her face a few inches to the side to catch his lips straight on.

It took everything she had to drop back onto her heels and take a step back.

“Thank you, James,” she said softly, her cheeks burning. “G’night.”

Then she fled the kitchen before he could even reply.

[themostcleverandwittyname]

Curiosity Saved the Cat

CH1 CH2 CH3 CH4 CH5 CH6 CH7 CH8 CH9 CH10 CH11 CH12 CH13 CH14 CH15 CH16 CH17 CH18 CH19 CH20 CH21 CH22 CH23 CH24 CH25 CH26

(Jumin x MC)(Saeran x MC)

Summary:

MC is fairly happy after Jumin proposes to her, however, her curiosity leads her to contact the hacker that started it all.

Chapter 3: Coffee and Cookies

Chapter 3 on AO3

Multitasking was a skill that Myung had considered one of her best. She was currently holding two cups of coffee and a bag of treats, balancing her phone between her ear and shoulder, and attempting to punch in the key code for the apartment door. Nearly letting her phone slip, she used her elbow to open and push the door open. Everything was so perfectly balanced and held secure in her arms that she was certain she wouldn’t drop anything. She had gotten there early so that she wouldn’t be taken by surprise and perhaps organize her thoughts before she began to hire the hacker.

Of course, nothing ever goes as planned and the brunette leaped from her skin when she turned to see something sitting at the dining room table. A squeak escaped her throat and her phone and the take out bag hit the floor.

“Fuckin’...ass” She muttered to herself, truly the pinnacle of her eloquent speech. The best first impression she could have hoped for. She bent down to pick up her device and the bag, painfully aware that the figure was staring at her. She held her phone in her hand and set everything down onto the mahogany table, trying to avoid looking at the person who sat silently.

“Oh, I just left the cafe. I’ll let you go now. Have a good day at work and I’ll see you later.” Myung stated quickly to her fiance, now freely holding the phone to her ear, “ Love ya, bye” She hung up quickly hoping to avoid arousing Jumin’s suspicions that she was hiding something from him. It probably wasn’t the best idea to abruptly hang up like that.

She now allowed herself to fully take in the appearance of the mysterious hacker. Dyed curly pink and white hair framed the man’s face. Misty green eyes peeked from behind a black mask that concealed the lower half of his face. His attire gave off a dangerous vibe, leather jacket falling off one shoulder to reveal a tattoo with a simplistic design. It reminded her of tribal tattoos that she had researched in art school. He had a bold red tank top and a humorously large spiked leather cuff on his arm. She would have been amused if the situation was different and if she wasn’t really frightened and nervous. He had a threatening aura that made her feel extremely vulnerable. His eyes never left her and he waited patiently for her to begin talking to him. He seemed to be rather relaxed as his slouched posture indicated.

Myung eased down into the chair never taking her eyes off of the man before her, anticipating some kind of malicious action if she looked away. After taking a seat and staring at him like a deer caught in headlights, she cleared her throat trying to organize herself.

“I brought you coffee.” she spoke finally, breaking the silence and attempting to alleviate the tension, “The one that has a blue marker on the top is yours and the one with the red marker is mine.” she tried not to let her voice show that she was terrified. She had to act bold and confident to show him that she could handle the situation. She couldn’t allow him to think she was vulnerable.

His gaze shifted down and he studied the two cups of coffee on the table, small wafts of steam steadily rising up and dissipating into the air. The scent of the coffee only slightly overpowered the musty smell of the unused apartment.

“What if I want the one with the red lid? Would you give it to me?” Instant goosebumps. The voice modulator that she assumed he was wearing in his mask caught her off guard. She tried to register what he had said through the altered voice. It resembled nails on a chalkboard and the screams of a hundred burning orphans. Maybe it wasn’t that bad, but Myung did not like it. The man asked this, she realized, because he thought that she was trying to trick him into drinking something harmful. She, in fact, was doing this to prevent any slight of hand drugs being put into her drink.

“Um...It doesn’t matter what color really. They’re just there for cautionary measures. I’ve watched too many movies to be unwise about drinks.” She nervously laughed to herself. He reached his arm out to grab the coffee. He pulled it to him and studied the red lid before as if he had never had coffee.

“Oh, and if you don’t mind me asking,” she began, “...could you maybe take that mask off? I would rather see my new client’s face.” the brunette made herself smile. “Before I forget, I also have cookies here to eat with your coffee.” Myung gestured to the take-out bag. The man laughed through the mask, the sound not doing anything to help her nerves. What was funny? The hacker leaned forward out of his relaxed position and he now felt twice as threatening. His long fingers reached up to remove the fabric from his face, pulling it down around his neck. His lips were curled into a grin creating small dimples on his cheeks. He was familiar in a strange way. Like deja vu, she felt as though she had seen him before.

“Does the mask really scare you? Or were you really excited to see my face?” He asked in his natural voice, punctuating his sentence in a chuckle. Was he flirting or just further trying to make her uncomfortable. She went with the latter.

“Ha, um, you just can’t drink coffee with that mask on.” she noticed the untouched coffee and tried to mess with him just as he was with her. She wasn’t going to let him make her even more nervous. “God, don’t let it get cold. I nearly fell trying not to drop that in the hallway.” The man hesitantly took a sip of the coffee. She hoped he liked the caramel in the bottom of the cup because it cost her extra.

“I have to give it to you, you’re a clever girl for color coding the lids. You don’t trust me, do you?” Myung shrugged in response to this. He raised his eyebrows and then asked, “Why did you think you can hire me if you don’t trust me?” Fair point. She may as well have just told him that she was desperate and he was the only other chance she had, but her response was not very specific. She wanted to see how he responded in order to gauge how much to offer him and if he would help her like she hoped.

“Ya know, people will do anything for money.” she said nonchalantly. He took another sip of the coffee and eyed the cookie bag.

“What exactly are you wanting to hire me for? Are you done with the lies of the RFA?” His dull eyes pierced hers, bitterness seeping into his tone. He had guessed it.

“Yes… well, not exactly the RFA as a whole. I want to know what two of the members are hiding from the rest and I thought that you would be perfect for helping me uncover it.” she slid him the bag of cookies and gave a sarcastic smile “What do ya say? I can offer you any amount.” Again, he burst out into a fit of laughs. Bitter, knowing laughs as if he knew something she didn’t. As if he was expecting this.

“Let me guess the members? Luciel and that dreaded V?” Bingo! She was surprised that he knew who she was talking about. She slowly nodded and he gave her a proud smile. “What if I told you that I don’t want money to help you?” he drew out his words, adding emphasis. What did he mean? So all of this is over a grudge?

“If you don’t want money, then what do you want?” she asked cautiously, fearing the answer. She took a sip of her coffee to calm her nerves. He leaned forward over the table, lifting from his seat slightly and balancing on his arms. His serious expression and his focus had trained on her and it made her want to shrink back.

“What I want is way more precious than money. I want enlightenment for everyone, for you. You’re too nice and clever a girl to be among liars like the RFA. If you come with me, I’ll tell you all that you need to know and you’ll be free of the RFA and finally be happy.” He gave a toothy grin and tilted his head slightly. This was wrong. Did he think she was completely against the RFA?

“I...I actually don’t want to leave the RFA. I want to know these things to make the RFA better. Besides, Jumin is in the RFA and I don’t want to disappoint him with leaving. It’ll be kinda hard to do that anyways.” she stated, trying to get the facts straight before he started getting the wrong idea. He narrowed his eyes and his grin vanished sending chills up her back.

“What I want to give you is better than the RFA. I want to take you to the Magenta. Don’t you get it?” He almost growled, obviously angry with her previous answer. The Magenta? Was it some sort of amusement park?

“Why not just tell me what you know? That would be better for me.” she offered, smiling awkwardly. “I’m not going with you anywhere. I don’t trust you.” She was honest and noticed a flash of anger in his misty eyes.

“It’s sad to hear that. I want you to trust me, I really do. What choice do I have?” he asked a mock question, standing up. He offered his hand over the table and his other hand was in his jacket pocket.

“I’ll tell you what I know anyways. Deal?” He smiled, his eyes crinkling up. Finally, he gets it. This may not be so bad after all. She stood and moved the chair back slightly.

“Ah, I’m glad you’re helping me anyways. Thank you,” She beamed, happy for the agreement. She shook his hand firmly, however, his grip was way more tight than her own.

Before she had realized the mistake she had made, he yanked her arm forcefully. The force of the pull lurched her over the small table and closer to him. In the chaos, she had not even felt the needle pierce her skin and she only registered what had occurred when she saw the hand that had been in his jacket pocket holding an empty syringe. She was completely appalled and was at a loss on how to react to what had unfolded.

