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spvce-cowboy · 4 years ago

Text

gentle things

ch. 2 of i’ll be here in the morning (the mandalorian x fem!reader)

previous- ch.1: “a strange beauty”

next- ch.3: “reunion”

rating: mature

8.5k words

warnings: mutual pining, masturbation (f), alcohol, descriptions of gore

summary: after a few months on the Crest, you find yourself growing closer to your new companions.

a/n: the gay agenda is finding a way to slip a dolly parton song into a star wars fanfic, i rest my case.

Most mornings you wake to the child’s soft cooing. Occasionally, the sound is met with a low, modulated voice, that murmurs incoherent phrases in response. It somehow puts your heart to rest before you even remember where you are.

It’s strange, you’ve been a resident of the Crest for a handful of months now and it sometimes still takes you a few moments each morning to reorient yourself. You blame it on the strange limbo of hyperspace—it always throws you off for at least a day or two, and you swear your dreams are more vivid after. Sometimes you wake up panting for no reason at all.

You’re adjusting pretty well. A bit strange having a roommate/boss who doesn’t acknowledge your presence beyond the occasional but respectful nod. But it’s way better than you could have possibly imagined when you first started turning the idea over in your head. Granted, that was when you were about elbow-deep in his chest cavity, trying to fish out pieces of the shoddily constructed weapon that broke off inside him. You needed the first way out that presented itself to you, something you and Am’ile both agreed with, and well, when opportunity strikes or whatever.

Your first evening on the Crest, you asked the Mandalorian where you should sleep and he just shrugged, handing you a single, scratchy blanket with a “this is all I have.” Later, when you pass his bunk as he’s taking a nap, he’s curled in on himself on a bare cot and you realize that threadbare piece of fabric was literally all he had. You don’t bring it up, but something in your chest softens towards him after that. There’s a new quilt folded neatly on his bunk by the time he returns from his first mission.

Your second day onboard, you found a metal table in a junk heap and pushed it against one of the walls in the engineering bay. You spent the better part of an afternoon figuring out how to weld it to the floor. The medical supplies went on top, then you pushed your pillow and your rolled-up mattress underneath. Sure, there was technically a second cot in the Crew’s quarters, but you wanted to give the Mandalorian his privacy whenever possible. Besides, as long as there wasn’t too much turbulence, your set-up was pretty great.

After a few missions, you’ve visited enough markets to buy an ample supply of blankets, sweaters, and pillows to keep you comfortable on the floor of the ship. It’s freezing most nights, especially in hyperspace, and cocooning yourself in as many warm things as you could manage helps stave off both the chill as well as the occasional home sickness. The collection you’ve amassed thus far is in a various mis-match of pale jewel tones that remind you of Am’ile’s house. You didn’t realize that until you’d piled them all together on your bed and you couldn’t help but laugh at yourself a bit.

The child loves your soft things, happily snuggling up with you for naps while waiting for the Mandalorian’s return—though you suspect he’s just grateful for the new company. A consistent presence while dad’s away. You’re happy to give that to him.

The new routine is comfortable, the company is nice, the work is relatively easy. And, stars, the things you get to see. It’s honestly more than you could have ever asked for.

When your eyes blink open it’s already around eight in the morning. You’ve landed on Nevarro where the Mandalorian has already been gone for a day, attending some kind of “extended business meeting,” as he put it. Yawning, you eventually roll out of bed and stumble into the fresher, blearily rubbing the sleep out of your eyes with the spray’s cold water. Stepping out, you wrap your towel around yourself. In the tiny metal mirror suspended over the sink you pat on some lotion onto your face, eyes still heavy.

Reaching for your toothbrush, your knuckle grazes one of the Mandalorian’s facial razors. You wince, flicking your hand before examining it. A tiny nick. Sucking on it for a second to stop the blood flow, you glance at the Mandalorian’s side of the cabinet.

It’s strange to see the most banal traces evidence of what he is, who he is, behind the all that beskar. Like the facial razors—to think he’s in here, maskless, shaving his face, while you’re playing with his kid or whatever just a few steps away. To think he takes a shower every day—er, well, you’re not sure about that one, but at least when he’s on the Crest—stepping out and wrapping a towel around his waist in order goes about his little tasks.

You swallow, removing your hand from your mouth and grabbing your toothbrush before your mind can wander anywhere else. You brush your teeth particularly well that morning.

The day is pretty typical from there. After feeding both yourself and the child breakfast, you settle on the floor of the hull with the small metal ball he’s obsessed with. You place him a few feet in front of you, he sways slightly on both feet before plopping down to mirror you, hands stretched forward in an demand to be put in your lap.

“Let’s do some of the exercises, yeah?” You know you’re essentially just talking to yourself as you hold the ball in the air, but you might as well make the effort anyway. Am’ile was no stranger to kids like him, or at least that’s how she put it—something about her people and some other group, the specifics completely slipped your mind. She didn’t really elaborate and you knew not to press.

Even though you don’t know much, you do try to mimic Am’ile’s drills-disguised-as-play at least a few times a day. He only seemed to do what you asked during those sessions when you weren’t looking, distracted by cleaning or studying whatever book you’d picked up hours later. You would always find the little ball in strange places, definitely not where you’d last placed it, and certainly out of the child’s reach.

At least it was good to know he was partially pretending to not listen to you. You could work with partially.

The kid has been fussy since waking, refusing to focus on any of the things you were trying to prompt him to do. Yesterday, you spent a bit too much time at the markets with him—growing sick of protein bars, you initially set out trying to find something closer to tasting like home. Really, you just liked getting out of the Crest so you could see all those people.

You’ve amassed a collection of language dictionaries, trying to do some fast learning and even faster practicing to get your way around. Sometimes the vendors are kind and help you stutter your way through disjointed sentences in their native tongue, others just huff and immediately switch to Basic as soon as you start talking. You don’t mind either way.

The marketplace as a whole is new and exciting, the clatter and clamor of movement, laughing and snarling, voices raised in argument and lowered in the smallest exchange of intimacy. So far removed from the quiet slopes of Am’ile’s home and—

You don’t let the rest of that thought happen, quickly scooping the kid up and wrapping him to your chest with a long swath of fabric.

“I’m goin’ a little crazy in here too, little guy,” you mumble, pulling your satchel over your shoulder. “Your dad should be back in a while—let’s try to find a contact for supplies until then, yeah? Shouldn’t be too hard.” A total lie, it was way more difficult to find what you are looking for than you initially thought. You were particularly looking for a cauterizing instrument that was a bit more sturdy than the glorified cigar lighter the Mandalorian was currently using. Besides basic med-kit stock, it was nearly impossible to find anything more advance under the radar.

Yesterday was half-heartedly spent searching the markets in search of someone who might be tapped into Republic supply runs, which rendered you, predictably, empty-handed. Now you were on to your second best option, asking around the closest cantina where you could find the instruments you were looking for for without raising too much attention.

Okay, so maybe the Mandalorian specifically told you to keep out of the bars when you’re traveling without him. But you managed just fine on your own yesterday in an arguably more crowded environment. You’ve also dealt with… far worse than that hunk of metal could ever possibly imagine. You’re more than capable on your own. Still, you make sure to strap a dagger and a blaster to your belt before heading out.

You make quick work hurrying to the cantina, making sure to cover your head with the hood of your tunic and conceal the little one as much as possible. Basic survival instincts usually warrant drawing as little attention to yourself as possible, being a young human woman traveling alongside a small green wizard creature is pretty much the opposite of that.

He, predictably, doesn’t take very well to the concealed swaddle you’ve confined him to, and the two of you are in a constant back-and-forth of you attempting to wrap him up and him making quick work of wriggling out of any cover tactic you try. If it weren’t for those damn ears your life would be so much easier.

The bar has the quiet hum of activity, occasionally interspersed with a loud chatter of conversations rising to some kind of boiling point. You maneuver yourself to the counter and try to get the attention of the bartender, holding the kid to your chest until he squirms his way upwards and settles with his chin on your shoulder, one of his ears slipping out of the head covering you’d fashioned and thwapping you in the neck. You’ll deal with that in a second.

You’ve only just caught the bartender’s attention when the doors slam open. The clamor of the cantina quiets momentarily, and you see everyone shift slightly to eye whoever just entered. The two new patrons seem to be in the middle of an argument, voices low in secrecy but tense with frustration.

“I’d know that green mug anywhere.” With that you finally turn, heart dropping with anxiety. It’s the Mandalorian and a companion, a human man. The man’s voice, a deep bellow, is warm and inviting in a way that shouldn’t make you freeze completely as he addresses the kid. He then looks you up and down, pausing as the Mandalorian continues stomping forwards. You freeze anyway. “Ah—this is that girl you mentioned? Your caretaker?”

“She’s a medic,” the Mandalorian sharply corrects the man without moving to look at you. He quickly returns back to whatever conversation was initially at hand as the man continues his brisk stride towards a table at the back. There are three people already seated there, but by the time the Mandalorian arrives they have all left in a scuffling hurry. Neither of the men acknowledge it, just immediately slide into opposing sides of the booth. “Karga, this is ridiculous--I’m not a Republic spy, why would there be this many hoops on a bounty you’re just handing out?”

“I’m not just ‘handing it out,’ Mando, I’m giving it to you because I know you’re the most capable,” the man, Karga, addresses the Mandalorian then directs his attention towards you. “Come here, girl. Let me get a good look at you, I’m curious.” Turning to the bartender, he barks out an order for spotchka. You walk towards the table. There’s too much attention on the three of you to resist, you wouldn’t want to make things more complicated for the Mandalorian anyway. The bounty hunter’s voice almost immediately overrides his, low but gritty with anger as you slide into the booth beside him.

“I can’t—Karga you know I’ve never done something like this. This high-profile. Going deep-cover for a job isn’t something I can do.”

You feel Karga’s eyes on you, it’s brief but piercing. You busy yourself by looking up at the woman who serves you a small glass of the bright blue liquid, quietly thanking her.

“It’s all the fobs or nothing. The signal will be broadcast in a few hours’ time—they won’t expect something like this to be conducted semi-publicly. Keep monitoring the broadcast, but save that fob for last,” Karga places three fobs in the center of the table, then slides a forth a few inches removed from the rest. He can tell the Mandalorian isn’t convinced—stars, even you can tell he isn’t convinced. Karga heaves a sigh and makes a stab at reassurance. “You can figure it out. You’re the only one I can trust to get this done. The most capable.”

The Mandalorian’s hand slams down on the table, you jump, quickly looking between the intense but even staring contest going on between Karga and the infuriated bounty hunter. Slowly, and with more than a bit of melodrama, the Mandalorian drags the fobs under his hand towards him, slipping it into his pocket without breaking eyes from Karga’s.

He turns heel so quickly his cape whips behind him. You scurry after him as fast as you can manage.

You can still feel the frustration steaming off of the Mandalorian the whole walk back to the Crest. You keep quiet, trailing behind him by a few steps—you desperately want to ask what was wrong. Your mouth stays firmly shut.

Boarding the Crest, the Mandalorian immediately scales the ladder into the cockpit. After a few minutes you feel the Crest shutter into the air, quickly shooting into the empty sky and then hyperspace. You sigh and grab a book, turning the kettle on to make some caf and settling in your bed to an eye on the kid as he toddles around the expanse of the hull.

Hours later, when the child has exhausted all possible forms of entertainment, usually consisting of live wires and exposed paneling that you tug him away from, he begins to get fussy in a way that means he’s tired but refuses to sleep. It starts with the occasional whimper that quickly crescendos into a full-blown fit. You know all the warning signs at this point.

The little terror had a bit of a habit of doing this—once the Mandalorian and you are in the ship he refuses to fall asleep unless you two are in the same room. A part of you knows this is a symptom of separation anxiety—which you in no way can blame him for, given the circumstances of their bond—but the cockpit is just about the last place you want to be.

It’s not that you’re scared of the Mandalorian, or anything. It would just be… incredibly awkward with the mood he’s in right now to attempt to lull his kid to sleep in his presence.

“Listen, buddy, your dad is super grumpy right now so—" The child just starts crying even louder, little fists balled up to pound futilely against your chest, trying to push you away. “Okay okay okay! I get it. I get it.” You sigh, biting your lip and looking down at the kid, then up at the ladder. The kid starts screaming. “Yeah, yeah. Alright.” You begin the climb up.

“Hey, sorry he’s being a little sensitive again,” you say as your head pops up onto the pilot’s deck, miraculously managing to pull yourself into the room with one arm holding the squirming kid against you. The floor seals shut behind you once you haul yourself over the edge.

The Mandalorian just grunts in response and continues flipping through radio channels, seemingly growing more frustrated with himself the longer it takes for him to find the frequency Karga directed him to. He’s in the pilot’s chair, back turned to you, shoulders hunched in concentration.

You settle into the copilot’s seat, resting the kid on his back on top of your legs. He settles almost instantly, big eyes no longer filled with tears.

Rolling your eyes with a small smile, you tickle him lightly until he starts giggling, then scoop him back up into your arms, allowing yourself to slide back in the chair a bit. You stare out into the bright darkness of space, blinking back at the stars as the child coos gently in your lap.

“A coded civilian station, is he fucking crazy?” The Mandalorian mumbles to himself in his continued litany of abuses he’s slung Karga and the greater universe’s way since returning to the Crest.

The longer you’ve been here the more he’s started to do things like that, just talking into the air without the expectation of a response. You begin to think that that’s just the way he acts when it was just him and the kid. Though you’ve noticed that he has been cursing way more than he did when you first met. That might be a little bit your fault. Oops.

You look down at the child and rub one of his ears, leaning down to press a kiss at the crown of his head. His little three-fingered hand catches your hair and pulls. Wincing, you resist the urge to jerk your head back. Instead, you extend the pad of your index finger and lightly wiggle it against his button nose. He sneezes and lets go almost immediately.