He released the grip on her hand and she stumbled back speechless, her hand finding its way to her neck. They both focused on each other, waiting for the other to act. They both stayed like that until a familiar ringtone sounded in the breathy silence. She felt her heart start to beat again and her muscles began to grow numb. Stay calm, this was her chance. Don’t pass out. She quickly grabbed the phone and had milliseconds to read the caller ID before the deranged man snatched phone away. He threw it across the living room and it landed with a thud but wasn’t silenced. With her only means of contact gone and her time running out before whatever was in that syringe began to work, Myung panicked.

She froze. She froze in shock, fright, anger; she didn’t really know or understand. All she could understand was that her breathing became labored and she felt as if she was falling.

She was falling.

The man caught her in her fall, jerking her wrist painfully to keep her from hitting the ground. Her mind slowed and her thoughts blurred. She felt as though the world around her was fizzing as if the air was static on a radio station. Her senses faded as the last thing she felt was arms lifting her.

“Rest well. You’ll be in paradise when you wake up.”

The last thing that she felt before everything went away was regret. Regret that she will have left Jumin to wonder what happened. To wonder if she had left him and why...

Why she had not answered his phone call.

CH1 CH2 CH3 CH4 CH5 CH6 CH7 CH8 CH9 CH10 CH11 CH12 CH13 CH14 CH15 CH16 CH17 CH18 CH19 CH20 CH21 CH22 CH23 CH24 CH25 CH26

[thelionshoarde]

sneak peek; just words - side story

honestly this stupid thing is gonna wind up stupid long this is the break up fic, okay, and it starts off right before the end of ch2 and then carries us into ch3 tho it’s not necessary to read but ANYWAY here are a couple of richard/shiro heavy scenes to apologize for the really stupid long wait??

Of course, it wasn’t that easy. Nothing was, not when it was important and worthwhile, and maybe that was another point against the concept of soulmates. There had to be a reason why the whole world made such a big deal out of it -- couldn’t leave well enough alone; had to make it complicated, and messy -- because that was the real world, real love.

With spring coming in fast basketball practice become longer and even more grueling, and what time Shiro had left was taken up by his advanced classes -- papers and problem sets and readings and oral examinations and extra time in the flight simulators whenever he could squeeze it in -- and the end result was that nothing changed. Richard and Shiro met up here and there throughout the week; an afternoon on Saturdays, sometimes, or a quick hello in the library, strained smiles and stilted conversation and a hesitant holding of hands before it was back to the grind, back to life and its impossible, sweeping current, carrying them along.

But when February hit without pause and all Shiro got for Valentine’s Day was a headache and a B- on his pop quiz in Physics 202, Shiro decided he had to figure out a way to stand firm.

Fight for it, Isaac had said.

Shiro had thought that he was -- that all this time he had fought for it; refusing to give up, to listen to the dark and frightened thoughts that told him he wasn’t good enough to have this; stubbornly holding on to Richard and hope and a possible future that wasn’t preordained. But he hadn’t been. It wasn’t enough just to choose. He had to put in more effort than that.

He had to push. He had to try, even if the possibility of failure was terrifying.

*

| this isn’t doll anymore, Richard | he sent, and then cursed violently and hunched around his phone and added, | cool* i hate autocorrect so much omg |

| you are actually adorable | he got back a moment later, his phone pinging with Richard’s special text alert.

| i’m serious! i didn’t even get to see you on valentine’s day |

He didn’t get a reply to that for four minutes, and after staring between the waiting screen and the slowly changing clock at the top of it, Shiro bit back an unhappy growl. | i’m getting lunch | he finally sent, heart pounding. | and if you don’t want to SERIOUSLY piss me off then you’d better come join me | Then he fumbled the phone, hands shaking; shoved it into his pocket and hurried across the courtyard, heading for the commissary.

He listened for the text alert, but it didn’t come. He went blindly to the shortest lunch line, waiting, but told himself he couldn’t hear the alert over the chatter of the other cadets in the dining hall. He bought his food without registering what he selected, and sat at a table off by the floor-to-ceiling windows looking out onto the courtyard and ate without tasting anything, his phone quiet in his pocket. Shiro was afraid to look.

When he only had an apple left, Shiro forced himself to pull his phone out, thumb it on, and see --

| study group until 1300 hours, starkid. what are you wearing? |

Shiro choked on his bite of apple.

| excuse you |

| babe | sent Richard | i hate study groups you gotta give me something or i’m just gonna expire of boredom and misery | and then, quickly, | i wish i was with you. i’m sorry about vday you know why i couldn’t make it |

| because iverson’s an ass | Shiro agreed, and then he realized that he was relaxed -- the painful tension in his shoulders releasing, his spine curving, his elbows on the table while he bit into his apple and half-smiled at his phone. This felt nice. Even with everything going on they’d at least always been able to do this -- banter back and forth via text like nothing was wrong, for as long as they had the time to spare before their attention was inevitably pulled away.

| soooo what are you wearing |

Shiro grinned, and ducked his head to hide it from any passerby. |  what do you want me to be wearing? |

Then he finished his apple slowly. But there was no response by the time he finished, and he sighed before tucking his phone back into his pocket, gathering up his book bag. Slinging it across his shoulder, Shiro tossed his trash and put away the tray, trying not to be disappointed at the long silence he was receiving but unable to stop himself from moving slowly, taking his time, lingering, like that might make some kind of difference.

Study group, Shiro reminded himself. People surrounding his boyfriend, demanding his attention. Work to be done, lessons to be memorized. There was a time and a place for everything, and sometimes even sexting had to be put on hold, surely, even when it had been nearly two weeks since the last time Shiro had gotten more than a half-distracted make out session and --

A breeze brushed against him; it wasn’t cold, but it wasn’t warm, and Shiro shivered to feel it. The trees groaned, mostly bare this early in the year, and Shiro looked up at them and the way they cut across the pale blue sky beyond, making constantly shifting shapes, never quite willing to settle.

(-- fight for it --)

Shiro pulled out his phone, checked the time, and sent | my room at 1330 or there will be dire consequences Montgomery |

Forty minutes later his phone finally dinged with the alert that made his heart skip a beat, every time.

| sir, yes, sir! |

*

“Hello, Commander,” Richard grinned, leaning against the wall outside of Shiro’s door. He looked tired; shadows beneath his eyes, skin thin and paler than usual; even his hair seemed limp. But still, he waggled his eyebrows suggestively even as Shiro rolled his eyes and stepped aside, letting him in. “Reporting as ordered. What do you -- whoa!”

Shiro had him up against the door, nearly nose to nose.

He knew what he wanted to say -- what he had to say, maybe. He had practiced in front of the mirror on the back of the door, the very same one that Richard was leaning back against that very moment, shifting so that the frame didn’t dig quite so annoyingly into his shoulder. We need to talk, Shiro would say, because I deserve better than this and I refuse to let you give up on us.

“Don’t leave me,” he blurted out, uselessly.

Richard blinked, eyes wide. And then his whole face softened. Shiro had jerked back a few inches in embarrassment at his outburst, face flaming, so he could see the transformation. It looked kind of painful, or maybe that was just the way Shiro’s heart felt, twisting at the sight of such open tenderness.

“Hey,” Richard murmured, and his fingers slipped over Shiro’s hips. “I -- Shiro, you don’t -- you don’t have to worry about that, you know? I love you.”

Shiro breathed unsteadily, watching him.

“Don’t -- God, Shirogane, your eyes should be illegal. Do you have any idea how weak I am to you? C’mere.”

Hands drew him closer, tugging. Shiro let them, not understanding why he was hesitating except for maybe because of how much he wanted this. Was desperate to fix it, to make it work and succeed, to have what he wanted and be certain of it. Richard tipped his forehead against his; they were of a height, now, and Shiro just breathed for a moment, feeling Richard breathe with him.

“I do love you,” Richard whispered, eyes closing. “I think that -- I think I get scared of that, sometimes. How much I love you and how much it’s going to hurt when you leave me.”

“What --”

Richard shook his head; a minute shake that Shiro felt as a pressure against his forehead. His own hands were tight on Richard’s shoulders, now, and Richard was distracted and tense enough that he was holding Shiro’s hips hard enough to bruise; painful, but grounding. A mark on Shiro’s skin that he would actually welcome, for once.

“I’m allowed my fears,” Richard said. “Don’t -- Don’t worry about it, all right? C’mon, just let me love you, okay?”

“You haven’t been doing a very good job of it, lately.”

“True.”

That was all he said -- no actual apology -- but the thing was that Richard sounded like he regretted it, and -- that’s enough, thought Shiro, heart fluttering. You’re forgiven, you were always forgiven, it’s fine it’s fine it’s fine. A tentative happiness -- an even more tentative feeling of accomplishment and satisfaction -- began to wind through him, dizzying.

“I love you, too. But Valentine’s Day still sucked, even if it wasn’t your fault.” This whole semester has sucked, he thought, privately, and even if Valentine’s Day hadn’t actually been Richard’s fault, a lot of the rest of it had been -- but he was happy to let it go. To release that frustration and move on, past it; to cling tight to this moment, instead. Shiro dared to ask, voice a low tease, “Are you going to make it up to me?”

Richard grinned, and now his fingers were rubbing little circles against Shiro’s hips, edging down toward his butt, the touch light and teasing. “Thoroughly,” he promised. “And repeatedly. You gonna let me eat you out?”

“Hng.”

Shiro blinked rapidly and wanted -- desperately -- to say something more coherent, like Oh, well, if you insist, or even, fuck yes!, but was entirely too turned on to manage. By the time the blood stopped rushing quite so loudly in his ears and he might have been able to articulate his enthusiastic consent, Richard already had the door locked behind him and was tumbling Shiro onto the bed with bright, warm laughter.

*

Spring break that year was in March, which Shiro knew, but hadn’t actually managed to factor into the scheme of things. “Sorry, babe,” Richard said, mouth pressed right up against Shiro’s hairline so that the words came out soft and moist. “We’ll miss you at the lake house.”

“Okay,” said Shiro, narrowing his eyes at the ceiling even though he felt loose-limbed and incredible. “Now you’re just being mean. Watch it, or I’m going to have to come up with a proper punishment.” He wondered if this was what make-up sex felt like -- intense and barely controlled; the deep relief of not only getting off, but feeling closer and more intimate with his significant other than he had in months.

It was a good feeling. He was maybe reveling in it.

That it wasn’t, exactly, make-up sex had more to do with neither Shiro nor Richard actually acknowledging a specific fight.

Fight wasn’t even the right word for what it had been -- months of increased tension, snappishness, frustration building and building without anywhere to go. But Shiro was still pretty happy about the resolution, regardless. Somehow, he had managed not to fuck this up just yet. He thought maybe there was nowhere else to go, now, than back to what they had been -- happy together.

“Oh, no,” Richard grinned, stretching showily against Shiro’s side. “That sounds terrifying. Consider me appropriately threatened. I shall now be on my absolute best behavior, scout’s honor.”

“What do scouts have to do with anything?”

Richard snorted and then flopped onto his back, one leg falling off the side of the bed. Immediately, Shiro felt the loss of his warmth and tried not to tense. Their clothes were only half-removed, rumpled wildly and sticking in places. Regretfully, Shiro began to put himself in order. Pants pulled back up, zipped and buttoned, shirt tugged down to hide his skin. Conditioned reflex, and no matter how he hated it he did it anyway; breathed relief when Richard, as always, let him have his boundaries without pressing, or prying.

He thought briefly of Josie, and felt both sorry and overjoyed that he had a partner who did not push, who respected him and his limits.

“I would have liked to see you in a swimsuit,” Richard said instead of answering, a little wistful.

Well, mostly he didn’t push.

Richard scratched at the dark blonde hair that grew in an unfortunately tempting line down from his navel, leaving that sentence up in the air for Shiro to do with what he liked. Shiro stared helplessly at the flat planes of Richard’s stomach, at his hips and his big, bony hand now languidly drawing meaningless patterns on his honey-pale skin, pressing his tongue to the back of his teeth and trying to remind himself that they had literally just achieved orgasm five minutes ago.

Shiro said, “You could send me pictures of your swimsuit,” because he didn’t want to sour the afterglow with guilt about his lack of nudity. Thankfully, Richard only hummed thoughtfully, and then grabbed the waistband of his opened trousers with both hands and slipped them down his hips, toward his knees.

“I think I might,” Richard grinned, kicking his pants off and then twisting up, straddling Shiro. “Now grab the lube. We have two more hours before Sasha gets back and I really want your fingers in my ass, Shirogane.”

“Mission accepted,” Shiro gasped against Richard’s mouth, heat blooming anew within him.

Apparently, unofficial make-up sex for the kind of not-fight the two of them had been having for the last half a year required multiple rounds. Shiro was absolutely not complaining.

*

Rather than March 1st they celebrated his birthday on February 28th. It was more or less everything Shiro wanted -- not perfect, but perfect enough. Richard had gone to him late, near lights out, and kissed him so sweet and slow that Shiro had felt overwhelmed just from that. From a warm mouth and slick tongue and Richard’s hands greedy at the base of his neck, curled around his jaw. “Happy birthday, starkid,” Richard murmured, sliding cheek to cheek for a moment, nuzzling at the base of his ear and the heat between them was slow and dangerous for being so tender.

“Thanks,” Shiro had gasped, ragged, falling. It was dizzying, and he’d said a little stupidly, “Guess I’m legal, now, huh? We can finally have sex.” but it wasn’t too stupid, apparently, or maybe Richard was just stupid for him, because his boyfriend had just laughed, helpless, and kissed him again.

[spn-ficfanatic]

The One Moment- Ch2: Love Is The Rhythm, You Are The Music

SERIES MASTERLIST - PART 1 - PART 3

Chapter Summary: Jared walks you home and takes the opportunity to get to know you a little better. 20 questions anyone?

Genre: Fluff, a teensy bit of angst

Words: 2570

Warnings: Mild swearing

A/N: Fun Fact! Chapters 1 and 2 used to be big one 5000 word one-shot that started this whole fic, and I decided to split them when the story took control. They flow nicely so y’all get a special treat and I’m posting Ch 2 now! Part 3 might not be out until early next week, but I’ve included a little preview at the bottom xo

The song was over and the crowd was cheering. The adrenaline was pumping through your veins and you were grinning like an idiot. You had been quietly annoyed with Lucas for pulling you up here at first but now you were so grateful you had. You pulled him in for a hug and whispered a thank you in his ear before affectionately slapping his face. He smiled back and helped you off the stage, to a heap of pats on the back and ‘well done’s from the crowd. You thanked them all as you blushed, trying not to run back to the safety of your table and your friends. You were pleased to see Jared and Jensen looked a little shell-shocked as you approached Lacey who gave you a hug.

“Oh my god babe, I haven’t heard you sing in ages! I nearly thought you’d forgotten how!” she laughed, kissing you on the cheek. You thanked her and turned to the boys, waiting for one of them to talk. Jensen decided it would have to be him, because Jared appeared to have lost his voice.

“So, you can sing and dance. Can you act? Are you a triple threat? Should Jared and I just start looking for new work now? Because I’m pretty sure Eric will have a breakdown if you leave him for a career in Hollywood,” Jensen asked in mock seriousness. You pulled him in for a hug, laughing as you did, and patted him on the back.

“Thanks Jay,” you said warmly, blushing slightly. You started to wonder if it was possible to blush too much. Would blood soon start rushing from your nose and ears? He finally saw you looking at him and he cleared his throat.

“Um, wow. That was... that was something,” he said, and you smiled as you gave him a hug.

“My god Y/N. I’ve been searching for the last 3 years and apparently YOU were the key to shutting him up all along!”

He told Jensen to shut up, pulling you closer and braving a quick peck to the top of your head. You looked at Lacey who wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, and you poked your tongue out at her.

“Well,” she started. “I think it’s time to call it a night. What do you think Jay?” she asked Jensen, staring at him pointedly so he’d understand the hidden meaning behind her words. He obviously got it, and cleared his throat.

“Um, yep. Yep I think it’s getting pretty late. Better get you home!”

“Such a gentleman,” you laughed, winking. He blushed, actually BLUSHED, and you laughed even harder. You gave Lacey a quick peck on the cheek and waved her and Jensen off. Kevin had left with his dance partner before you got up on the stage so it was just you and Jared left, and suddenly you couldn’t help but feel a little awkward.

“It IS getting pretty late, did you want to get home too?” he asked you. You sighed.

“I suppose so. I need to get out of here at least, it’s getting a bit warm.”

Jared led you out of the club, his hand placed on the middle of your back. As you pushed the door open you relished in the fresh air; it was warm and you were grateful to not be carrying around a bulky jacket tonight.

“I guess I should be getting home as well,” Jared commented. There was no suggestion in his voice, no silent beg for an invitation back to yours for “coffee” and for that you appreciated him a whole lot more. You had to laugh though.

“I think you better check your phone Jared. Hate to tell you but Lacey never brings guys back to our place.”

Jared raised his eyebrow just as his phone vibrated. Sure enough, he read the text Jensen sent him and put his phone away sighing.

“So, apparently Lacey doesn’t bring guys back to her place,” he reported.

“Yer, I had heard that somewhere,” you giggled. “Lucky for you, I do. Cummon.”

You stopped dead in your tracks and your eyes widened in horror when you realized how that sounded. You turned to face him, to see him smirking at you.

“Um, I didn’t mean that like it sounded. I don’t ever bring guys home I swear. Not that I’m a hermit or anything, I’ve had s- been with guys before. And it’s not that I’m not good, I’m amazing, I just don’t sleep around oh my God shut up Y/N,” you scolded yourself, holding your hands over your face. Jared meanwhile was shaking from laughter, using a nearby post to hold himself steady so he didn’t go completely over.  Try as you might you could help join in, and pretty soon you were both howling from laughter and wiping tears from your eyes. Calming down you held out your hand to Jared, “sorry, let me introduce myself. I’m Y/N, and I have verbal diarrhea when I get nervous.”