You let out a triumphant “ha!” then shake your head slightly and twist your face in a playful scowl. The kid resumes his giggling, batting at your hands when you try to tickle his tummy.

Glancing over at the angry hunk of beskar seated beside you, you notice he’s paused with his hand hovering over the radio’s controls, his head turned slightly towards his right shoulder to silently regard you and the child.

You quickly divert your gaze back down to the kid, resuming rubbing his ears as his eyes slowly, devastatingly slowly, ease shut. Only to snap open again with a playful babble, hands reaching up again for the free entertainment of the hair still attached to your head. Shit. You sigh. The Mandalorian goes back to flipping through the channels.

More static and garbled languages you’ve never encountered before. You try to ignore the pounding of your heart—that was probably the longest you’d ever seen him grant you any kind of attention—and keep trying to lull the child to sleep. As quietly as possible you try to stand, scooting around the copilot’s seat to gently bounce the kid in the limited space to the back of the cockpit. He’s quieted significantly, just enough that you could probably get him to sleep on your own, as long as you don’t jostle him too much on the descent back into the hull. You’re about to head down the ladder when—

The Mandalorian pauses momentarily on a channel that’s playing music. The opening swell of the first verse is unmistakable. Your chest fills with a certain warm feeling, pounding with memories you had long since tucked away.

“Wait,” you say it without thinking. Without even processing that the words left your mouth. “Wait, could you go back? That… that song…”

Wordlessly, he clicks back to the previous station. The cabin is filled with the music, a warm and bright voiced female vocalist smoothly intertwined with her male partner. The melody is plucky, something you could dance to—and have, more than once—and it’s overly saccharine in its pure, absolute joy in itself. But you suppose the cheesiness is part of the charm. You relish in it regardless.

You do something to me that I can’t explain. There is a memory that surfaces just as quickly as it disappears. You couldn’t have been more than four. Your father, spinning you around by your pudgy forearm. It’s his laugh you remember most of all, something boisterous and full-bodied. You are dancing around the kitchen of a home you can’t remember, the floor dappled with light from the pieces of stained glass your mother had dangling from the windows. Hold me closer and I feel no pain. You smile to yourself, bowing your head down at the little one, quietly murmuring what lyrics you remember, rocking your hips in a gentle little dance. It works, the kid is fast asleep by the last chord.

The song ends, the disc jockey begins speaking in yet another language you don’t recognize. The Mandalorian quickly turns the volume down, lest it wake the child. He has reflexes fast enough to startle you, luckily your jolt does nothing to bother the baby in your arms. You gently place him in the pram, hovering beside the pilot’s seat. You slide the shield doors shut to keep out the noise and step back.

“Thank you, Mandalorian,” you say it softly, but you can see his helm bob slightly in a nod of acknowledgement. You take a deep breath and begin to head towards the ladder as he resumes flicking through the stations.

“Hey,” the Mandalorian says your name. You pause for a moment, then turn. He clears his throat—the sound comes out as a rough crackle over the modulator. If you didn’t know any better, you would think he sounds a bit nervous. “You can uh… you can just call me Mando, you know. The full thing is a bit of a mouthful.”

You blink once, then nod. Turning heel you, mercifully, scale back down the ladder with as much grace as could be mustered, despite your shaking hands.

That night, when you touch yourself, you shove the blanket he gave you against your nose and mouth. To keep quiet, you tell yourself. It smells like his soap.

Days after the radio incident, you can’t help but occasionally find that you’re singing the song to yourself as you go about your chores. It just seems to pop in your head as soon as you open your eyes, and it’s just stuck there, but you’re not very mad about that.

Mando has landed on some bitterly cold planet that was made up of little more than ash and a thick red fog. He had left late last night/early this morning to start his hunt, telling you in a little scribbled note to expect him back in two days’ time. He has really bad handwriting, it’s strangely amusing.

You decide to deep clean the hull: washing the floors, doing laundry, organizing what meager new supplies you were able to gather from Nevarro. As you did, you sang to yourself. Out loud. Just for the pleasure of it.

Your mother taught you kulning, as was tradition for the young girls on your home planet. Your father taught you the low-bellied croon of the casino singers. When things were still good, you would sing for your parents friends at the parties they would throw and your father would play the piano. You wish you had more memories like that. It’s hard to recall anything through the foggy barriers of the past fifteen years, it makes something in your chest ache to even try.

Am’ile’s radio was for emergencies only, not wanting to draw unwanted attention with the signal. It has been ages since you’ve had access to one, ages since you’ve heard music that didn’t come from your own mouth. That was why you’d started the nightly calls at Am’ile’s because before that grassy little planet… well, speaking was barely an option. You’d seen too many girls hurt for things far less than murmuring a tune.

To sing in the way your mother taught you, with the whole of your body. To make yourself so boldly known. It was all you had ever wanted.

You start putting together dinner for you and the kid as the day winds down. Mando had a barely functioning hotplate that you were able to make the best of, having bought some fresh produce at the far more hospitable planet the three of you were stationed at the previous day.

The stew cooks while you finish up the rest of your work, slicing bread and setting up a little dining area for your and the kid because, frankly, why not go all-out? It’s good to treat yourself to the small, gentle things. Even when on an unforgiving rock hurtling through space. Especially then.

You hop in the fresher while you wait for the meat to get to the proper temperature, twisting your body to keep your hair out of the water’s blast. In the enclosed space, you feel a less self-conscious and allow yourself sing a little louder than the under-the-breath, partial-hum you’d managed throughout the rest of the day.

You don’t hear the hull opening between that and the fresher’s spray.

When you turn the water off, you recognize the sound of the last few mechanisms of the hull door stealing itself back in place. Anxiety settles in quickly as you dry off. God, please let it just be Mando please. There’s the sound of something heavy being thrown against a wall. You wince.

A low voice. “Pretty little bird you’ve got singing in here, just for me?” Then a wet crack. “Mother fuck—"

Your heart lurches in your chest as you quickly pull your clothes on, cracking open the fresher door to peer out into the hull. Mando is standing over the body of a target, now crumpled to the ground, holding a bleeding headwound with two long, thin hands. He nudges the bounty with the butt of the weapon he had presumably just used against the man’s skull. The man gives a choked moan, completely incapacitated.

“Do you…” your voice sounds far too small. You blink, inhaling and starting over. “Do you need to bring him in alive or do you need my—"

“The carbonite will stop the bleeding,” Mando’s voice is gruff. You nod, even though his back is turned to you, watching from the safety of the doorway as he leans down and lugs the whining body into the chamber. Once the bounty is sealed away, you step back out into the open.

Mando pushes past you almost without recognition, limping heavily.

“Hey—hey!” You trail behind him, reaching out to touch his arm. He flinches. “Could you at least let me do my job?”

He regards you for an extended beat, then readily sits. It’s more of a controlled collapse.

“Is it your leg?” You ask, kneeling beside him and helping him peel off what armor you can. He shakes his head.

“It’s just more of a bruise I—my side, my hip. Onto the top of my leg.”

You nod slowly. “Okay, can you get to the fresher yourself or do you think you’ll need help? You have to rinse off before I treat you.” There’s an almost clay-like layer of red dust on his clothes and armor. It would be impossible to treat him properly without getting most of it off.

He wordlessly extends a gloved hand for you to help him up, you oblige—albeit struggling a bit with his weight. Once standing, you hover beside him on his limping walk to the fresher until he gives you a short: “I’ve got it.” You back off, returning to tend to your dinner while you wait.

When he emerges again he’s only wearing a sleep shirt, his mask, and a towel, the fabric held at the hip by his clenched fist to expose an already bruising thigh. He sits on a crate with an audible wince, easing himself back to lean against the wall slightly.

Your throat constricts as you move to his exposed side, but you try to breathe evenly enough to maintain an air of professionalism. Which gets increasingly difficult when he, with another sound of sharp pain, pulls up his shirt to reveal a series of small, shallow punctures traveling up his flank and over his hip that slightly weep with a mixture of blood and the cold water on his skin. He holds the shirt, just below his pectorals with his opposing hand, allowing the towel to drape over his lap while still revealing the side you need to work on. You can see the faint cut of his abdominal muscles, tracing south alongside a thin trail of dark hair leading--

“Shotgun pellets,” his voice stops your thoughts before they can get any worse. You’re partially thankful. Glancing up, you furrow your brow in confusion. He clarifies, “they’re a uh… a projectile type weapon. He was fighting dirty and desperate.” You nod, looking back down. The worst of the spray was able to score the skin right above his hip, but most of it had just bounced off his quad, leaving a series of raised, purpling welts. It was superficial at worst, but still not the best to look at. He seemed to read your mind. “Beskar was able to deflect them for the most part. I’ll be fine, just cauterize the worst of it.”

“The more you use the cauterizer the more of a chance you have of the scar tissue getting infected, you know. That’s some business you want no part of,” you say, digging through your kit for a pain ointment and the bacta you were able to refill on Nevarro. The more you looked at it, the more foolish of a blow for him to have taken it becomes. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re doing this on purpose,” you’re muttering it to yourself before you can fulling think through the implications. When he doesn’t say anything, you glance up at him. “That was a joke.”

“You need to work on your material, then.”

You laugh, shaking your head to yourself as you get to work. It’s easier to feel more confident around him the longer you’ve acclimated on the Crest. You have a bad habit of using snark as a defense mechanism. The more you work with Mando, the less you’re able to keep that up. It feels nice, you can relax slightly when you’re given the reassurance of him reciprocating the conversation.

You finish pressing the last of the bandages against his side. “The pain stuff I used should start sinking in soon, it might burn for a bit beforehand but it’ll get better after a few minutes.” He nods, pulling the towel tightly around his waist before standing and limping back into his quarters. He returns, fully dressed, putting a little more pressure on his leg than he did before he left. You quickly, desperately, find a way to conceal your staring.

“Hey—I have a surprise for you,” you turn to the kitchenette, busying yourself by testing the stock with a messy sip. It’s not… the best thing you’ve ever made in your whole life, but it’s the closest thing to the meals you made with Am’ile that you’ve had since you left your old home. It smells lovely, enough to have filled the hull with the smell of the herbs you used. “I thought it was just gonna be me and the womp rat so I made dinner, if you wanna eat with us that is.” You pull out the bottle of wine you bought from one of the storage drawers, a slight heat rising to your cheeks. You hold it up triumphantly anyway. “I really just needed an excuse to buy this for myself. But I totally understand if you’d rather eat upstairs by yourself.”

“Thank you,” he says hesitantly. “I’ll… I’ll stay while you eat. I can take mine to the cockpit once you’ve finished.”

“Would you want to have a glass with me, at least?” You hold the wine bottle by the neck at your side. He’s grumpy. Part of you wants to find some way to fix that, knowing it would be hard for you to let yourself enjoy the rest of the night with him fuming over something just upstairs. “I’ll cover my eyes. It’ll be like when I brought you your meals, while you were fixing the ship. No peaking. I promise.”

He takes a moment, before nodding slowly, for some reason you’re kind of surprised he agrees. Maybe that’s why your smile is so big. Maybe it was the fact you’d already cracked the bottle open for a few sips before taking your shower, the warmth of it at the bottom of your stomach making it much easier to playfully prod at the bounty hunter. Probably a mix of both.

You kneel beside your bed to gather another pillow, placing it across the makeshift table you’ve fashioned out of two crate and one of your blankets. You turn to bring the rest of the food to the table, three wooden bowls and a plate for the kid. You’re in the middle of separating the meat from the broth for him when you glance up at Mando, who is still standing exactly where you last saw him. He points to the tuft of fabric you had placed on the floor for him.

“What’s that for?”

You’re not sure if he’s serious or not. “Um, comfort?”

He doesn’t say anything, just cocks his helmet slightly to the left.

“Alright, old man,” you roll your eyes, refilling your cup . “Suit yourself.”

Mando pauses for a second longer before easing himself onto the pillow. He says your name softly, almost to himself. “This looks… really great. Thank you.”

“Well I wouldn’t take it to heart too much, chrome bucket. I was planning on hoarding all this for me and the kid. You just came back at quite the opportune moment,” you grin cheekily up at him before tearing your piece of bread and dipping it into the broth.

He reaches across the makeshift table and picks up his cup. You’ve repurposed the tops of two of his thermoses to make them. He examines it in his hand for a moment before speaking.

“Were you singing that song that was on the radio, yesterday? When I came in?”

“Yeah,” you laugh, shaking your head to yourself as you reach over the table and grab the cup in his hand to fill it with the wine. “I haven’t heard it in ages, you know? Any music at all, honestly, but especially that song. It was one of my dad’s favorites,” you detract before either of you could linger on that last statement. “It’s been in my head all day. I was meaning to ask you, when it comes to the radio—it probably wouldn’t be a good idea for me to listen while you’re on the job, yeah? Tracing signals and all that?”

Mando mulls it over for a second, accepting his cup from you and staring down at it. “I’m not sure. Better safe than sorry, but I could ask around about getting a uh… one of those new portable ones.” You don’t want to tell him that those newfangled portable radios have been a thing since you were in the cradle—something about his technological obliviousness was oddly endearing. “I’ll ask around and see if there’s some kind of blocking signal we could install. If you’d like one, that is. I’d like to take a sip, now, if that’s okay?”

You nod, immediately putting your hands over your face. You know you could just squeeze your eyes shut like oh, maybe a normal person might? But to be honest, it was a little funny to do. To act this silly in front of one of the most effective killing machines in the galaxy, who you have somehow convinced to attend a quaint family dinner. Might as well mess around a bit with it, yeah?

You hear the hiss of the mask resealing but you don’t remove your hands from your eyes. “It’s good wine,” he remarks. “You can look now.”