He cleared his throat to compose himself and smiled, reaching to shake your hand. As he shook it though he surprised you by yanking you toward him, and smashed his lips into yours. You melted into him immediately, wrapping your arms around his neck and deepening the kiss. You felt his hands drift up your back under your top, caressing your skin gently, while your hands found themselves running through his long hair. You had never experienced a kiss like this before, your entire body was jittery with anticipation and you could feel the heat building between your legs already. You could feel Jared’s pants become tight, and suddenly realized where this was going. You pulled your lips back, but didn’t dare to shift your body from his.

“Um,” you started, licking your lips. “Not that I’m not enjoying this IMMENSLY, but…”

Jared brushed his fingers across your face and gave you a gentle peck. “It’s ok, I understand. But for what it’s worth, I definitely want to pick this up again someday.”

You hummed and nodded in agreement, and peeled your body off of his with a sigh. You looked into his eyes and offered your hand for him to take, smiling as he did.

“Let me lead you to my castle,” you told him, starting the journey down the street.

“You live nearby?” he asked, sounding surprised.

“About 4 blocks from here. I’m assuming with your freakishly long legs you’ll make it without breaking a sweat,” you replied with a wink.

“So, I guess we have some time for 20 questions then?” he asked you quizzically. You raised a questioning eyebrow and nodded, allowing him to continue uninterrupted.

“You don’t drink?” he asked. You were surprised that was his first question, and that he even noticed.

“No, I don’t. I like to be prepared in case Eric ever needs anything on the fly,” you replied. It wasn’t the whole truth but you felt it was enough to not have him push the topic further, and you were right.

“OK… so how do you know the band? You and the singer seemed to be kind of chummy,” he said, a hint of jealousy in his voice.

“We hooked up a few years ago but we’re still good friends. We’re not interested in each other like that and mostly just stay in touch over social media. I occasionally bump into him at bars and clubs though.”

Jared nodded, notably more relaxed upon hearing that. You smiled and continued to walk, allowing him the chance to keep asking questions. You were mostly an open book so you’d take just about anything he threw at you.

“Alright, I know I said 20 questions but really I only have one more,” he said, tightening his grip on your hand. “Why am I only meeting you for the first time tonight, when we’ve been working practically side-by-side for the last 6 months?”

You slowed your pace, trying to decide how much to tell him at this point. He noticed and slowed down too, concern flashing across his face.

“I’m sorry, did I ask the wrong thing? You don’t have to answer, I’m just curious I guess…”

“No it’s ok, it’s a fair question. I know how I am at work so it’s only natural for you to wonder.”

“So… that IS you doing it on purpose?”

You nodded, and stopped walking entirely so you could face him. “The job I had before Eric hired me… I loved it. I mean, really loved it. I worked for a really kind lady, even though she was extremely successful she wasn’t snobby and she always had time for me. Would allow me time off whenever I asked, on the rare occasion that I did. She was a CEO and spent most of her time in the office so I saw a lot of her employees. One took an interest in me and, well,” you stopped, not entirely sure how much to tell him. You were having such an amazing night with him and didn’t want to bring that down. “I told him I wasn’t interested, he didn’t really take that well and eventually I decided it was better to leave. I don’t want to say he scared me off but things weren’t really the same after that,” you told him, taking his hand in both of yours for just a little extra comfort. Not that it was necessary though as he pulled you in for a hug. You tucked your head under his chin and leant against his chest, listening to his heartbeat to try and calm yourself down.

“I’m sorry Y/N. I shouldn’t have asked.” You pulled away to look at him.

“No, it’s ok, I’m glad you did.” You were past the serious part of the conversation so felt comfortable moving again, and continued on your way down the street with him in toe. “After that, finding a job like this where the LARGE majority of cast and crew are male, I decided to play it safe. Not draw attention, try and stay invisible. And it’s definitely working; I was all prepared to introduce myself to you tonight when I came up for a hug.”

“Haha, no. For what it’s worth, I notice you at work. Your smile caught me within the first week but then I started seeing you help out around set and it was hard to NOT notice you. I may have had a little crush,” he admitted, blushing. Your stomach started flip flopping with that confession. Jared Padalecki, star of a hit TV show and pretty much 10 feet of drop-dead gorgeous, actually had a crush on you?

“What are you thinking about?” he asked quietly.

“Sorry,” you said, shaking your head slightly. “Nothing I guess. Just, you know, making a mental list of all the jackasses in high school that made fun of me, that I now need to call and brag to.” Jared laughed at that, and let a comfortable silence fall between you as you walked.