Removing your palms from your face, you blink your vision back to clarity, reaching for your cup again. Your mouth is already growing warm in the way that let you know that when Mando meant good he also meant strong. You have to agree.

“The people on Am’ile’s planet would make this crazy strong liquor out of these peaches that only grew in the valley where we lived. The village that was closest to us got super wealthy off of the stuff--honestly I can’t stomach anything too sweet anymore after it, spent an equal amount of time coming up as it did going down, if you get what I’m saying.” You screw up your face at even the thought of the syrup-like drink. “The orchards were super beautiful, though. The tallest foliage in the valley and they were maybe only a few heads taller than you. All types of critters living in the roots—that little one loved it.” You gesture to the child, who was grabbing as much of the dish’s meat as he could in his stubby three-fingered hands. The rest of his plate remained untouched. “Am’ile and I used to take walks through it all the time, especially when I first got there. It was too dangerous to go into the forests by yourself so I would spend ages in the orchards if she wasn’t putting me to work, just for a change of scenery.” Your mouth kind of just keeps running. It just feels so… nice, to talk to someone without having to try and stutter your way through a new language. That and the liquid courage in your cup made you unapologetically chatty. “She had so many little trinkets and things from her travels as a Republic medic, but only like ten books tops, all on medicine. I literally have the things memorized at this point, they were the only things to read.”

“You could go back at some point, if you want. When there’s a lull in jobs I could probably drop you and the kid off, spend a few weeks with her while I keep hunting,” Mando casually picks up his glass again, and you automatically cover your eyes with your hands. You’re still smiling, just with a little weight behind it.

“No, no that’s okay. Am’ile would get in too much trouble with the locals, for good reason. It isn’t safe for them and—to be honest, Mando, I don’t think the kid could take being separated from you for that long,” you pause for a moment. “But that’s incredibly kind of you to offer, thank you. I mean that.”

His mask hisses back in place. You ease the index and middle finger of your right hand to peer at him playfully before lowering your hands again. It’s a gentle spar between the two of you, an easy rhythm to settle into.

“Your med-station,” he nods towards your table/bed set up, looking particularly messy in comparison to the hull you’d spent the day cleaning. “It’s…”

Your heart drops, ready for the scolding. “Ah—uh, I’m sorry.” You look down at your plate—even if he couldn’t see the heat rising to your face, you try to hide your embarrassment by stabbing at another bite of food. You glance up at him sheepishly. “It’s the only place on the Crest that’s tucked away enough, I didn’t want to get underfoot.”

“No, no.” He shakes his head. You swallow. “I like it. A good idea. It’s like a reminder whenever I leave, not to do anything too stupid.”

“Oh, well,” you’re not sure why that catches you off guard so much. You honestly had no idea he even processed your presence since you’d first moved in besides the occasional medical assistance you provided. “I’ll make sure to put the more intimidating syringes front-and-center the next time I organize it.”

And he laughs.

Well—so, okay. It’s not a full laugh, more like a few low releases of air, but there’s a clear smile behind it that you can definitely hear. It’s enough to have you slightly grinning to yourself the rest of the meal.

By the time you’re finished, you’re a bit hazy off the wine and incredibly sleepy. You lean back slightly and yawn, looking at where Mando has settled the kid on his lap. “Sometimes I wish I could just snap my fingers and he’d just go to sleep. There’s too much energy in that little guy.”

“I can take him for the night,” Mando is currently engaged in a gentle dance of keeping the little one’s hands away from the food you’ve portioned for the bounty hunter. It’s more amusing than it should be. “If you could just help me take this upstairs I’d be more than happy to.”

You nod, clamoring to your feet and grabbing his bowl as he climbs up into the cockpit with the kid. You follow and place his dinner on a clear spot on the console.

“Where are we going next?” You ask, glancing over the control panel as if you had any idea what all those flashing lights and strange looking scanners meant. You should really pick up a flight manual at some point, just for the basics.

“The last fob,” Mando sighs. “Canto Bight. This—this is going to take a while, just warning you now. I still have no idea how I’m going to pull this off.”

You nod, yawning. You’re still a bit tipsy. “Okay, well, I think I’m gonna go to bed. Good luck brainstorming.” The food sits warm and heavy in your stomach. It’s been a long time since you’ve felt this full. It’s nice.

He gives a small nod acknowledging what you said, then goes back to grumbling down at the control panel, pushing buttons and examining scanners. You lean down to kiss the kid goodnight from where he’s babbling in the co-pilot’s seat, then climb down the ladder and change into your night clothes, setting the lights in the hull to night-mode as the Crest rumbles into the sky. Climbing into bed, you wrap your biggest blanket around yourself, the chill of hyperspace already settling in the air.

You have a dream. A bad one. One you’ve never had before and don’t know if you’d survive again if you did. It starts with you already crying. It’s one of those full-body, hiccuping sobs that usually rouses you from your sleep before things gets too bad.

Mando is gone, so far gone not even the comlink your finger is hovering over would be an option. You know this because the dream starts with him calling you. When you answer, there is only the sound of a hard, driving rain.

You’re holding the child against your chest and he’s screaming into your ear but you know if you actually lift him away to look at him he’ll disappear into the rain, too, so you drop the communicator and turn and there’s blood all over the floor and you have to clean it, you do. You have to so maybe he’ll come back and so you’re here, mopping up the blood on the hull’s floor as the child wails the loudest you’ve ever heard him cry and you try to choke out reassurances through your own crying because.

Because the gore is on your hands and your elbows and on you and on the floor once its gone it’ll be okay it’s so dark but it’ll be okay and streaking across the front of you and your face where you’ve tried to wipe it away please go away because it looks just like when.

Looks just like when.

You wake up in the middle of screaming, gasping for breath, one hand pressed against the top of the table above you and the other curled into the mattress. It’s the first time that’s happened, waking up like that at least. The dreams are different each time and occur at different frequencies, but they always crescendo at the same point. Usually you just wake up, eyes slowly sliding open and fixing to whatever is directly in front of you as your vision slightly blurs. How banal it usually is, how banal it feels, adds to the cruelty. You’re mostly still able to go to sleep after, at least there was that.

Not this, though. This is that hand-scratching-at-your-own-throat kind of terror, the kind you’ve usually only seen in the holo-dramas. You haven’t had a nightmare like that for so long, so maybe the surprise of it is what made it so much worse—that it wasn’t just you. Maker, you can still hear the child’s squalling in your ears. That sound of raw, primal terror that—

You feel your stomach lurch. You scramble to the fresher, emptying the contents of your stomach into the toilet.

Half anxiety, half afraid to close your own eyes, the dull thrum of raw energy does little to calm itself once you manage to shove the door of the fresher close. You let the metal rim of the toilet cool your face as you sniff, scooting back to lean your back against the wall, pulling the sleeve of the sleepshirt you’re wearing up your palm to wipe your eyes.

A low voice says your name urgently. You look up, dazed for a moment, before the door is cracked open by four broad-knuckled fingers. Your hand flies out, catching the handle before Mando is able to pull it the rest of the way open. He barely has time to get his hand out of the way before you slam it shut again.

“I--sorry,” you croak. “Please um… please don’t come in here.”

“Are you okay?” His voice is rough with sleep. You cup your hands over your knees and lean your forehead down to rest against them. When you don’t answer, he speaks again. “Was it, was it about before? Before Am’ile?”

“I—I haven’t, for so—I haven’t… Before… It was…”

“I know. She told me, it’s alright, I wouldn’t have asked I just… I thought it was something you didn’t want to talk about but I--”

“I’m not a charity case,” it sounds snappier than you intended it to and has absolutely nothing to do with anything he’d just said. At this point you’re just talking to yourself, it seems like he knows that. “That’s not why Am’ile pawned me off on you. I’m okay, I didn’t need her supervision anymore. I’m, I’m okay. It’s taken a long time but I am now so I don’t know why--”

“No,” and he says your name forcefully, cutting you off before you can continue. He repeats himself, this time softly, before: “It’s alright.” Does his voice sound… warmer? Even through a layer of reinforced steel? “I want you to feel safe, here. Comfortable. I don’t care, it’s okay. I just thought you were hurt.” He clears his throat. “I have them too, the dreams. So you, you don’t have to worry about hiding it. Them.” You don’t know what to say, so you say nothing at all. Closing your eyes, you lean the side of your face into the door separating the two of you. It’s so silent on the other side you think he’s left, so when he speaks again it’s all the more surprising. “And she didn’t pawn you off. I need you. Here.”

Something in your chest does a complete backflip. Your stomach is fluttering so ferociously you have to clear your throat before continuing. “Okay. Yeah, um. Thank you,” you wince. “I’m gonna freshen up and then get the little one out of your hair—er, beskar.” Idiot idiot idiot.

“It’s alright, you didn’t wake him. If you want I can… I can sit with you, until you fall asleep.”

“Okay.” You say it softly. “That would be really nice, actually. Thank you.”

You quickly brush your teeth, then open the door the door slowly. Stepping into the hull and closing it behind you, you pad back to your mattress. He follows a few feet behind you quietly—it’s moments like these you’re grateful for his reserved nature. You don’t have the energy to try and brush things off by filling the silence with mindless chatter.

Kneeling beside your mattress, you wordlessly offering him an armful of your pillows. In the low light of the Crest’s night mode, the beskar helmet looks nearly featureless, save for the gleam of light that arcs up its surface as he looks down at what you’ve offered him.

“Could you—” your voice breaks. Heat rises to your face as you clear your throat again. “Is it okay if the kid um… slept with me? It was… some of it was about—”

“Yeah, of course,” Mando takes one of the pillows from the top of what you’ve offered him, tossing it at the ground of the opposing wall and then slipping out of sight as he goes into his bunk. He returns with a the child, standing above you as you crawl into bed, wrapping you blanket around yourself, setting up the pillows as you normally do for the naps you take together, preventing any accidental rolling-over. Mando crouches to place the kid beside you, then stands and settles where he’d dropped the pillow previously. You take a moment to look down at the child, running a thumb over the edge of his ear, before kissing his soft forehead where you normally do. He wrinkles his nose in his sleep, making a soft sound and twitching his ears before wiggling slightly to resettle. You rest your head back on your pillow. The specifics of the dream are already starting to drift away. It’s a small mercy, but it’s enough.

“Hey, Mando?” You lift your head, the low light reducing the man to a dark, featureless outline.

“Hm?”

“Would you mind if… um… would you mind if I just touched your hand? Just so uh… if I wake up I can know you’re there?” As the words spill out of your mouth, an unbearable heat rises to your face.

There’s the sound of him shifting, getting to his feet with a grunt. Then he’s right there, sitting with his back to the wall, just a few inches from the top of your head. Tentatively, you reach out your hand, resting your index and middle fingers against his palm. And it’s his palm, His palm, warm but rough with callouses, resting on the floor beside his extended leg just for you to be able to close your eyes, even for a little bit.

It takes a while but it works. Right as you drift back to sleep you think you feel his hand gently wrap around the fingers you’ve offered him. You really think you do.

a/n: thank you all for the engagement thus far !! it really means so much to me.

that said i am .,..... beyond excited about the next chapter for two reasons of equal importance: fancy parties and Very Jealous Mando. my favorite things 😌

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din and grogu #mando and grogu #grogu #reader insert #i'll be here in the morning #i'll be here in the morning ch.2 #fanfic #star wars fanfiction

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moonstruckbucky · 5 years ago

Text

The Recruit (7/?)

Summary: Becoming a SHIELD agent had been your dream and finally, you’ve achieved it. You’re at the top of your class in every field except one—hand to hand combat, and it doesn’t impress Captain Rogers in the slightest. Instead, it seems to convince him you’re useless, setting off a tense relationship between the two of you. In an effort to bridge the gap, Bucky offers to help you train to earn your way back into Steve’s good graces. What could possibly go wrong?

Pairing: Steve Rogers x fem!Reader x Bucky Barnes (not Stucky)

Warnings for Chapter: Nothin’ but fluff and soft, squishy Bucky. A bit of amgry Steve.

Notes: So... hi? It’s been a few months since the last update. I needed to step away for a while. Things were getting a little too heated here and it was really affecting how I felt about writing. And I hated that, quite frankly. I hated that I allowed people’s attitudes to get to me so bad it tainted one of the loves in my life. So. To the negative energy around here? Here’s a big middle finger. I’m not done yet. Clean up your act, and remember that all of us providing free content are fucking people. Y’all are getting a new, less bullshit-tolerant version of me. Smarten up.

Also, enjoy! x

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

When the quinjet touches down, you’re swept into the conference room to debrief the mission’s success. Sam, again, lets you take the lead in running down the mission, detailing the information hidden on the flash drive you’d managed to retrieve that contained the names of higher-ups within the organization. A quick cross-reference reveals their pasts associated with HYDRA, and Director Hill congratulates you on a job well done.

You can’t help but preen, a warmth in your chest that spreads outward. Your fellow agents grin proudly, offer their congratulations yet again, and Sam smirks like the proud mentor he is in the corner of the room, still adorning his wingsuit. Though Hill grants you a small crooked smile, she’s quick to express that your mission report is due by eight the next morning, fully completed and as detailed as possible, before the room is dismissed.

A few of the agents pull you into conversation out in the hall, complimenting you, asking advice. It’s strange - you’re as green, or greener, than some of these other agents, and yet they’re flocking to you. You thank them for their praises but ultimately brush them off - you’re sure any one of them would have been able to perform the job as well as you had.

It takes some effort to get away, your desire to get to Bucky, to see and talk to him, overwhelming you. Despite being in desperate need of a shower, you decide to forego it and head to the elevator. You scrape your nails through your hair, tousle it, and smooth it down, adjust your uniform. There’s a nick in the left sleeve from a wayward knife blade, and your boot is untied. Sweat caked to your hair and exhaustion in your eyes, but you’re determined.