After a block or so you struck up conversation, and the rest of the time was spent discussing a million little things. Nothing serious, all the regular stuff like family and friends and past jobs and such. Stuff that would normally bore you to tears on a date that Jared somehow made sound so interesting. You would be sad to reach your apartment, you realized.

~~~~~~~~

It took you a moment to remember where you were when you woke up. You rolled over and saw a pile of scrubs on the floor and it started coming back to you. Jared took your bed, you took Lacey’s, and Lacey definitely took Jensen’s. You smiled as your thoughts drifted to the gorgeous giant sleeping in your King size bed right at that moment, and decided you wanted to make something nice for him for breakfast.

You threw on Lacey’s slippers and snuck down the hall to the kitchen. It was fairly silent as you plod past the kitchen counter to where the pots and pans where kept, and let out a scream when you saw a figure crouched down in front of you. Jared jumped up suddenly, letting out a yelp of his own, holding up his hands in defense.

“Jesus Christ Jared!” you cried, holding your hand to your chest feeling your beating heart go a mile a minute. “You scared the crap out of me, I thought you were asleep!”

“I’m so sorry Y/N. I uh, woke early so I thought I’d surprise you with breakfast,” he replied.

“Well, you definitely surprised me, I’ll give you that,” you told him, taking a couple of deep breaths.

“Pretty sure you won’t need a coffee now,” he tried to joke, giving a lopsided smile which you couldn’t help but love.

“I wouldn’t say that. Don’t say that,” you replied seriously, taking the empty mug he was holding and walking over to the cappuccino machine. You set the mug down and turned it on, before turning back and surprising Jared with a deep passionate kiss. He returned it hungrily, holding your face in his hands and stroking your cheeks with his thumbs. You pulled away saying “surprise,” with a cheeky grin.

“That was better than my surprise,” he said quietly, gazing into your eyes while still holding your face in his hands. You were interrupted by the coffee machine and you groaned. “Oh god, how do I choose? The man of my dreams or the coffee I dream about?”

“Man of your dreams huh?” he asked you, his face lighting up. You blushed and started to pull away, but he grabbed your hand and pulled you back for one more quick peck. “For what it’s worth,” he continued, “I was dreaming about you long before last night.”

He let you go and you gave a happy shudder, moving over to make your coffee. You and Jared made comfortable small talk while you drank and made pancakes, which continued as you settled down to eat. “Um, what are you doing?” Jared asked with a raised eyebrow and grin. You stared blankly at him while putting your topping of choice on your pancake. “Is that, um… are you putting pancake mix on your pancake?”

You laughed, “Have you ever tried it Mr Judgy-Pants?”

“Well no, but, it’s kinda wei-“ you cut him off by shoving your fork into his mouth, covered in pancake mixture covered pancake.  He chewed slowly before breaking out into a big grin.

“Ths’s ‘mazing,” he said, reaching over for the bowl and pouring it all over his pancakes.

“Hey hey, don’t bogart my topping,” you laughed, taking it back and adding some more to your plate.

“So, I wanted to ask you something,” Jared started, licking mixture of his fingers.

“Fire away,” you replied with a full mouth.

“I just wondered, well, I’d like to take you out sometime,” he said, looking at his plate nervously. You couldn’t help but laugh.

“Aw sweety, are you asking me out on a date?” you lightly teased. You raised his chin with your hand and give him a kiss, resting your forehead on his. “Of course Jare, you didn’t even really need to ask you know.”

“I guess I wanted to do it right,” he replied, lifting his head to look into your eyes, before pulling you in for another kiss.

Part 3 HERE

PREVIEW:

“Y/N isn’t here,” Jared confirmed to Lacey. “What’s going on? Is she ok?”

“I don’t think so,” she replied with a groan. “It’s just I’ve come home and she’s not here, her hot chocolate’s on the floor, it looks like she left in a hurry and I just… I have a bad feeling.”

“Everything” Tag List - @angelsandwinchesters , @grace-for-sale

“The One Moment” Tag List - @pansexualmoose , @winchester-writes

[zoenightstars]

Post-It Notes, ch12

on Ao3

ch1 | ch2 | ch3 | ch4 | ch5 | ch6 | ch7 | ch8 | ch9 | ch10 | ch11 | ch12

oops sorry about that long wait! hope this makes up for it! huge thanks to @sunlitshowers and @megatraven for helping me work through this chapter. i owe you my life tbh and shoutout to @reyxa and @agrestenoir for listening to me scream into the void and smash my head against the keyboard as i wrote this!!

i hope you guys like it!!!!

Adrien Agreste is horribly, visibly nervous. He stands in front of his locker, aggressively tapping his foot and refreshing his text messages with Nino again—

From: lover boi To: alya’s bf Hey i need u to come to my locker i’m freaking out

—and again—

From: lover boi To: alya’s bf It’s important i have done something horrifically stupid Even by my standards

—and again.

From: lover boi To: alya’s bf Bro it has been fifteen minutes where in the fuc k

Adrien can’t stop thinking about it. About how he had asked Marinette out. About how her hand had felt in his, and how badly he wants to feel that again.

About how she didn’t look at the note before he’d left.

About how he might have ruined everything.

His post-it note game had turned into a gamble, and the universe’s slot machine is refusing to tell him if he’s won or lost the bet. Finally, his phone vibrates.

From: alya’s bf To: lover boi hey my dude my bro my dudebro i couldn’t find my phone… turns out i put it in the wrong pocket or something headed over rn

From: lover boi To: alya’s bf Thank god Never call me dudebro again

“What’s wrong, my dudebro?” Adrien hears Nino’s voice and snaps to attention, hitting his head against the locker behind him in the process.

“That nickname,” Adrien grumbles, rubbing the back of his head where he’d hit it. “And also, I asked Marinette out. And now I’m having a crisis.”

“That nickname is fantast— holy shit, you did what?”

“Asked Marinette out. I gave her a post-it note asking her to be my girlfriend? I think?”

“Adrien,” Nino shakes his head incredulously. “You think?”

“I mean, it kind of feels like a dream? I was kind of detached from that whole thing, honestly. I accidentally held her hand for about thirty seconds while I slipped her the note because I got so caught up in the moment, so now she probably hates me.” 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Nino places his hands on Adrien’s shoulders, steadying him. “Breathe, dude. Breathe. We’re breathing.”

“If you say so?”

“Okay, let’s go over this. One, you asked out Marinette. That is not an undoable action.”

“Thank you, I feel so encouraged right now.” Adrien rolls his eyes.

“Two, shut up. Three, you are simultaneously disgusting and adorable. You held her hand for thirty seconds without even realizing? Seriously?” 

“I… don’t know? It could have been longer?”

“Jesus Christ. Four, why the fuck would she hate you?”

“Because she didn’t open it before I left? And she hasn’t responded?”

“That is ridiculous. And five, we’re ten minutes late for physics.”

“Holy crap, we are ten minutes late for physics!” Adrien throws his phone into his bag and makes a run for it.

“Whoa, slow down!” Nino yells, running after him.

“I’m gonna get my ass kicked by Ms. Mendeleiev! I am so screwed and I am—” Adrien skids to a stop, smacking a hand to his forehead in frustration. “—forgetting my fucking textbook.” Adrien sprints back to his locker, nearly knocking an out-of-breath Nino in the process.

“Dude, please chill?”

“NO,” Adrien shrieks, frantically inputting the combination and throwing open the locker door. He grabs his textbook and makes a beeline for the physics classroom.

Ms. Mendeleiev purses her lips in disapproval as Adrien and Nino burst into the room, panting. “Mr. Lahiffe,” she says as they slide into their seats, “I cannot say I am surprised.”

“I appreciate the vote of confidence,” he responds, with a guilty yet amused look in his eyes.

Ms. Mendeleiev turns on Adrien as he slowly opens the textbook cover to try to quash the adrenaline rush that has overtaken his system and to avoid any and all attention directed at him from his very angry teacher. “Mr. Agreste, on the other hand,” she scolds, “I was not expecting to be so tardy.”

Adrien averts his eyes and stares down at his textbook as he opens it. “I’m so sorry, I am—” Adrien sees the yellow sticky note and a flash of pink and glitter. He yanks it from the inside cover and slams the book shut, jumping to his feet. Oh god. “—going to the bathroom now. I am going, right now, to the bathroom. Thanks.”

He can feel Marinette’s stare burning into his back as he dashes out of the room.

Adrien lets out a long exhale as he closes the stall door behind him. He carefully smoothes out the creases in the note before reading what it has to say. “Please let this be good,” he whispers to no one in particular.

Yes! With love, your lady, Marinette.

And this is the high he’s heard about. The rush of being in control, of winning the bet. He’d been afraid of the risk, but with this note, the odds are a hundred to none in his favor. Moments like these, he thinks, are the kind that get people addicted to gambling.  

He waits for her outside of class. She’s the last one to leave. She glances around the hallway, looking for something, but doesn’t seem to find it. Adrien clears his throat. Marinette jumps a little, startled, but when she turns to face him, her eyes are all mischief and nervous energy and excitement.

Adrien raises his hand in greeting. It’s hesitant, but the smile she returns is immediate.

“Hey.”

She giggles, and Adrien wants to record that sound and play it on loop forever. “So… did you get my note?”

“I did.”

“Is that why you left physics?”

“It is.”

“Did you like it?”

“Of course.”

Her eyes sparkle. “I’ve never heard you talk like this. What happened to your standard eloquence?”

“I am…” he trails off, trying to memorize the sound of her voice. “I am at a loss to describe how over the moon I am right now.”

“I’m not at a loss. I’m on a whole other planet.”

Adrien cannot even rationalize the cocktail of emotions he feels in this moment, but the one thing that keeps coming back to him is lucky. “Well?” Adrien extends his hand for Marinette to take. “Shall we, princess?”

Marinette glances down at it with a smile full of anticipation and warmth that makes Adrien melt. “We shall.”

As their fingers intertwine, Adrien can’t help but notice how different this is from the last time. Last time, his head was in the clouds, full of fantasies, far away and separate from the reality of their touch. This time, though, the feeling of her hand in his brings him down to Earth, more aware than he’s been in a while.

This time, he’s grounded. This time, he’s safe. And this time, he’s not wishing for a miracle— he has his miracle. That’s what Marinette is. His miracle. His princess. His lady.

And he couldn’t be happier. 

[chiyalawritesrewind]

Rewind, Chapter 14

Fanfic: [ch1] [ch2] [ch3] [ch4] [ch5] [ch6] [ch7] [ch8] [ch9] [ch10] [ch11] [ch12] [ch13] [ch14 on AO3] [ch14 on ffn]