Bucky’s floor is empty, his door closed. Soft music plays from behind the wood, and you rap your knuckles three times. It takes a moment, but the music stops, and you can hear Bucky’s footsteps scuffing across the carpet as he nears the door.

The surprise is clear on his face when he takes you in, and it’s quickly shrouded by worry as those eyes of his, so bright and blue, rake over your form. He tugs you into his room, your feet getting tangled together, and you nearly get acquainted with his floor.

“Bucky!” you squeak, and then his hands are...everywhere. Running over your arms and legs, pressing for bruises or breaks or fractures, and while your face heats up under his scrutiny, you still manage to get a grip on his hands.

He stills, eyebrows still pinched in worry, a doubtful frown creasing his forehead.

“I’m okay,” you tell him softly, offer a smile that helps to drive the point home. “Mission was a success, no injuries, we’re all fine.”

You feel hot under his eyes as he gazes at you, hard and unwavering, until whatever he sees is enough to convince him. He nods sagely and takes a step back, taking his warmth with him. If he notices the slight shudder of your shoulders, he says nothing.

“I, um, I actually wanted to talk to you...about this morning.”

At that, Bucky withdraws a little. Crosses his arms over his broad chest and paints on a steely facade of indifference. It makes your stomach drop, but you plough on.

“I’m sorry I ran.” Even a highly-trained former assassin can’t hide the fact he’s taken aback by your statement, and it gives you the momentum to continue. “I got into my head and I...I panicked. I thought I was taking advantage—” you ignore his snort— “and that it would look like I was trying to...to sleep my way up the ranks. And so I ran. But I had some time to think and I owe you that apology. If I embarrassed you, or humiliated you, or made you think I was rejecting you… I’m sorry.”

As you’d spoken, Bucky had taken some steps forward, a teasing smirk curling his mouth. His chest inches from yours, he leers down at you, and it takes a strong willpower not to lean into him. He lowers his head until his mouth is just centimeters from yours, his warm breath brushing over your cheeks and his eyes keeping yours locked in their trap.

A cornered animal, but running is the last thing you want when he’s looking at you like this.

“You really think you could take advantage of a super-soldier?” comes his lilting, velvet voice. It washes over you like a blanket, raising gooseflesh beneath your uniform and yet hiking the temperature up a thousand degrees. Something low in your belly curls, squeezes, makes your blood race.

You tilt your face, let your lips brush over his as you speak, “I think I can be very persuasive.”

A slight upward curl of his smirk and then he’s kissing you so deeply you have to tilt your head back. Much like in the gym, everything is Bucky. His mouth is soft but unyielding against yours, so fluid it feels like a dance you’ve done a thousand times. Sighing against his mouth, you sink into him, and he hums in reply.

His body is hard and hot where he pulls you in, his flesh hand scorching your skin even through your catsuit. The gunmetal hand cups your jaw, thumb presses into the bone to coax your mouth open. Your knees buckle at the first glide of his tongue against your bottom lip, and you feel the muscles of his forearm flexing to balance.

Your fingers slide into his hair, kept down and smooth like it’s been freshly washed, curl around the strands and tug just enough to make him tremble and groan low in his chest. His teeth are sharp against your lower lip and you hiss, mewl when he soothes the sting.

When he pulls away, an audible noise between your parting mouths, you’re left breathless. A - mostly - innocent kiss that has you gripping his hair tightly just to remain upright. Chest heaving, you watch him, dark eyelashes like feathers over his cheeks, and then those eyes flutter open.

“I suppose that means I’m forgiven?” It’s breathier than you intend, but who could blame you after a kiss like that?

Cheekily, he smirks and shrugs. “Haven’t decided yet.”

A narrowing of your eyes and you tug again on his hair. His eyelids flutter again and that muscle ticks in his jaw as he clenches it.

“Careful, sweetheart,” he warns with a tilt of his head and a look that sets your blood on fire.It’s too warm in here, and your mind has poor timing in remembering you’ve got news for him. So you make the painful move of stepping back and lowering your hands to his chest.

“I spoke with the Captain,” you murmur, glancing away and letting your mind drift to earlier that morning.

Bucky’s eyebrows rise, and he walks backwards with you until the two of you can drop onto the couch. He pulls your legs across his lap, a move that’s so casual yet intimate it takes you a minute to recover.

“What happened?”

“He was waiting outside my room. And he apologized. For how he’s been treating me, that it wasn’t fair and he’d understand if I couldn’t forgive him.”

You groan a little under your breath as Bucky’s hands work over your legs, fingertips digging deep despite the material of the uniform. You catch the look on his face.

“You look surprised.”

“I am,” he admits. And then: “He clammed up pretty fast when I asked him about why he was being such a stubborn prick to you. I’m glad to hear he smartened up.”

“You talked about me?” The thought of the rigid Captain and Bucky discussing you puts a weird feeling in your belly - one you’re not sure is good or bad.

“We did. After he called you out in the gym. We were on a mission together and I tried to get some information out of him, but he wouldn’t say a word except to tell me to shut it. What did you tell him?”

You sigh through your nose, wince when Bucky digs into a tender spot on your calf. It’s almost jarring out at ease you feel with him. “Told him it’d take some time. I’d be civil, but that he shouldn’t count on us being friendly any time soon.”

He snorts. “Bet that sat just peachy with him.”

“He was actually quite accepting of it. I think he knew he didn’t really have any room to argue.”

Bucky hums thoughtfully, and a silence ensues for a little while. He’s stopped his massage of your legs, though he still keeps contact, both palms warm through the tac suit.

In the midst of the silence, a thought occurs to you, and you mumble, “He said I was a good agent. One of the best he’s seen.”

Bucky’s eyebrows rise again - it isn’t often Steve dishes out compliments of that caliber. He watches your expression carefully; sees that you’re zoning out a little bit, mind someplace else, but not too far.

“He’s not wrong,” he adds gently, pulling you back to the present. You turn your eyes to him, slightly awed and speechless. He nods, as if to reaffirm his opinion. “You are a good agent. You’re smart and quick, and you bust your ass here. You’re strong, and you don’t take shit, even from Steve - especially from Steve. You’re gonna go far, I’m sure of it. So I can tell you that that compliment? He means it.”

You purse your lips and sink into the couch, slightly uncomfortable with Bucky’s praise. You appreciate it, you do, but between his sincerity and the attention showered upon you by your fellow agents, it’s a lot to shoulder in just a day. Not to mention the mental whiplash courtesy of the Captain’s supposed heartfelt apology.

Bucky seems to notice the war within you, the shadow that’s suddenly passed over your face. With a gentle smile, he tugs you into his lap and stands, carries you easily to his bedroom. He sets you down on your feet, the carpet plush and soft. He reaches for the zipper of your suit, catching your confused leer.

“Relax,” he huffs, “not doin’ anything but getting you comfortable. I can see how tired you are.”

Shoulders drooping, you let him undress you until you’re down to the tank top and spandex shorts you put on beneath the suit. He steps silently to his dresser, a feat that amazes you given his sheer size, pulls open a couple of drawers. He drops some dark, soft clothing into your arms.

“I’ll let ya get changed.” He leaves his room, closes the door behind him, to give you some privacy. The thought makes your heart stutter.

You’re swimming in his clothes, a pair of heavy sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt that instantly surrounds you in his scent. It’s comforting, and you close your eyes and smile as you bury your nose in the collar. You feel awkward, though, standing in the middle of his bedroom. You glance at the bed - are you allowed there? He didn’t explicitly say no and yet…

Before you can worry too deeply, Bucky comes back with a mug clutched in his vibranium hand. The smell of green tea wafts into your nose as he gets closer, and the ceramic is warm when he hands it to you. You breathe deeply before the first sip, and you get a small hint of sweetness.

“Honey?” you question.

“Learned a thing or two since coming off ice. C’mon.”

He tugs once on the baggy sleeve of your shirt and climbs onto the bed, sitting up against the headboard with those long legs out in front of him. He helps you balance carefully, maneuvers you so that you’re tucked up into his lap, mug clutched tight between your hands.

He radiates heat, and a fog settles over you, a sleepy, honey-slow descent into exhaustion. You get halfway through the tea before you begin to doze; his metal fingers clink against the mug when he gently takes it from you, sets it on the nightstand, and shimmies down the bed while keeping you curled up against him.

It’s hours later when you wake. No light streams through the windows; you’ve slept through the rest of the afternoon and into the evening. The bed beside you is empty but warm from Bucky’s body heat, so he hasn’t been gone long. Still exhausted, you roll over, hug Bucky’s pillow to your face, and drift off again.

In the kitchen, Bucky swirls a glass of bourbon, leans against the counter. A tray with a couple of ham and cheese sandwiches rests on the counter behind him, a quick dinner for the two of you considering everyone else has turned in for the night. Steve sits across from him at the island, needing a break from endless paperwork and mission organization. He’d found Bucky bent over the counter, putting together the sandwiches.

At Steve’s questioning look, he’d said, “Y/N slept through dinner.”

And something sour curdles deep in his belly at the knowledge you’d slept - full context unknown - with Bucky. Found comfort in his best friend despite knowing he has no right. Not after the way he’s treated you.

“She said you apologized.”

Steve glances up at his friend, nods calmly. “Thought it was extremely overdue, and I didn’t really want her to leave because of me. Sam said she did well today, leading the team.”

“Bet that just ruffles your feathers, doesn’t it?”

Steve’s ready to retort, irritated, until he sees the gleam in Bucky’s eye, the smirk fighting to break through. He quickly deflates with a twitch of a smile.

“No, I’m...I’m happy to hear she’s not letting what I said get to her. I’m happy to hear she’s doing well.” It’s not a lie, but it’s said with a kind of hopeless tone that has Bucky tilting his head.

“When are you gonna tell me what all that was really about?” Bucky questions carefully. Sighing, Steve digs his thumbs into his eyes and shrugs. “Because even I gotta admit that isn’t like you at all. You always give people a chance before you have a bad opinion of them.”

“I don’t have a bad opinion of her…”

Bucky clenches his jaw, squeezes the glass in his hand. “You were on her ass from day one, pushing her and humiliating her when she didn’t meet whatever imaginary standard you’d set for her. She’s a rookie, Steve, she’s learning, and she’s learning fast if you ask me.”

He knows Bucky is right, yet his words paired with that acrid feeling in his stomach makes him scoot back from the island and turn to leave the room. Bucky calls his name, frustration and almost disbelief evident in his tone, but he ignores it.

He knows he’s being petty and stubborn and unreasonable, but he can’t help it. He’s normally not the type to run away from a fight, but how could he tell Bucky his true reason for his behavior? How could he tell his best friend that the girl he’s into reminds him of the very one she replaced? That her determination and confidence sent his heart hammering in his chest the very first day he met her?

….That he’s into the very same woman Bucky is?

Steve scrubs a hand over his face with a grunt as he stomps back to his room. That nauseous feeling still bubbling in his belly, he paces. He needs something to do, something that doesn’t require him to think, where he can shut his brain off. An idea crops up, one he knows is bad, but he can’t seem to stop himself from grabbing a jacket and exiting his room again.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #steve x bucky x you #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve x reader #steve x you #steve x you x bucky #steve x reader x bucky #the recruit

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chaoticpuff17 · 4 years ago

Text

A Dangerous Game

part 27

masterlist

“Mr. Tuan.” She breathed out in surprise eyes wide as she took in the sight of the man before her. “I was under the impression that you were no longer allowed inside the estate.” She raised a brow but continued snipping flowers from the bush. She’d taken to helping in the garden in to alleviate the boredom found by her newfound lack of babysitters.

Namjoon had been on cloud nine ever since the wedding. It had been a peaceful few weeks. With Namjoon having everything he wanted he had even eased up on the security directly surrounding her. With his new legal hold over her and the chip in her neck, he found no reason to keep her constantly surrounded. But that was not to say that security around the estate had gotten lax. Security around the wall of the estate had been increased. Even if she had no guard with her, she was well guarded.

“I was supposed to be smoothing things over with RM after Jackson caused a scene at the wedding. Your husband wasn’t happy with us you know.” Mark shrugged flashing her a charming smile as he leaned against the wall of the house.

“I would think that you would try talking to him at his office. He’s not at the house today.” She laughed as she stared him down. “And as far as I’m aware you’re not allowed to be here.”

“I’m not.” He grinned. “But Jackson wanted to know if you were doing alright.”

“I’m fine.” She huffed clipping a flower more aggressively than she needed to. “You can tell him that.”

He shrugged pushing off the wall and taking the shears from her, setting them down on the patio table. “You’re really fine? Because last time I talked to you, you were asking me to sneak you out of here.”

She had to stifle a laugh at that. It seemed like a lifetime ago that she’d asked the stranger in the garden to help spirit her away. “Haven’t you heard? It’s in your best interest that I stay here.”

“Is it in your best interest?” He asked offering her an arm which she took as he began to lead her into the garden. She was sure the walk wouldn’t last long though. One of the maids would have reported their visitor to Miss In by now, and Miss In would tell security if not Namjoon himself.

“I don’t think I get a say in that anymore.” She sighed staring up at the leaves. They were just beginning to change. “I’m married now. He won.”

“I don’t believe that for a second.” He mused. “From what Jackson says, you’re far too tenacious to give up without a fight.”

“Marriage seems a little final, unless you’re telling me to murder my husband.” He made a face as if saying, ‘well are you?’. “He keeps all the weapons locked away, especially after I accidentally stabbed him.”

“Highlight of my year.” He laughed leading up the bridge over the koi pond. “So how long do we have until the cavalry comes to kick me out of here?” He whispered conspiratorially.