Podfic: [ch1] [ch2] (Rest coming soon)

Pairing: Gratsu - Gray Fullbuster / Natsu Dragneel

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Major Character Death; Graphic Depiction of Violence

Summary: When a mission turns out to be fatal for one of the team members, Natsu finds himself being given another chance to change the events.

Additional information: weekly updates; every Sunday.

Beta by @serpenttailedangel and @wildrhov <333

Tagging list: @f-r-f-t @truedreamchasing @mushi0131 @eitomagical @thatartcorner @eternalsterekbitches @becausewhenyoupracticeyouimprove @oliversantics @nekodemon73 @moonlustelara (if somebody else wants to be tagged [or not tagged anymore] in the future, please let me know!)

Enjoy!

Day 8 Part 1

When Natsu awoke, he needed to make a run for the toilet immediately. He barely made it there before puking.

Going through his morning routine proved to be difficult as his body wouldn't stop trembling. It took him twice as long to take a shower, but at least that left him enough time to come up with a plan for the day.

Since the theory that having sex would prevent Gray's death wasn't correct, it would be advisable to figure out what else 'forming a bond' could mean, just like Gray suggested. Natsu was sure that if he threw the question to everybody around, then he'd probably only receive one or two different answers and a big discussion afterwards, so it would be better to ask everyone privately.

He also needed to think of a good excuse to ask them such a question. Would it be odd if he said that he was just curious? Or better, he could say that he'd made a bet with Happy, that they guessed their answers and would get a point for each correct guess. Whoever won would have to do the winner a favor, no matter what it was. Yeah, that sounded great. The others would think that Happy was trying to get more fish out of Natsu, knowing full well that he wasn't as dumb as Natsu when it came to relationships and feelings, and that he could probably win easily.

And why only pretend? He could challenge Happy for real.

By the time he was fully dressed, Natsu was in high spirits again, his worries and nausea forgotten.

Happy liked the idea of the bet very much. He surely thought that his victory was guaranteed, and he was probably right. With a huge grin on his face, he listened to Natsu's guesses.

The question they agreed upon was the following: 'What do you consider a strong bond between lovers?'

"Hmmm, let's see. Gajeel will probably say 'eating iron created by Levy'. Erza... 'eating strawberry cake'? Lucy will probably say 'spend a romantic evening together where one reads out a book to the other'. Or better yet, a candlelight dinner!"

"You have to decide on one."

"Then I'll take the candlelight dinner for Lucy. Wendy... probably a kiss."

Natsu knew that he was probably far off, and the confident grin on Happy's face as he listened to the rest of his guesses didn't do much to shatter that idea. Natsu purposely omitted Gray until the very end, as Gray was the only one he didn't want to be wrong about, and yet he had no clue what it could be. What would come to Gray's mind first when he asked for a 'strong bond between lovers'?

Natsu was disappointed in himself that even though they'd confessed so many times and gotten intimate already, he didn't know what Gray's heart truly desired, other than being close to the one he loved. He'd been talking about a life together with Natsu and Happy, so it had to be that, right?

"Gray will probably say 'moving in together'."

Happy nodded. His announcement that he thought everybody would say 'marriage' staggered Natsu. The option of marriage hadn't even crossed his mind.

Natsu nearly stumbled over his feet when the realization of what this theory would entail sunk in. Marry Gray? How the hell was he supposed to realize that? He had a timespan of exactly twelve hours until Gray lost his memories again. How the fuck was he supposed to go from being rivals to getting married within twelve hours?

More importantly, was Natsu even ready for such a thing? If by some miracle he managed to get Gray to marry him, and the marriage ended up saving Gray's life, would Natsu be ready to lead a life as Gray's husband? He'd never seriously thought about getting married. He was still nineteen, for god's sake! People didn't think about marriage at such a young age, did they?

However, Natsu was sure of one thing: He wanted to spend his life with Gray by his side, and nobody else. Then what harm could a marriage do? A ceremony and a formal recognition of the fact that they belonged to each other wouldn't change their feelings, after all.

"Natsu? Everything alright? Worried that you'll lose?"

"No way! Let's do this!"

It turned out that Happy's guess had been a very clever one, since he got almost fifty percent—mostly because of the girls—right, which earned him a decisive victory. The only time Natsu guessed accurately was when Erza answered that 'eating a strawberry cake together' was the first thing that came to her mind.

The only one Natsu hadn't asked yet was Gray, who was still unaware of what was going on around him. Natsu had kept the whole thing as subtle as possible, keeping his voice low and such. Truth be told, he was anxious. Because whatever Gray would answer, Natsu was almost a hundred percent sure that he was going to be determined to make it happen.

So, when he flopped down opposite of Gray, he tried real hard to keep his nervousness in check. Gray eyed him warily through many seconds of tense silence. Finally, he averted his gaze and resumed playing with his glass of water.

Natsu cleared his throat. "I have a bet with Happy. We guessed the answers of all our friends to a certain question, and the one whose guesses turn out to be more accurate wins."

Gray lifted his eyebrows. "Oh? Let's hear it then."

"What do you consider a strong bond... between lovers?"

"What kind of dumb question is that? The strongest bond between lovers is obviously marriage."

Natsu just gaped at Gray, unable to process the answer. He ignored Happy's wide grin in favor of dwelling on his spinning thoughts.

'Dumb... Obviously... Is he ready to get married? Has he thought about it?'

His curiosity got the better of him, and before he could think about his wording, he blurted out, "Do you want to get married?"

Gray jumped to his feet, letting out a startled "what the hell?" and staring at Natsu with his mouth wide open.

Why did he react that harshly when all Natsu wanted to know was if Gray would want to get married someday? Gray had been the one to bring up marriage in the first place, so why was he so shocked when being asked another question on the topic?

Happy shoved Natsu's arm and regarded him with a suggestive wink. "You're not wasting time, are you? Well, good luck." With that, he flew off towards the bar, where a red-faced Wendy was trying to distract Carla and Mirajane.

What had he done wrong? Gray was clearly expecting an answer, but what should he say?

'I only asked him if he wants to get married. I mentioned neither a time nor a partner, so why is he freaking out? Unless... wait. WAIT. Oh shit. Oh my god. No, no, nonono!'

Had he just accidentally proposed to Gray? This couldn't be true!

However, on second thought, there was nothing wrong with marrying Gray. After they spent some years in a stable relationship and both wanted to take things to the next level.

'Shit. What should I do?'

Gray still stood there, growing more and more baffled as the seconds ticked by. Looking around, Natsu noticed that they held the attention of nearly all their friends. As much as Natsu loved public displays of affection, and as much as he didn't mind letting their guild mates in on their relationship, this was off limits. So, he grabbed Gray's wrist and dragged him out of the guild, ignoring his protests.

They'd just closed the door when a furious Lucy walked up to them. "Which of you sneaked into my apartment while I was taking a shower? And what's the meaning of this?"

She raised the snippet for Natsu and Gray to see, and Natsu was startled when he recognized the text Gray had written on a torn-out piece of Natsu's diary the previous time. He would have to look into that, too, but right then with his mind already reeling he just wasn't capable of thinking about yet another issue.

"I'll explain everything later, I promise, so could you please give us some privacy right now?"

Lucy's eyes widened, but then she took in Natsu's hand around Gray's wrist, blushed, nodded, and entered the guild.

Gray shouted, "What the hell is this about? That was my handwriting, but I don't recall writing anything like that. And you're behaving strangely."

Natsu bit his lip. "Let's go somewhere more private. I'll explain."

Gray nodded, and Natsu let go of his hand, leading him to the backside of the guild hall.

His thoughts were in total disarray, and when he tried to figure out a way to explain the current situation to Gray without having to include the information of his death, he came up empty.

Plus, Gray should have all the details before he decided on something important like their wedding.

Natsu took a deep breath, mentally apologized to Gray for putting him through this yet again, and then told Gray everything, from the very beginning until the current day. It took him nearly an hour to explain the whole thing and answer Gray's questions. His nerves were raw by the end—the memories were just too painful. Gray holding him close during the last half was soothing, but it didn't make the pain go away completely.

"So... you want us to marry because you think that would prevent my death?"

"I'm... not sure about that, to be honest. I mean, I've never thought about getting married before today. It's a huge step, one I'd only be willing to take after years of being a couple. Well, under normal circumstances at least. If it can save your life, I'd do anything, including this. But we don't know if it can save you... it's just a guess."

Gray tightened his grip around Natsu and let some moments of silence pass by before he answered.

"I honestly don't know what to do. If the assumption turns out to be correct, then I'll live and we're married at the age of nineteen. I'm not sure what to think of that. If it turns out to be wrong, I'll die on the day we marry, everyone but you will forget it ever happened, and you'll probably go through much more pain than you already are."

Gray sighed, and then added in a much lower voice, "And I'm afraid you'll never want to get married again because you're traumatized..."

Natsu hadn't thought about any of the things Gray just said. He wasn't usually one for thinking about consequences of his actions, but in this case, he really should. A wedding would change their lives, regardless of the outcome, because Gray was right. There was no way Natsu wouldn't be affected by it if the assumption turned out to be wrong. He couldn't even begin to imagine how painful it must be to have his husband die in his arms.

A shudder ran through his body, and as a reaction, Gray ran soothing circles over his shoulder blades.

"Natsu... I'm sorry, but I'd prefer to search for another solution. I love you, and I don't want to fuck this up. I know it's already messed up because I don't even remember the first time we kissed or had sex, and I know that you're already scarred... For one, I don't believe in this theory, and two, I don't want to take the risk. If I knew that it would work, I'd do it."