“I would think about two minutes.” She nodded laughing as they both settled to lean against the railing looking down at the koi. “You’re crew isn’t very popular around here.”

“What about you?” She looked to him in confusion. “Am I popular with you?” He clarified waggling his eyebrows at her.

“I don’t really know you, but you’re friends with Jackson, and I don’t really like him right now. That being considered, I’m going to have to say no. So sorry.”

“I can’t blame you for that. You know he really did want to get you out of here. JB had other plans though.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that he’s a liar.”

“I guess it doesn’t.” He sighed running a hand through his hair. “I am sorry about it, you know. But you have a pretty sweet set up here.”

“Yes, because the inability to leave the house is every girl’s dream.” She rolled her eyes sarcastically.

“Still not allowed out?” He asked surprise coloring his tone. “I would have thought he’d have eased up on the house arrest after the wedding. Doesn’t he have guards with you all the time?”

“No babysitter anymore, but house arrest is still in full swing.”

“Y/N.” Hoseok called storming over to them his eyes narrowed dangerously and zoned in on Mark.

“Hoseok.” She greeted smile turning strained as the man reached them.

“Tuan.” He growled. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“I’m going.” He backed away raising his hands in surrender though there was a Cheshire grin on his lips. “I’ll see you around, Mrs. Kim.”

Hoseok watched him go remaining stoically at her side watching the other man like a hawk until he disappeared from sight. “Namjoon wants you to join him for dinner tonight.” He told her once he was sure Mark was gone.

“I join him for dinner every night.” She pointed out confused by why tonight it had to be requested.

Hoseok sighed clearly annoyed by her lack of understanding combined with finding her fraternizing with the enemy. “He wants you to join him at a restaurant.”

She froze, her face the picture of shock. Namjoon wanted her to leave the estate to go to dinner? It didn’t seem possible. He never wanted her to leave her gilded cage. “You’re sure we’re talking about the same Namjoon?” She questioned brows furrowed.

“He asked for you to join him. Do you want me to tell him you refuse?” He asked quirking a brow at her.

“Am I allowed to refuse?”

“Not really.” He shrugged unbothered by the obvious lack of choice she had in her marriage. Namjoon was happy, and that was what mattered to Hoseok even if that happiness cost the freedom of someone else.

“Well then I suppose I should get ready then.”

Leaving the estate was slightly surreal. It was the first time she had been somewhere other than on the run or to Namjoon’s headquarters. He was far too paranoid to let her out of the house when she’d proven herself to be a flight risk on more than one occasion. Granted her odds of escape were slim to none when Hoseok was with her. The man wouldn’t hesitate to put a bullet in her leg if it meant keeping her by Namjoon’s side.

But it was a relief to be outside the walls of the estate. She had begun to get a little stir crazy especially with no Jungkook to keep her distracted, Yoongi to play piano with, or Jin to play narts with. There were only so many activities to keep her occupied in the estate. She was almost beginning to miss having babysitters, which was worrying on so many more levels than she was willing to analyze at that moment. But she was thrilled to be outside of the estate, and that was what she was choosing to focus on.

Of course Namjoon had thought ahead, and she wasn’t going to be in the presence of anyone she could ask for help. Hoseok had led her directly to a private room when they’d arrived at a restaurant that was much fancier than she was used to going to, but she shouldn’t have expected anything less than excellence when it came to Namjoon.

He was sitting there waiting for her when Hoseok ushered her in.

“Y/N.” He smiled standing from his seat to come greet her placing a light kiss on her lips. “You look lovely, jagi.” He removed her coat handing it to Hoseok before leading her to her seat and pushing her chair in. Always the gentleman.

“What’s the occasion?” She asked unfolding her napkin and placing it across her lap before turning her gaze back to him.

“We’ve been married for a month, jagi.” He grinned happy as a clam. “I thought we should celebrate.”

A month. It had been a month since the wedding, and she hadn’t even realized. “I see.” She gave him a shaky smile trying to keep the peace though her fingers were nervously plucking at the napkin on her lap.

How could a whole month have gone by without her realizing it? Had she become that complacent with her situation? A whole month of mindless married life had gone by, and she hadn’t even noticed. Every day was the same as it had been for months with the exception of now Namjoon had a free pass for affection and sex, and oh was the man insatiable.

It was like someone had opened the floodgates. It sometimes came to the point where she didn’t get any sleep. She didn’t know where he got all the energy between making her life hell and running his criminal empire. The saving grace of it was that Namjoon was an exceptionally good lover. He always had her seeing stars. The worst part was that she couldn’t even pretend that she didn’t enjoy the sex, and his self-satisfied smirk didn’t help quell her fury.

“I honestly didn’t think I would be allowed outside the estate.” She chuckled nervously trying to look anywhere but at his eyes. This all felt far too similar to their first meeting with the exception of this time she was wearing actual clothing instead of being shoeless in a nightgown. But the dinner, the ambiance, it was all so similar to that first night.

“You’re not a prisoner, jagi.” He scolded lightly. “You’re my wife, and I don’t want you to feel trapped.”

“I haven’t left the house in weeks,” She pointed out. “And the last time I did so was for a meeting with GOT7. And before that I hadn’t left the house since you kidnapped me.” She chose to ignore the way that Namjoon’s jaw tensed in annoyance. “There’s not another word for it. It was kidnapping.”

“When you’ve proven you’re not a flight risk, you’ll be allowed to leave the house, with supervision of course.”

“Of course.” She agreed keeping the brittle smile fixed to her face.

Namjoon sighed pinching the bridge of his nose. While he was pleased she was more like herself again, he had to admit he had not missed her barbs and false smiles. He’d enjoyed the weeks of her softer demeanor. She wasn’t quite as firey as she had been, but she had regained a fair bit of her former self, enough to argue with him again at least.

“I don’t want you to be unhappy, jagi.”

She sighed adjusting her smile so that it was a little brighter. “I never said I was unhappy.”

“But you’re not happy.”

Her smile dropped. “I’m trying.” She whispered shifting her gaze back down to her lap. “I’m trying to make the best of this, but you know this isn’t what I wanted from life. You aren’t what I wanted.”

“I know you’re trying.” He sighed leaning back in his chair. “I’m sorry, jagi. I didn’t mean to make you feel like you weren’t. Forgive me?” He asked eyes softening as he looked at her. “I can make you happy. All you have to do is give me the chance.” She quirked a brow as if challenging the statement but said nothing else though it did elicit another sigh from Namjoon. “I heard you had a visitor today.” He said changing the subject.

“I did.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll talk to the staff about keeping the riff raff out.”

“He didn’t mean any harm.” She sighed. “And at least it wasn’t Jackson.”

“Jackson will be shot without hesitation the next time he steps within a hundred feet of the estate.” Namjoon growled fingers clenched tightly around the stem of his wine glass.

“What about your alliance?” She asked carefully. Talking business was Namjoon would be moving into dangerous territory. He knew full well she had no loyalty to him, and telling her anything about the business would be a mistake on his part unless he succeeded in brainwashing her or she came down with a case of Stockholm syndrome.

He paused staring at her with distrustful eyes. He didn’t want her anywhere near his business. He loved her, of course he did, but he didn’t trust her, not with this. “Jaebum is fully aware that if Jackson comes anywhere near you again, I won’t be lenient.” She didn’t need to know that the alliance meant very little to him though. He would get rid of them as soon as he had the opportunity.

“Don’t.” She whispered staring down at her place, her eyebrows scrunched together as though she was contemplating something serious.

“What?” He asked almost disbelieving.

“Don’t shoot him. I may not like him right now, but I don’t want him dead.” She explained. “I owe him a lot.”

Namjoon bit his cheek trying to tamp down his annoyance. Jackson would definitely have to go. He didn’t like the thought of her caring for another man so much, or the fact that she cared for him so much after he betrayed her. The only one she should care for so much should be him, and he had every intention of ensuring that he would be. She was coming around, slowly, but she was coming around.

“I’m trying to do what’s best for you.” He smiled, wiping away his sour look. “I have something for you.” She looked at his cautiously. She very seldom enjoyed his gifts. Namjoon pulled a black velvet box out of his jacket pocket placing it on the table in front of her. It was too big to be earrings and not the right shape to be a bracelet. “It’s not going to bite you.” He encouraged amused by her hesitance.

She opened the box to reveal a necklace, simple but beautiful in design. It was a delicate silver chain that trialed down to a small diamond. From that point two far smaller chains descended to connect the first diamond to a second larger diamond though it to was delicate and understated in nature, and she had to begrudgingly admit that it was beautiful and that she loved it.

“It’s beautiful.” She murmured staring down at the piece of jewelry.

“I thought you might like it. May I?” He asked gesturing towards the box, and she nodded. Namjoon stood moving to stand behind her delicately moving her hair away from her shoulder before reaching for the necklace and clasping it around her neck. “Beautiful.” He whispered into her ear before placing a soft kiss just below it. “Just like you. Happy anniversary, my love.”

part 28

#bts #yandere bts #bts fic #bts rm #bts namjoon #namjoon #namjoon x reader #mafia namjoon #yandere namjoon #yandere #soft yandere #rm x reader #rm #mafia #mafia au #dark romance #a dangerous game #fanfic

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script-nef · 4 years ago

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Fluff alphabets | Kageyama Tobio

Others: Hinata, Oikawa, Tsukishima

Category: fluff

Affection: How affectionate is he? How does he show affection?

It depends on the location but he’s generally very affectionate and loving.

Not so good on the “confessions of love” or “love serenade” front but expresses them through little things he does for you.

Like picking up your favourite snacks on the way home or trying to teach you volleyball so you understand what’s happening when you visit his matches or practices. When you look into his eyes, there’s nothing but desire and love for you.

Baby: Does he want to start a family?

He wouldn’t mind and leaves the decision to you.

He’s not all that good with kids but there’s no doubt that he would try his best to be a great dad for his children.

*spoiler alert* So you know how his parents weren’t around all that much in his childhood? He doesn’t want that for his babies. He’ll make sure to be involved in his children’s lives and be as attentive as he can be. And hopefully play some volleyball with them.

Although to do that, he wants to put them off for a while because he’s currently incredibly busy as the best setter in Japan. He’s also thinking of you because you’re successful in your career right now and doesn’t want to take that from you.

Cuddles: Does he like cuddling? How often does he like hugging?

Poor boy is touch-starved and intends to never have you feel the same way.

Hugs you whenever he sees you: after matches, returning home, watching movies, cooking dinner and on and on and on.

He would rest his head on your shoulder or head and squeeze tightly. Or sometimes fiddle with your hair. And hope that you understand how much he loves you through these small acts of affection.

Date: What is a typical date?

It’s usually watching movies/TV shows or teaching him cooking. Since he’s entire childhood was volleyball-based, he missed out on classic shows like Doraemon, Pokémon and animes. So you try to help him become educated.

The food front is abysmal. There’s a theory that when he was born, his volleyball stats were maxed but everything else was sacrificed in its stead.

Other times it’s going shopping because he has an absolutely terrible fashion sense or doesn’t try at all. Everything is either black or grey so you try to give him some colour which works out perfectly because hello? Japan’s next top model is ready to be contracted over here. Effortlessly beautiful and catches everyone in the shop’s attention.

Experience: How much has he dated before? How does that reflect in this one?

You’re Kageyama’s first significant other!! *party blowers and confetti*

He was incredibly clumsy and confused when it comes to dating and being a boyfriend, but years of practice helped him. He regularly asked for what you wanted and expected from him and did his best to achieve that. And now he can understand your moods from the smallest signs.

He didn’t understand boundaries very well but as soon as you say something like “please stop”, he immediately leaps back and apologises. And he remembers what he did wrong so he never does it again.

Fight: Do you fight often with him? How does it usually end?

Fights don’t happen often and even then, it ends pretty quickly.

He can’t concentrate on anything if he knows you’re mad at him and tries to understand anything he did wrong to make sure those kinds of arguments never happen again. He goes around asking everyone for their help and opinion on the matter and tries to find the fastest way to fix the relationship.

If you did something wrong, he doesn’t back up. No matter how much he loves you, you have to apologise if you’re the cause. He is quite stubborn when he knows he’s in the right.

Gentle: How does he treat you?

In the beginning, he barely even held you because he didn’t understand how his strength should be adjusted for you. Slight paranoia of “what happens if I hurt them?” crept into his mind.

So when you asked if he didn’t like physical contact, he panicked and confessed his predicament. You laughed and said “I’m not a glass doll. Besides, if you don’t try, are we going to stay in this relationship with no touching at all?”

So after months of careful and tentative touches, he got a hang of it and is now completely gentle whenever he initiates physical contact.

Hand: Does he like holding your hand? How often?

Kageyama is fascinated by the size difference between your hand and his.

Holds your hand as frequently as he can and fiddles with your fingers. Often interlaces his fingers with yours and loves how your hand fits perfectly into his.

Impression: What was your first impression of him?

Not that great (Feat. Death glare and lack of vocabulary)

You visited one of his matches in high school and caught him just glaring at you with the most piercing eyes. It made you think “Does he hate me or something? I’ve never even spoken to or seen him before!”

Needless to say, it threw you off and made you kind of avoided him whenever you went to their matches. He was secretly dejected when you would slip away from his sight. He was just staring at you because you were so radiant and beautiful that it took his breath away.

Thankfully, after talking to the third years, the misunderstanding cleared and you started hanging out with him.

Jealousy: Does he get jealous easily? What sets him off?

He doesn’t get jealous easily because he trusts you and knows you love him with everything you have like he does for you.

Rare occasions where he gets annoyed is when you become a fan of other setters and praise them for their skills. He’ll sulk and say “I’ll beat them all so you can see I’m the best.”

Kiss: Is he good at kissing? When does he kiss you?