Natsu pushed Gray away so that they could look each other in the eyes. Gray's brows were tense, yet there was an understanding softness in his eyes. This wasn't easy for him. And Natsu knew that what he was going to say wasn't fair, but he couldn't suppress the thought.

"Don't you care that you could possibly end my suffering if you just accepted?"

Gray took a step back, looking shocked, but also angry.

"You know that's not true, and you can't guilt-trip me into marrying you."

"I'm not guilt-tripping you, I'm just saying that it's an option, and it could work!"

Maybe Natsu was letting himself being deluded by the possibility, however low it might be, of saving Gray's life with this, but right then he didn't care. That Gray absolutely refused to consider it unless it was proven to work made him furious.

Because what was there to lose, really? Them being married at the young age of nineteen... well, who cared? They loved each other, and Natsu was sure they'd figure things out. It wasn't like the fact that they were legally married would change their relationship, right? If it didn't prevent Gray's death, so what? Natsu was already suffering as it was.

"Whatever you're thinking right now, you need to knock it off."

"Why? Why can't we just try, and if it doesn't work, you'll forget anywa—"

"Haven't you listened to what I said? I don't want to get married because of a theory that doesn't sound convincing at all!"

"How is it not convincing? The prophecy says we need to 'form a bond', and half the guild said that the first thing that came to their mind when hearing of a 'bond' was marrying. Even you said the same thing."

"I recall you asking me for a 'strong bond between lovers', not just a 'bond'. A bond could be anything, from laughing together to buying a friendship bracelet to kissing or holding hands. The options are endless, and they don't need to be romantic at all. Or did Lydia say it was a romantic bond?"

"N-no..."

Gray let out a sigh, took a tentative step forwards, and put his hands on Natsu's shoulders.

"I can understand that you're desperate and already at a point where you're willing to try anything as long as it seems like it could help. That's exactly why you should rely on me now. Organizing and executing a wedding usually takes months, and we have half a day. Even if I accepted right away without any further explanation, we'd still have to at least buy rings. We'd have to get an appointment for the same day with the marriage registrar, or convince Makarov to—"

"Alright, alright, it would probably be very difficult to arrange, I get it. But aren't you just searching for excuses?"

Gray's brow tensed. "I'm not. I'm trying to explain why I think that this assumption isn't correct. You're free to believe me or not, but you have to stop what you're doing. I know you can make it happen anyway if you really want to. You could just invent something and make me marry you because I believe your lies. But that wouldn't be a loving th—"

Natsu slapped Gray's hands away and glared at him, because what the hell?

"Do you really think I'd ever do such a thing? Just how low is your opinion of me?"

"This has nothing to do with my opinion of you. You're growing more and more desperate, and I think I know best what somebody who thinks he has nothing to lose can cause..."

Natsu gritted his teeth. "Don't you compare your tragic childhood to this situation! Those two are totally unrelated!"

Gray let out an unhappy sigh and hung his head low.

"Sorry... I'm just... worried about you. About your... state of mind."

"If you're that worried, you would try to help me and just say y—ugh!"

Gray's fist hit hard, causing Natsu to sink to his knees while clutching his stomach. It wasn't only the fist that had hit him hard, but with it also the realization of what he'd been about to say, about to do. Just a few minutes ago, he'd said that he wasn't trying to guilt-trip Gray...

'And here I am, doing exactly that... Shit!'

"You're overstepping boundaries. I said 'no'. I know I could be wrong, and if I am, I'll hate myself for it forever, for putting you through even more pain. But right now, I'm convinced that my decision is the right one, and you have to respect that."

Why was Gray still that calm? He had every right to freak out, yet there he was, only giving Natsu a punch, raising his voice a bit, but otherwise being calm and reasonable. How could he still think straight when he was supposed to be angry? Natsu deserved far more than a punch.

"Why... aren't you beating me into a pulp? I... was about to do something... bad."

"I don't beat up somebody who's not fighting back. If you feel the need to be punished for what you did, then stand, promise you won't bring up the issue again unless it's confirmed that it'll solve the problem, and kiss me."

Natsu's head bobbed up. "How is kissing you a punishment?"

The faint blush on Gray's face was just too adorable, and it brought out fond memories which overshadowed Natsu's gloomy thoughts for the moment.

"It's not a punishment per se, but it's something I want right now, and I thought I could just slip it in..."

There was no way Natsu could deny Gray his wish, so he got up and took a step forward.

"I won't bring it up again. Sorry."

Gray nodded approvingly, and then he tilted up Natsu's head so he could seal their lips. It was their first kiss of that day, and thus started out as a hesitant and careful one. Natsu let Gray take the lead, relaxing into the gentle touches that accompanied it. It took Gray a while to grow confident enough to poke his tongue at Natsu's lips, demanding to be let in. Natsu happily welcomed the intruder, and soon the kiss grew hot and needy, their hands roving all over each other's bodies.

When they parted, a string of saliva stretched out between them, which Gray hastily broke, looking flustered. The last time this happened, Gray had been flustered as well—was it something that embarrassed him?

"L-let's go back inside. We still owe Lucy an explanation," Gray muttered.

"No need to be that flustered. I've already seen you in all kinds of intimate situations."

"Sh-shut up! This is new to me."

The blush on Gray's face intensified, and Natsu couldn't resist.

"I've already heard you moaning, seen how your face looks like when you're experiencing sexual plea—"

"Yes, okay, thank you for pointing that out! Now, how about we go back inside?"

Natsu only managed to wipe the smug grin off his face when they entered the guild.

Please let me know you’re out there (like/reblog/tags on the reblog/comment/kudos at AO3/private message/ask on tumblr/etc). Thanks to all the people who are continuously supporting me <3

[awkwardnessandbaseball]

IT’S HERE IT’S HERE IT’S HERE!

Once again, so many thanks to: @cspupstravaganza, @sherlockianwhovian, @lassluna

Tag list: @quirkykayleetam​, @squidvisious​, @carpedzem​, @kmomof4​, @revanmeetra87​, @capnjay21​ (Message me to be added!)

AO3 if that’s your jam: Prologue | Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | Ch5 | Ch6 | Ch7

I’d Pick You (and Your Little Dog, Too)

A Captain Swan Pupstravaganza Story

Summary: According to everyone in the known universe, Emma Nolan’s dog is supposed to lead her to her soulmate. But she’s not even sure if she wants that. Soulmates are pretty idealistic, don’t you think?

Chapter Four:

“Emma!” An unfamiliar voice calls her and she turns around, expecting a random citizen of the town to be flagging her down for something like a flat tire or a pothole or something else that really doesn’t require the sheriff’s attention.

She’s pleasantly surprised to find a familiar man and an even more familiar golden retriever heading her way. Rascal starts whining and Emma rolls her eyes. Of course her dog can’t make this easy for her.

‘This’ meaning her whole ‘nothing has changed’ attitude.

Because nothing had changed. It’s been two weeks since the goldens were adopted. Princess and Charming get along famously, and David is the happiest he’s ever been. He keeps insisting that Emma needs to meet Killian, that if nothing else, Rascal probably wants to play with Procella. But Emma keeps telling him that if they’re meant to meet, if they really are soulmates, they will. (She, of course, neglects to mention that she already has met Killian. No need to get her brother more excited about this whole thing than he already is)

She hates when she’s right.

“Hey, Killian. Long time no see.” She keeps her voice casual, even as Rascal’s tail starts thumping against her leg painfully in anticipation of seeing his friend. “How are you settling into Storybrooke?”

“Quite well!” He seems lighter somehow, more free, than he had during their brief interaction at Granny’s. His eyes are brighter, even, and he holds Procella’s leash naturally in his right hand, as though he’s always had the extra limb that dogs tend to become. “I wanted to thank you, actually.”

“Thank me?” Fed up with Rascal’s whining, she unclips his leash and lets him run the short distance to Killian and Procella. They walk towards Emma as a threesome, Killian easily navigating the tangles that occur as the two dogs run around his legs excitedly.

“Well when my sister and I went to the shelter, they told us what happened with Charming and Procella. How you and David managed to get them when apparently they wouldn’t let anyone else come near them.” He clears his throat awkwardly. “So, if you hadn’t done that, we wouldn’t have found them. Or, rather, they wouldn’t have found us.” He leans down to unclip Procella’s leash so the dogs stop tangling him up, but Emma notices that he can’t seem to get a grip on the clip. He tries to balance his coffee in his other hand, but it nearly spills and Emma catches it just in time. “Thanks,” he says again, using his now free right hand to finally release his dog.

Procella and Rascal circle Emma and Killian, sniffing each other’s tails, for a moment before tackling each other and rolling around in the dirt. Emma laughs to herself before turning back to Killian, whose eyes are on her instead of the dogs.

“She doesn’t seem to really play like this with anyone else,” he tells her, scratching behind his ear. Emma pictures Rascal the one time he’d had an accident in the house, when he’d scratched his poor ear so badly out of nerves that he’d had to wear a cone for a week.

Emma really hates being right.

Here’s the thing: Emma knows that, on some level, soulmates means they’re meant to be. And all signs - all of the red, flashing, bold-faced signs - point to her and Killian being soulmates. But what if he doesn’t love her? What if he doesn’t even like her? They don’t know each other, obviously, so there’s no way to tell what could happen down the road. But Emma’s heart never fully healed from Neal, if she’s being honest with herself, and it just doesn’t seem fair that the universe would do this to her: plop her soulmate down in front of her, make him related to her brother’s soulmate to boot, and make him so handsome and charming that she can already tell she’ll fall for him if she lets herself.

But she won’t. Because she wouldn’t be able to take it if her own fucking soulmate didn’t love her.

“Weird,” she finally says after an uncomfortable amount of time in her own head.

She feels Killian staring at her, waiting for her to comment on Rascal’s behavior. Her face heats up with a blush.