His kisses are soft but pretty long. Just spends the entire time pressing his lips against yours and doesn’t even dare to do more than that.

If you want to do deeper than that? Then you gotta start it, because this boy is too scared of making you feel uncomfortable.

Love: Who said “I love you” first? And when does he say it?

You. Definitely you. This boy was seriously too shy when the relationship started to give away anything.

He immediately replied “I love you too” once you admitted it.

Nowadays he says it before falling asleep, whispering against your ear.

Memory: What’s his favourite memory with you?

The first “date” you had with him, when he came over to your house for a tutoring session. You weren’t going out back then but it’s one of his most treasured memories.

It was his first time being alone with you and he thought about how perfect you were. How patient and understanding you were even though he couldn’t comprehend anything.

It was also the day he learned the most about you through your chatter after the session.

Nickname: Does he give you a nickname? Do you have one for him?

You have some for him like Blueberry, Prince Charming (in exchange for the King of the Court), volleyball dork and so on

He doesn’t have any for you. He prefers to call you by your name because he thinks it’s beautiful and most importantly, it’s your name. Would shorten it but he never calls you that in public. Our boy is too shy //^//

Open: How open is he about his feelings?

The weird thing about Kageyama is that once in private, he confesses his feelings for you like it’s a fact. No hesitation, no embarrassment, just his overwhelming love for you. In fact, it makes you blush a lot because of how unashamed he is.

But if someone else asks him about his feelings for you, he clams up. Sometimes he even refuses to look at the person and hides his face because of how red it became. He can eek out an incredibly quiet “I love them” and that’s it.

PDA: Is he fine with PDA? How far can he go?

He’ll turn into a flaming blueberry but tries to do it if you want to.

His limit is kissing on the lips. Hugging and hand-holding is “okay” but the edges of his ears will be tinged in red and hot to the touch. If you initiate the kiss, he becomes unresponsive and needs to rest for a while.

If someone manages to snap a shot of you two kissing and upload it for the world to see, he’s never going to live it down. He’ll be so embarrassed but also happy that the world can see how much he loves you.

Quirk: Habits or something he does which is unexpected?

He gives you manicures.

You asked him once when he was taking care of his nails and he responded with “do you want me to do yours?” and boom your nails have never looked better.

Does his best to make yours amazing and neat as possible, working at each cuticle with Bobby Fischer intensity. It’s to the point where you have to push his head away and say “Sweetie, your face is a centimetre from my nails.”

Expands his skills to painting as well. How he found the time, you will never know.

Relax: What activities do you do with him to relax?

Taking naps together. Kageyama runs on a tight and strict schedule which stresses him sometimes, so the best thing you can do with him is to take afternoon naps.

Just talk or sing quietly and he’s out like a light. He demands you sleep cuddled with him even if it’s in the blazing heat of summer. Even bought 2 fans to convince you that you would be fine while snuggling him.

Support: How supportive is he of your dreams? What do you do for him?

No matter what you do or what you want to do, this boy is there to back you up and encourage you every step of the way. Will try to help you even with limited knowledge with your work and tries not to bother you when working.

He loves it when you come to his matches and cheer him on. Every time he scores a point or sets a really good toss he turns to you at the end of the rally. Whenever you smile and wave to show your support he gets these explosions in his chest and it keeps him going no matter what.

Talk: What does he like talking about?

Most of his talk would be about volleyball (of course) or you.

Everyone knows he loves volleyball with his entire heart and most of his social life revolves around it. But for the first time in interviews or when chatting with fans, he would finally say something from his personal life if it has to do with you.

To you, he recounts all the things he did that day and how much he missed you when he comes back home.

Umbrella: What’s their favourite weather/season?

Kageyama likes cold winter days, preferably when it’s snowing. It’s the best when he wakes up with you and sheets of snow are covering the roads.

Making sure you’re warm, wearing hats and gloves, he would build snowmen and get into snowball fights with you. Due to his infuriating athletic prowess, he always wins and leaves you soaked from head to toe.

“Why cover me in all these layers if you’re going to drench me with snowballs?!”

“You’d get hypothermia if you don’t though.” (lmao does he even know what hypothermia is)

But he makes up for it with cuddles and hot chocolates

Vaunt: Does he like showing you off?

Not really. He doesn’t hide you from the world or deny that he’s dating anyone because he’s so proud of you and this relationship which impacts him in more ways he can express.

But at the same time, he doesn’t want your privacy to be invaded and therefore doesn’t give out personal information like names. He does, however, share bits like “they got a promotion” or “We tried painting together. It didn’t end well.” The viewers understand the extent of his love for you when they see him smile when talking about you.

World: Where does he take you for vacation?

He doesn’t really care for vacations but knows you like them. That’s why he listens and writes down all the places you said you want to go to, even if it’s in passing. Like Sapporo during the Snow Festival or the beaches of Okinawa. Paris or Hawaii.

And even places which he thinks you might like from all your previous comments and remarks.

X-ray: What happens when you’re injured or sick?

If it’s a physical injury, he knows how to take care of it due to his years of playing volleyball where he came into contact with tons of athletes getting hurt. Like sprains, pulled muscles, bruises and cuts—he’s got it under control.

If you’re running a fever, then he’s a bit more panicky. Searches up how to take care of someone who's sick and reads so much even though he might not understand all of them. Tries and fails to cook some soup or porridge but brings you lots of tea and medication.

He tries his best not to get injured or sick because he knows you’ll worry and doesn’t want to burden you :( But loves it when you nurse him.

Yearn: How much does he miss/pine for you when apart?

Because of his and your work, mornings and afternoons are spent apart and he doesn’t like it one bit, not at all. He’s always thinking about you and is restless if he doesn’t see or hear from you.

But he also doesn’t want to be overbearing or controlling. So he waits for you to contact first most of the time. If he’s had a bad day, then he’ll call you first.

Checks up on you a lot by messages and calls, receiving looks of surprise from all his teammates. He loves it when you send him videos of yourself telling him to cheer up and endure the time apart.

ZZZ: Does he have sleeping habits?

He’s a calm sleeper and doesn’t really move around when snoozing away. Tossing and turning, sure, but nothing more than that.

Besides, he’s pretty much anchored in place with you in his arms.

#kageyama x reader #kageyama imagine #kageyama tobio x reader #kageyama tobio imagine #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu!! imagine #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu!! headcanons #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#kageyama #kageyama tobio #fluff #alphabets #gender neutral reader

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wistfulcynic · 5 years ago

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all the perfect things (that i doubt)

SUMMARY: Zelena is defeated and Emma returns to her quiet life in New York with Henry, leaving Killian brokenhearted and her feelings for him unresolved. Three years later they meet again and quite a lot has changed—but will these changes push them further apart or help them find their way back to each other?

Canon divergence with no time-travel adventure.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY @ohmightydevviepuu! You are brilliant and amazing and a fantastic writer and a kind friend, and so to honour the anniversary of your birth I have attempted to fill this VERY LONG one-shot with all the things you like best. There’s angst and second-chance romance and people needing to sort their shit out before finding their way back to each other and angst and emotions and erotica and did I mention angst? There’s also Tinkerhook and Captain Cobra (implied, but very much there) and oh yeah it’s a 3B divergence. AND the title comes from a song! I’ll Be Good by Jaymes Young, which is just about the most Killian thing to ever Jones. I hope that it leaves your boxes thoroughly ticked.

Much gratefulness to @thisonesatellite and @katie-dub for invaluable suggestions and encouragement ❤️❤️❤️

Rated: M Words: 20k Tags: canon divergence, angst, smut, angst with a happy ending, minor mentions of suicidal thoughts

On AO3

all the perfect things (that i doubt)

Emma parked her bug in front of the red brick row house and got out, hiking her tight skirt inelegantly as she did and teetering a bit on her towering heels as she climbed the steps to the small porch. She went inside and shut the door behind her, then leaned back against it with a small sigh. It was weird being back in Boston after three years in New York—four, really, if you counted the year she and Henry had spent there without their memories—and she hadn’t quite adjusted yet. New York was pretty much home now, or at least that’s what she regularly told herself, and Boston was… well…

Boston didn’t feel like home but it did feel familiar, the uncomfortable familiarity of something—or someone—that knew her far better than she wanted them to. Emma didn’t like places that knew her too well any more than she liked people who did. It was one of the reasons she’d chosen to sublet a place in Brookline—that and the generous relocation allowance her bail-bonds firm was paying—and even though she had to drive into the city every day to help set up the firm’s new Boston branch, coming home every night to a place that wasn’t technically Boston offered at least a small respite.

She hung her keys on a hook by the door and kicked off her heels, flexing her toes in relief. It was only a six month placement, she reminded herself. Six months to get the new office up and running, then she could go back to New York and be comfortably anonymous again.

“Mom, is that you?” Henry’s voice called and Emma grinned, following the sound into the living room.

“Were you expecting someone else?” she teased, collapsing onto the sofa next to her son and putting her feet up on the coffee table. “How was the first day at the new school?”

Henry closed the book he’d been reading and turned to her, his face lit up with excitement. “Fine, fine, the school’s good and kids seem cool, but Mom! You’ll never guess.” He bounced in his seat, almost vibrating with eagerness. Even at fifteen Henry hadn’t lost the enthusiastic nature she’d found so hard to resist in the ten-year-old who’d first come to find her in this city. Despite his occasional bouts of teenage sullenness.

“Guess what?” she asked, smiling at him.

“Guess who my astronomy teacher is.”

“You’re taking astronomy?”

“I need a science and it’s better than chemistry.”

“Well, that’s true.”

“It’s also not important,” said Henry, impatiently refocusing the conversation back to his question. “Guess who my teacher is! You never will!”

“Um, Carl Sagan?”

“Mom, he’s dead!”

“Oh.” Dammit, thought Emma. She’d been pleased with herself for managing to come up with the name. “Um, who’s the other guy? Neil something Tyson?”

“Neil deGrasse Tyson, and no, come on, you’re not even trying.”

Emma sighed. “Henry, I genuinely have no idea. Why don’t you just tell me?”

“It’s Hook!”

“Hoo—what?” Emma stared at him as her heart stumbled then began to pound. He couldn’t possibly mean Hook Hook, could he?

“Captain Hook!” Henry confirmed, and Emma’s heart took off at a gallop. “He calls himself Killian Jones of course and he doesn’t wear the hook anymore but it’s still definitely him! I couldn’t believe it!”

“But I thought…” She took a deep breath to calm herself. “Isn’t he living in Storybrooke?”

“That’s what I said! I mean, I’ve never seen him there but I just kind of assumed. But he said no, he’s lived in Boston almost three years!”

“You—you talked to him?” Breathe, Emma.

“Well, yeah.” Henry shrugged. “It would have been rude not to. He didn’t exactly seem thrilled to see me, but he was nice. He said not to expect any special treatment in class though if I remembered what he taught me about using the sextant that one time it would be helpful. I mostly remember, so…”

Henry chattered on and Emma tried her best to listen but her mind couldn’t focus. She felt breathless and chaotic, buzzing with confusion and with a strange eager excitement. Hook is here, was all she could think. Here. Here in Boston. Where she was. Here. Close by. Possibly very close. Her heart felt like it was trying to escape her chest, and she pressed the heel of her hand against it.

He was Henry’s teacher. Hook was a teacher. She tried to imagine that and found to her surprise that it wasn’t actually all that difficult. Obviously he wouldn’t wear his pirate coat in the classroom like in the image her frazzled brain insisted on conjuring, but he’d always been so good with Henry, she could easily imagine him teaching other kids.

And he’s here, her brain kept reminding her. Here. Where you are. You can see him. You can see him. You can see him…

“…and he’s actually a really good teacher, he explains things so well.” Henry was still talking. “He says he teaches math too, I’m actually thinking I might try doing pre-calc with him, you know I wasn’t going to take that until we got back to New York, but I think he might be able to help me, and…”

“That’s great, kid.” Emma felt bad interrupting him when he was so excited but she couldn’t handle any more talking about Hook or thinking about Hook teaching Henry or about him talking to Henry or really just any thinking about Hook at all. “What do you want for dinner?”

Henry’s eyes lit with a different sort of enthusiasm and Emma hid a grin. How to distract a teenage boy 101: Offer him food, she thought.

“Pizza from Dino’s,” said Henry decisively. “But since that’s not possible, how about something Boston-y that we can’t get in New York?”

“Like what?”

“How should I know, I’ve only been here once. You’re the one who used to live here.”

“Um, baked beans? Clam chowder? Lobster roll?”

“Pah,” he scoffed. “I can get lobster rolls in Maine.”

“Well, how about clam chowder then?”

Henry looked dubious. “Okay,” he said. “I’m willing to try new stuff while we’re here. But if it’s gross, it goes on the list forever. Deal?”

Emma laughed. “Deal.”

…

Later that night when Emma finally gave up after hours of tossing and turning in her bed, kicked off the covers and went to her laptop, she knew what she was going to do. She didn’t exactly like it, but she knew it, and as she opened the website for Henry’s school she didn’t hesitate. She clicked on ‘Staff Directory’ and scrolled through the list of teachers’ names and then she caught her breath.

It wasn’t that she hadn’t believed Henry, just that in the first flush of shock at hearing his name again she hadn’t really been able to process the reality of Hook being here, in Boston, in a normal place with a normal job and presumably a normal life. Not until she actually saw his name, right there on the screen, with her own eyes.

Killian Jones. Mathematics and Astronomy. Latin Club. Debate Team.

With slightly trembling fingers she clicked on it, releasing the breath she’d been holding and gasping in another immediately after as her heart stumbled once more and began to pound against her ribs. The picture was in black and white and tiny, just a thumbnail, but it was unmistakably him. Still with the scruff though his hair looked neater, no eyeliner of course but he’d kept the earring—a small stud barely visible in the tiny photo. And somehow, somehow he still had that look in his eye… the one that promised excitement and adventure and fun… Emma squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head to clear it. When she opened them again the look was still there. His students must love him, she thought. What kid wouldn’t want a pirate as their teacher?

She closed the school’s website and opened the professional one she used to dig up information on her skips. Using it to investigate anyone else was unethical enough that she could be fired for doing it but she was prepared to take the risk. He was teaching her son, she told herself. She had information about him that the school district did not. She had to make sure he wasn’t still doing… pirate-y stuff. Yeah, that was it. That was the reason.

Ten minutes later she had his home address and cell number, his personal email and links to his social media accounts. Or rather, his account. Singular. He didn’t have Facebook or Twitter, which wasn’t particularly surprising she supposed, but he did have Instagram. She clicked on the link and a small smile curved her lips as her screen filled with images of the Massachusetts coastline.

He liked to take pictures of the sea. This was also unsurprising. But although various boats and ships featured prominently in many of his photos none of them were the Jolly Roger, and that did surprise her. What had he done with his ship, she wondered. Probably left it in Storybrooke; it wasn’t like he could sail a pirate ship around Boston harbour. Though he had sailed it to New York… She frowned. Hook loved that ship, it had been his home for literal centuries. Emma couldn’t imagine him just leaving the Jolly and moving someplace else.

It was just… weird, the whole freaking thing. Hook’s presence here, his job, the quiet life he seemed to be living, his absent ship. It was a mystery, and mysteries had never sat well with Emma. Before she could talk herself out of it she copied his home address and pasted it into Google Maps, and when the results appeared on the screen she gave a wry snort. He lived a few blocks away from her sublet. Because of course he did.

Good, she thought. It was good that he lived so close. That way, when she went to his house to confront him tomorrow she’d be able to walk there and pick up some dinner on the way home.

…

Hook, as it turned out, lived in a very nice house on a very nice street in a very nice neighbourhood. A very nice neighbourhood, Emma thought, looking around as she strolled down the sidewalk trying to look casual and not as out of place as she definitely felt. Quiet and well-kept, with tall trees and flowers and carefully tended lawns. Not at all the kind of place you’d expect would appeal to a fairy tale pirate.

His house was made of red brick in a sharp and tidy style, with white-framed windows and black shutters and a white portico with actual freaking columns at the top of the red brick steps. It was completely bizarre to think of him living there but also made an odd kind of sense. The house’s unfussy symmetry and clean colours gave it a nautical sort of air, and aside from a few shrubs on either side of the porch the lawn was neatly kept but bare. He’d always kept things neat, she remembered.

Emma’s heart was galloping again, her hand trembling as she rang the bell. She could hear it echo through the house and panic gripped her chest, and she wondered wildly if it was too late to turn around and run away. Then the door swung open and her mind went blank.

His eyes were exactly as she remembered them, as blue as the ocean he so loved and just as deep, their expression shuttered now but still compelling. Still beautiful. They stared at each other for a breathless moment as she scrambled to think of something, anything to say to him, then he stepped back and held the door open.

“Come in, Swan,” he said, and her heart beat even faster at the sound of her name in his voice, “I’ve been expecting you.”

“You—you have?”

“Aye.” He smiled wryly. “Ever since Henry appeared in my class yesterday. I knew your curiosity wouldn’t allow you to stay away for long.”

He ushered her into a living room that was as tidy as his cabin on the Jolly Roger had been, with broad-planked hardwood floors and one wall lined with bookshelves. A large, comfortable-looking sofa sat at the centre of the room and Killian gestured to it. “Have a seat. Can I get you anything to drink? Coffee, tea, beer?”

“Beer.” Emma latched on to the idea of alcohol like a lifeline. “I think I could use one.”

“Aye,” he replied. “As could I.”

He disappeared through a door in the corner of the room as Emma sank weakly onto the sofa and tried to calm her frantic heartbeat. A minute or two later Hook returned with two brown bottles, handed one to her then sat on the opposite side of the sofa and took a long drink from the other. Emma drank as well, surreptitiously studying him from the corner of her eye as she did.

He was wearing jeans. Well-worn, soft looking ones. And a t-shirt in a similar condition with ‘Boston College’ across the front in faded letters.

“Boston College,” she blurted, desperate to fill the stretching silence.

“Pardon?”

“Your shirt. Boston College.”

“Oh, aye.” He looked down and shrugged. “Where I studied.”

“But—you didn’t,” said Emma, feeling thoroughly off-kilter. “You couldn’t have. Did you?”

“Obviously I didn’t,” he replied. “But I have both memories and official documentation that says otherwise. Courtesy of Tink.”

“Tink?” Emma frowned, both at his words and the nasty tendril of jealousy that curled in her gut.

“Indeed. She gave me what I needed to start a new life in this realm. Much as Regina once did for you.”

“But—Regina did that for me as part of a curse. How did Tink… for you..?”

He shrugged again. “Damned if I know. I try not to ask too many questions where magic is concerned. We… rekindled our old companionship after you left. She knew I wanted to leave Storybrooke and once her magic was fully restored she offered to help me do that. The results are as you see. She gave me what she said was the same realm-specific knowledge Regina gave the Storybrooke residents she cursed, along with an identity and accompanying memories so I could get a job outside of Storybrooke.”

“But—” Emma’s head was spinning, the jealous tendril writhing like a snake. “Why did you want a job outside of Storybrooke?”

“There’s nothing for me in that town,” he replied, in echo of the last time they’d sat like this, drinking together. “Why would I stay?”

“Well… I mean…”

He drank again, deeply, and she tried not to watch his throat work as he did. “I saw an opportunity for a fresh start in a new place,” he said. “One that thinks Captain Hook is an object of ridicule with a perm and a waxed moustache.” He smirked wryly though anger flared in his eyes.

“You saw that, did you?”

“And read the book.” He drank again. “And as much as I may like to wring the neck of this J.M. Barrie, he did in a roundabout way afford me the chance to slip unnoticed into this realm and become someone new. And so I did.”

“I’ll say you did. A high school teacher?”

“And why not?” he challenged. “You’ve said yourself I’m good with children. And I enjoy it. It’s honest work, and rewarding.”

Emma shook her head, struggling to get to grips with everything he was saying and everything she was seeing in him. He looked so familiar; even with the drastic wardrobe change his face and his hair and his voice were all just as she remembered. But he was different. A kind of different that couldn’t be explained away by the knowledge Tink had given him or his new life. His face and eyes were so expressionless, his body language cool and distant. She couldn’t detect event the smallest hint of the flirtatious pirate who used to invade her space whenever he could, always challenging her, always understanding her, always watching her with that unnervingly intense focus—like he wanted to uncover every inch of her. That man seemed so thoroughly absent from the one now sitting opposite her that for a moment Emma wondered if she had imagined him.

“Well, you seem to be good at it,” she said brightly. “Henry can’t say enough good things about your class. He’s thinking of taking another one with you, actually. Pre-calculus.”

“Aye. I’ve already approved his request. He’ll start tomorrow.”

“So are you as good a math teacher as you are an astronomy one?” She made her voice light, teasing, edging into flirtatious, hoping to draw out the pirate—even just a brief glimpse of him, just for a moment. Hook’s face remained impassive.

“I do my job to the best of my ability in every class I teach,” he replied, then drained the last of his beer and set the empty bottle on the sea chest in front of the sofa. Emma sipped hers, feeling cold and confused and with a sharp ache of loss in her chest.

Hook leaned back against the arm of the sofa and gave her a hard look. “So is your curiosity appeased, then, Swan?” he asked. “Do I pass muster? May I be allowed to continue with my job and my life?”

She frowned, hurt by the harsh sarcasm in his tone. “I didn’t come here to—to investigate you,” she said, forgetting that this was the exact excuse she’d given herself for her visit. “I just wanted to see you.” I’ve missed you, she did not say. I thought maybe you’d missed me too.

“And now you have,” he replied. “Is that all?”

“I—I guess so.” Emma put her own beer on the table though the bottle was still mostly full. “I guess I’ll be going.”

“I’ll see you out.”

He could sound less eager about it, she thought, following him to the door. He opened it for her and she looked at him again, at this man so familiar and yet so strange, and realised that even though he was standing right in front of her she still missed him. She missed him.

On impulse she leaned in close and wrapped her arms around his waist, hugging him tightly and kissing his cheek. His scruff was surprisingly soft beneath her lips and she heard him catch his breath, felt him flinch as if to hug her in return then stop himself. She lingered as long as she dared before stepping back, and when she looked into his eyes again she caught her own breath.

There was the heat she’d started to think she had imagined. Heat and longing and that edge of danger that even a black and white thumbnail photo couldn’t disguise. In that split second he looked like he wanted to devour her, his breath hot on her cheek as he leaned closer, his eyes blazing with everything she had missed about her pirate.

Then he blinked and his eyes were shuttered again. He grabbed her arms roughly, pulling them from around his waist and shoving her away, towards the open door. “Well, thanks for stopping by, Swan,” he said, not looking at her. “So nice to see you again. Tell Henry I said hello and not to forget his astronomy homework. Goodbye.” He shut the door behind her and she heard the click of the lock turning.

She fought the urge to cry all the way home.

…

Killian leaned back against his front door and slowly slid down it, squeezing his eyes shut and letting his head drop into his shaking hand. Tremors racked his body and his chest was so tight he struggled to draw in gasping breaths.

Three years. Three years since she’d left Storybrooke, left him, returned to the life she’d had when she couldn’t remember him and never looked back. Three years since she’d shattered his heart.

Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, he thought bitterly, she walks into mine. He should have taken that job in Montana instead. Emma would surely never show up there.

Of course, he hadn’t thought she’d show up here either, not in this city she’d already lived in and left. Emma wasn’t the sort of person to go back to places—or people—she’d put behind her. He’d thought he was safe here.

It seemed he’d thought a lot of things that weren’t actually true. That he could withstand seeing her again, for one. That he was prepared. He’d coached himself, steeled himself, buried his feelings deep and locked them away. And all it took was one brief press of her body against his, one gentle brush of her lips across his cheek to break right through his carefully constructed defences and reduce them to dust.

Tears prickled behind his eyes and he blinked them angrily away. He would not weep over Emma Swan, he told himself firmly, not again. Not today. Instead he would pull himself together again just as he had in Storybrooke, as he did every time thoughts of her overwhelmed him, and he would get on with his life. Now that she’d seen him surely her curiosity would be assuaged and she wouldn’t return. He could find his peace again.

…

The next morning Killian walked to work, a thing he did as often as possible. It wasn’t that he disliked driving, quite the contrary in fact. Cars, in keeping with many of the mechanical innovations of this realm, fascinated him, and aside from his house his car was the one possession in which he had truly indulged.

In the staid upper-middle-class neighbourhood where he lived his sleek gunmetal-grey Aston Martin was almost acceptable, not outrageous enough to give his neighbours anything to actually complain about but more than sufficient to irk them in a way they couldn’t quite articulate when he zipped along their tree-lined streets with the top down. Had they known that the money he’d used to buy it was ill-gotten pirate treasure magically converted into the currency of their realm, they would have been even more displeased. The thought of that delighted Killian nearly as much as the car herself.

And his car did delight him; the powerful hum of her engine and the way she responded to the smallest twitch of her wheel was the closest thing he’d yet found in this world to standing at the helm of the Jolly Roger in full sail. He’d purposely chosen a convertible for the feel of the wind through his hair, and as often as possible he took her out of the city, driving far too fast along quiet country roads and almost hoping the local police would catch him doing it.

Once a pirate always a pirate, at least in some small ways.

But still he preferred to walk to work. Idling in traffic was an insult to his car and a waste of her skills and anyway the walk was not a long one—hardly more than a good stretch of the legs, as Liam would have said. It took him barely twenty minutes along the shortest route and less than half an hour even if he stopped for coffee first.

That morning, he stopped for coffee. He’d not slept well, too plagued by thoughts of Emma and then by dreams of her to manage any real rest. His eyes felt gritty and his head ached, and though the walk in the brisk morning air cleared some of the cobwebs from his brain it hadn’t made much of a dent in anything else.

He ordered his usual black coffee and a not-so-usual blueberry muffin. The intense sweetness of breakfast foods in this realm he didn’t generally care for but this morning he needed a boost of something and sugar seemed as good a thing as any, despite the inevitable mid-morning crash it would bring. There were always donuts in the staff room, perhaps later he’d finally give one of those a try. Anything to get him through this day.

He took his coffee and the bag with the muffin from the barista with the best approximation of a smile that he could manage and wished her a good day. She blushed.

“Thank you, sir,” she said, and Killian shook his head as he turned to go. When had it come to pass that he, the erstwhile Captain Hook, was referred to as ‘sir’ by sweet and blushing young women? Probably right about the time he’d stopped calling himself Captain Hook.

Still, the blush and her shy smile brightened his mood and he was just thinking that perhaps this day might not end as dreadfully as it had begun when he walked through the cafe’s outer door and straight into Emma.

Coffee sloshed from his cup and onto his hand and he barely managed not to drop it or his muffin as he caught her around the waist with his prosthetic before she could fall, hissing in a breath at the feel of her pressed against him for the second time in less than twenty-four hours. She gave a small cry and grabbed his shoulders for balance, her eyes wide and startled.

“Hook!” she gasped.

“Killian,” he snarled, using the arm around her waist to steer her out of the path of the other people trying to get into the cafe. “I’d prefer it if you didn’t use that name anymore, particularly not in public,” he hissed, low for her ears only.

“What, you think someone’s going to recognise you?” She smirked. “You don’t have enough hair for that.”