“Emma, I don’t want to come across as too forward…”

Then don’t, she thinks to herself. Please, please don’t.

“But would you and Rascal perhaps join me for lunch?”

Lunch.

Lunch seems safe. It’s not a romantic candlelit dinner or a picnic under the stars or a bottle of wine and a romantic comedy on Netflix.

She can do lunch with this insanely good-looking man without feeling anything other than physical attraction. Besides, he’s still sort of new in town and honestly, they’re bound to see each other more often now that Mary Margaret and David are getting more sickeningly sweet by the minute.

“Okay,” Emma finds herself saying. And the smile Killian gives her is honestly both heartwarming and terrifying, because she knows that he’s probably figured out exactly what she’s known since the moment he adopted Procella.

Killian Jones is her fucking soulmate.

***************

As it turns out, lunch is a pretty safe choice. And Rascal is the happiest Emma’s ever seen him, running around with Procella.

“So how does one become the sheriff of a small town such as this?” Killian asks her once they’re settled together on a park bench, two grilled cheese sandwiches between them.

“I sort of fell into being a deputy. Once Ne--,” Emma stops herself, not quite ready to talk about her love life yet. She and Killian are, after all, just friends having lunch together. She starts over. “I had a history of being a troublemaker, and I wanted to start fresh, move past the years I’d caused problems and, instead, start fixing them. David was already a deputy, so I sort of followed in his footsteps. And then our old sheriff, Graham, moved to Boston for a huge pay raise. And we needed someone to take charge.” She shrugs.

“Out of curiosity, if David was a deputy first, wouldn’t he have been the one to get promoted?”

It’s a fair question, and Emma’s not offended by it, but Killian’s looking at her warily, like it might upset her. She smiles, and he relaxes noticeably.

“David wanted me to take it. We debated for weeks, and I had that same argument. But apparently, according to both David and Graham, people listen to me. I know how to, and I’m quoting here, ‘command the attention of a room’. So, I was officially recommended by the previous sheriff. There was a vote and everything, but I won by a landslide.” She takes a bite of her sandwich, swallows dramatically. “Not to brag, of course.”

“Of course,” Killian echoes with a laugh.

Yes, Emma can definitely be friends with this nice, friendly man who asked her to lunch. When they go their separate ways, he asks her when she’s free for lunch again.

So they do it again a week later.

And the week after that.

It occurs to Emma that, by most people’s definitions, she and Killian might be dating. They go out on regular outings and they talk and their dogs play together. She’s told him about her parents dying and about Granny taking them in and, this week, she’s telling him about David’s reaction when he first saw Mary Margaret.

“Oh, she definitely saw him, too.” Killian laughs, and Emma is trying really hard not to love the sound. “I remember that day because she came home with this weird glazed look on her face. She’d never looked like that before.”

Emma tells him about David’s bright eyes and about how sad he was that this beautiful woman didn’t have a dog.

“She does now,” Killian says. “And they’re practically inseparable so I guess it’s safe to say they’ve sort of known all along, even before she got Charming.”

He looks at her sideways and she pretends not to notice.

“David’s had his heart broken before.” Emma realizes that she’s sharing her brother’s story, which isn’t really her place, so she changes direction. “So if I can be honest with you, I wasn’t totally on board with him dating your sister. At least not at first”

“A protective sibling. I’m familiar with that.” Killian laughs, but it’s a quiet, almost sad laugh this time.

“Mary Margaret doesn’t seem the over-protective type,” Emma finally turns to look at him, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, I had a brother. Liam. He passed away years ago, around the time my father married Mary Margaret’s mother.” Killian’s staring into space now. “I don’t… I don’t really talk about it. It’s just…”

“I’m so sorry,” Emma puts her arm on his shoulder before she can stop herself. He turns to look at her and they both freeze.

It’s the first time she’s really touched him since he kissed her hand in the diner all those weeks ago. And that doesn’t go unnoticed by either of them.

“Thanks,” he whispers sincerely. They keep looking at each other, unsure of where to go from here. He leans forward, just a bit, waiting for her to either move forward as well or to reject him outright.

“Killian, I…” Emma trails off, wanting to apologize, to explain, anything but the silence lingering in between them. “I can’t do... this.”

“I’m sorry, Emma. I just thought…” He looks sad, but not angry. He glances at the dogs, who’ve fallen asleep at their feet, tired out from playing for an hour now.

“I know.” She takes a deep breath. Killian is nice and he’s good and she feels like she owes him some semblance of an explanation. “David’s not the only one who had his heart broken.”

Killian looks at her, a softness in his eyes. Emma opens her mouth to continue, but no sound comes out. So he talks instead.

“I dated a woman named Milah back in England.” He swallows, his jaw tense. “Neither of us had been matched, so it just sort of… made sense. But she wanted to travel, and I wanted to stay close to home, close to Liam. Even though he was… well, he was long gone by then.” He turns to meet Emma’s eyes. She expects to feel an urge to look away, but it doesn’t come, and she holds his gaze as he continues. “It wasn’t all that dramatic, not really. But it felt dramatic at the time, you know? She left, and I stayed. And, in a strange and cruel twist of fate, I ended up leaving anyway.”

“When you were ready,” Emma says.

“Aye, that’s the long and short of it, I suppose.”

Emma takes another breath.

“There was this guy, back when I was eighteen. His name was Neal.” Rascal growls in his sleep, and Emma lets out a small laugh. “Rascal wasn’t a fan, clearly. Which, you know, should have been the first sign. Anyway, he made me feel… different. Special, I guess.” She rolls her eyes at her own naivety. “David had met Kathryn by that point and I was really just alone for the first time in my life. It had always been me and David. But Neal came along and suddenly I wasn’t alone. I had a partner, or whatever. We had these plans to run off together, leave Storybrooke behind. We got into some bad shit: stealing everything from money to food to cars. He got caught with this whole trunk full of high-end, expensive watches and tried to pin it on me. But I’d been with David the whole time, who was already in training to be a police officer, so you know who they’re gonna believe.” Emma shakes her head, really remembering all of the details for the first time in years. “I just couldn’t believe he’d turned on me. And then he went away to prison, and I don’t know how long he’ll be there for, but at any rate, he’s gone. Which I guess is the important thing.” On the ground by her feet, Rascal scooches a little closer to her, comforting her even in his sleep. “So I’ve been alone ever since.”

Killian nods slowly, looking away from Emma for the first time since she started speaking.

“I’m sorry that happened to you, Emma. That’s… well, that would have ruined me.” He turns towards her again. “I kind of want to hit him.” His voice comes out low, almost a growl. Emma’s surprised at how affected he is by her story. And then a memory hits her.

Emma laughs, a loud, open laugh that has her gasping for breath. Because the first time Rascal ever met Neal, the dog had growled in almost the exact same tone. Once she catches her breath, she tells Killian and he laughs as well.

“I feel it’s been an unspoken rule that we don’t talk about this, Emma, but I find that Rascal reminds me of myself in the strangest ways, and more every time I see him.”

Emma sighs.

“Yeah, I know.” She chuckles softly. “He even scratches his ear when he’s nervous. It’s ridiculous, honestly.” She takes another deep breath, another confession on the tip of her tongue. “You know, I used to wonder if my soulmate was waiting for my in Europe or something, and that was why it was taking just about forever to find them.”

Killian smiles, crinkles forming in the corners of his eyes.

“I had a similar thought for most of my life. Like, maybe I’m limiting myself over here. Maybe there’s a woman stuck across the pond and I’m just here, waiting for her to swim to me.”

“So why’d you come here?”

“Honestly?” Killian scratches the back of his ear, then seems to catch himself in the act. A blush rises up his neck. “Mary Margaret convinced me. She moved out to England to reconnect with her mother, but they fought more than they got along, and Mary Margaret felt it best if she left. They do better when they’re not together, the two of them. I think they talk weekly now.” Killian shrugs. “My dad and I were never close to begin with. The only things keeping me in England were memories. My mom and my brother are buried there, of course. But Mary Margaret reminded me, without being quite so crass as this, that she’s still alive and that we really never got the chance to get to know each other. So, somehow, she convinced me to come here. To America. To Storybrooke.”

“And now here you are,” Emma says quietly.

“Here I am,” Killian agrees.

They look at each other again, and the air feels thick as Emma’s resolve starts to dissipate.

She’d been afraid that her soulmate - this man in front of her - wouldn’t choose her. That he’d be with her out of obligation, because their dogs told them that was how life worked. That he wouldn’t love her, or even like her.

But she’s looking into those insanely blue eyes, and she can see that he already does like her, that maybe he’s even starting to love her. And he’s chosen that. He’d asked her to lunch that first time, and then each time since. He’s chosen to spend time with her, to take their dogs on playdates. He’s sharing himself with her, and she’s sharing herself with him. And, somehow, he’s still here.

He’s (still, constantly, always) choosing her.

“I can’t promise I’m going to be an easy person to date,” she tells him. “I’m a bit of a mess, if you haven’t noticed.”

Killian shrugs.

“I named my dog ‘Procella’, Emma. As soon as the name came to me, I knew it meant that whoever she was meant to lead me to would be something of a challenge.” He takes her right hand with his left, and it feels stiff. She looks down and sees, for the first time, that it’s fake, a prosthetic. She gasps and Killian nods once, seeing her make the connection between this and Rascal’s missing limb. “Another time,” he whispers. She looks back at his face and he clears his throat before he continues. “Once we took the dogs home, it struck me how different she was from Charming. Mary Margaret’s dog was following her around like they’d been together their whole lives. It took a full week for Procella to sit with me on the couch.”

“So you like a challenge, then?” Emma tries to bring some levity to the conversation, to ease up the heavy look he’s giving her.

“Aye, you could certainly say that.”

“Okay, then.” She nods resolutely. And then she kisses him on the cheek.

She’s choosing to try.