“This isn’t a joke, Swan,” he said harshly. “I’ve left that man and his name behind me, and I don’t particularly care to be reminded of them.” Her fingers flexed on his shoulders and with a start he realised that they were still standing close together, his arm tight around her waist. He released her and stepped back so abruptly she stumbled, and cleared his throat before he spoke again. “What are you doing here, anyway?” he asked, though he had a terrible suspicion he already knew the answer.

“Getting coffee,” she replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “This place was recommended in all the neighbourhood guides.”

Neighbourhood bloody guides. “So you live nearby, then,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Yep. About three blocks that way.” She gestured vaguely behind her. “I’m working in Boston, though. Setting up a new office of my bail bonds firm. What about you?”

“You know where I live.”

“Yeah, but I mean are you headed to work already? Isn’t it a bit early?”

“The school day begins at 7.30, Swan, as I would expect you to know, being the parent of one of my students,” he said shortly. “And I am now officially running late. If you’ll excuse me.” He turned to go.

“Killian.” Emma caught his arm and he flinched, both from the feel of her hand on him and the way she said his name.

“What?” he snapped.

“Can we—look, can’t we just—”

“Spit it out, love.” He risked a glance at her, his fingers tightening on the muffin bag as their eyes met.

“Can’t we be friends?” she burst out. “Please?”

He stared at her for an incredulous moment and then the fury he’d been so carefully holding back exploded in his chest. He rounded on her, backing her up against the fence of the cafe’s outdoor seating area, keeping his voice low so as not to draw attention, spitting the words in her ear.

“No, Swan, we cannot be friends,” he hissed. “We have never been friends.”

It was far too tame a word, he thought, too tame a concept to ever encompass the complex tangle of emotions that Emma inspired in him. They had always been both more than friends and a good deal less, and as far as Killian was concerned she’d thrown away the more when she turned her back on him three years ago. The less was all that remained.

They were standing much too close again, close enough that he could see the flecks of gold in her eyes and hear the rasp in her breath and he was so tempted, so bloody tempted to give in. To agree to be her friend and anything else she wanted, to accept whatever scraps of affection and attention she was willing to spare him and be grateful for them. But he’d accepted those terms before and they had all but broken him.

With a massive effort he reined in his anger and stepped back, drawing a deep breath to calm himself. “As it appears that we are neighbours of a sort, I don’t doubt we’ll see each other around,” he said. “When that happens I will nod politely to you and exchange pleasantries about the weather and Henry’s progress in school and perhaps the latest performances of Boston’s various sports teams. Beyond that I can’t imagine that we would have anything to discuss.”

He spun on his heel and stalked away, leaving her leaning against the fence, trembling and once more on the verge of tears. She stared at the door of the cafe for a long moment before turning away, no longer hungry but with an aching emptiness inside her that she had no idea how to fill.

…

As he had predicted, Emma ran into Killian everywhere she went, or at least that’s how it felt. After their third encounter at the cafe—each at a different time—she’d started arriving early and lurking in her car until she saw him leave before venturing in herself. Even with that precaution she still spotted him at the grocery store and at the bank, and at the only pizza place in town Henry deemed acceptable as a temporary stand-in for Dino’s. He was everywhere she turned, nodding civilly at her each time they met and making a bland remark, his face and eyes so expressionless it made her want to claw at something. Preferably at him.

Finally after two awkward weeks Emma found a welcome distraction, a temporary one but at least it was something to take her mind off Killian for one night: a skip that was a perfect target for a honey trap of the kind she hadn’t pulled in far too long. Anticipation buzzed in her veins as she approached the restaurant where they were set to meet, a swankier one than she usually preferred for these sorts of things but the skip was a banker who was clearly out to impress.

Emma was out to impress too, in a dark red strapless dress that hugged every curve and heels that made her legs look endless. Her hair was perfectly curled and her makeup on point, and she flashed a smile at the doorman as she strode in, feeling slightly reckless and more confident than she had in some time, and completely failing to notice the woman standing just inside the doors until she’d bumped into her.

“Oh, sorry!” she said, catching the woman’s arm as she stumbled. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

“No problem,” replied the woman with an apologetic laugh. “I probably shouldn’t be standing in the doorway, but my boyfriend’s running late which is really not like him, and I’m not entirely sure what to do with myself while I wait.”

She was a very pretty woman in a wholesome sort of way, with golden brown hair and dark blue eyes, and a warm smile that Emma couldn’t help responding to.

“Well I hope he turns up soon,” she said, smiling back.

“I’m sure he will,” replied the woman. “Have a great night!”

“You too.”

The skip was waiting for her at the bar, with a martini for himself and a glass of white wine for her. Emma ground her teeth behind a brilliant smile. Men who ordered for women without consulting them were the worst kind of assholes. She was going to enjoy nailing this fucker’s balls to the wall.

“White wine!” she exclaimed, settling gracefully onto the barstool next to him and crossing her legs, making sure a generous portion of thigh was on display. “How’d you know?”

“I know what the ladies like,” he replied with a smirk he probably thought was charming.

“You sure do.” Emma picked up the wine glass and took a sip, not missing the way his eyes lingered on her mouth as she did. She set the glass down and ran her fingertip along its rim, looking up at the skip through lowered eyelashes. “So tell me about yourself,” she cooed.

“Well, I work for the biggest bank in the city…” he began, and Emma widened her eyes in feigned interest. From the corner of one of them she caught sight of the woman from earlier approaching a small table not far from the bar, accompanied by a dark-haired man who had his hand at the small of her back and was leaning down to whisper in her ear. Emma smiled to herself, glad that the woman’s boyfriend had finally showed, and then she got a good look at him.

Killian.

Emma’s heart stumbled and she froze, her eyes fixed on the couple as they arrived at their table. The woman was holding a pink rose, sniffing it with a soft smile as Killian pulled out her chair for her and kissed her cheek as she settled into it. He spoke a few words to the hovering waiter who nodded eagerly and scurried away, then sat down next to the woman and took her hand, lacing their fingers together and murmuring something that had her blushing and sniffing the rose again.

My boyfriend’s running late… my boyfriend… boyfriend… the woman’s words rang in Emma’s ears as she watched them. They looked comfortable together but still with an undercurrent of excitement, like the relationship was new but not too new. Killian must have been dating this woman for at least a few months. Long enough for her to know that it wasn’t like him to be late, and not to feel insecure when he was. Long enough for her to casually call him her boyfriend.

The waiter reappeared with a bottle of wine and a small vase for the rose. The woman laughed when he set it down in front of her and the look she gave Killian made Emma’s heart ache. The waiter poured their wine and they clinked their glasses together, then settled into what appeared to be easy and pleasant conversation.

Killian looked… not precisely happy, Emma thought. But he looked content. Relaxed and at ease in a way she’d never seen him be before. He smiled often as the woman spoke and there was no flirtation in it, no smirk or leer or defensiveness. Just simple smiles from a man enjoying the company of his date.

“Hey,” said the skip, snapping his fingers in front of her face. “You’re not even listening to me.”

“Sorry.” Emma dragged her eyes away from Killian and tried to focus on her mark. She needed to stay sharp to spot the moment when she could jump in and cuff him with the least amount of fuss. It would be better if she could get him outside first; he looked like a runner and although she’d taken the precaution of clamping his car she didn’t really want to cause a commotion in a restaurant this nice. He started in again boasting about his job and she did her best to appear attentive but she couldn’t keep her eyes from darting back to Killian. That woman had seemed so nice, sweet and friendly and she didn’t even know who he was, thought Emma with a burst of anger. She didn’t know anything about him, not about his past and the terrible things he’d done… or about the losses he’d suffered… the way he could read her like an open book… how he used to look at her… the way he kissed…

Oh she knows exactly how he kisses, whispered a nasty little voice in the back of her head. And a lot more.

Emma snarled at that thought, clenching her fist on her wine glass so hard that the stem snapped and its jagged point sank deep into her palm.

“Ow!” she cried, loudly enough that several people at the neighbouring tables turned to stare. She didn’t look at Killian—she couldn’t—but she could sense his eyes on her and for a crazy moment she wished she still had magic and could disappear in a puff of smoke.

“What the hell,” said the skip, glaring at her. “What is wrong with you?”

“Nothing! I just—it just broke.”

“You’re bleeding everywhere.” His lip curled in disgust but he made no move to help her.

“Sorry,” she said. “I—I’m sorry.”

“Fuck this,” said the skip, tossing back the rest of his drink and standing up. “You’re really hot but no lay is worth this much effort.” He tossed some money on the bar and walked away.

“No—wait!” Emma tried to follow but as soon as she stood up a jolt of pain shot through her hand and made her woozy. Her wound was bleeding profusely now, dripping into the spill of white wine on the bar and turning it pink. The bartender was frantically trying to mop up the mess with one hand and waving a handful of cocktail napkins at Emma with the other.

“Ma’am…” he said faintly, “please don’t bleed on the upholstery…” Emma took the napkins and tried again to pursue the skip. She squeezed the paper against her palm in an attempt to stop the bleeding but her wound twinged agonisingly under the pressure and she stumbled, crying out again, and then a warm hand gripped her elbow.

“Swan,” said Killian’s voice in her ear. “Let him go.”

“No—he’s a skip—he’ll get away—”

“You can’t chase him down with a bleeding puncture wound on your hand,” said Killian impatiently. “Let him go. You’ll get him another day.”

Emma looked up at him, her head spinning from the combined effects of pain and blood loss, and his touch on her skin. He eased her back onto the barstool and she didn’t protest, sitting quietly as he took the napkins and dipped them into a glass of water he must have brought from his own table. Cradling her hand in his prosthetic one he gently dabbed the blood from her wound, easing out a tiny shard of glass that had been lodged within it.

“You should get this seen to properly,” he said, his voice deep and gruff. “But I suppose you won’t.”

“I hate doctors.”

“Very understandable, but it might get infected. At least wash it well when you get home.”

“In rum?” she challenged, hoping to rile him. He didn’t look up.

“No need,” he said. “A good antibacterial soap should do the trick.”

He finished rinsing the wound and set the used cocktail napkins aside, pulling a large cloth one from his pocket. She caught her breath as he wrapped it several times around her hand and secured the ends in a tight knot. His new prosthetic moved, she noted vaguely. Much more useful than a hook. No need to use his teeth.

“There,” he said, stepping back. “That should do it.”

Emma’s chest was aching, her mind whirling with how familiar and yet how strange this felt. Never, in all the times she’d thought of him over the past three years, not once had she imagined a situation in which Killian Jones didn’t flirt with her. Didn’t challenge her. Didn’t even fucking look at her. Flirty Hook she could handle, and cocky Hook. Even hot as fuck Hook breathless and wrecked after their kiss in Neverland she could handle. But this calm and controlled man who bandaged her hand without once looking at her face, this man she absolutely could not. She had no idea even what to say to him.

“I guess you think I should thank you,” she snapped. Her pain and confusion were too raw, too much for her to process right now. Anger was easier. It was hot and clean and she had more than enough to spare.

Anger flashed across Killian’s face as well and she felt a perverse thrill at the sight of it. Good, she thought, he should be angry. She wanted to make him furious.

“Don’t trouble yourself,” he snarled. “I have no need of any gratitude from you.”

She hissed in a breath sharp with hurt and they glared at each other, the air thickening with the tension between them, brittle and volatile and unbearable.

“Killian,” said a small, quiet voice, and they both turned to see the woman standing awkwardly a few feet away, twisting her hands together. “I’ve paid the bill,” she said. “I—I’m going to go.”

The anger drained from Killian’s face, replaced by regret and guilt and a deep sorrow that made Emma feel ashamed. “Aye,” he said. “I’ll accompany you.”

For a moment Emma thought the woman would refuse, but then she gave a small nod. Killian offered her his arm and she slid hers through it, and they left the restaurant together, not looking back.

Emma shifted uncomfortably, feeling as if a million eyes were watching her. She swept the room with a defiant glare and as soon as Killian and the woman disappeared through the doors she headed towards them herself. With any luck she’d still be able to catch the skip before he could get the clamp off his car. She hoped so. She hoped he ran when she confronted him. She hoped he fought back and gave her an excuse to punch him in his stupid smug fucking face.

…

Killian dropped Anabel at her door with a kiss on the cheek and an apologetic smile, hating himself for the hurt confusion in her eyes.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said, squeezing her hand. She gripped his fingers hard.

“Who is she?” she whispered.

Guilt stabbed at him, followed by suffocating regret. He genuinely and deeply cared for Anabel, and he’d tried so bloody hard to be happy with her. He was almost happy, as close as he could remember being for the best part of three centuries, and so naturally he’d gone and buggered it the first chance he got. One glimpse of Emma pale and bleeding had wiped Anabel and his hard-won contentment and every other bloody thing clean out of his mind, and he had acted without a thought for anyone but her.

“Someone from my past,” he replied. “I haven’t seen her in years. I thought I’d put her behind me but—”

“You still love her,” said Anabel flatly. It wasn’t a question.

Killian sighed. He really didn’t want to talk about this here, or now, or ever, but he owed Anabel the truth.

“I don’t know how to stop.”

She nodded, blinking hard as tears filled her eyes. He pulled her into his arms, tucking her head against his shoulder, soothing her as they fell. “I’m so sorry, Bela,” he said softly. “I care so much for you and I truly thought that we could—”

She pulled out of his embrace and shook her head. “Don’t,” she said. “Don’t make any decisions now. Sleep on it. Talk to her, figure out whatever needs figuring. I’ll wait.”

“I couldn’t ask you to—”

“I’ll wait, Killian.” She leaned up and kissed him softly on the lips. “You’re worth it.”

…

You’re worth it. Those words followed Killian home, chased him through his door and straight to his stash of rum. He’d mostly given up drinking it, needing to be sharp for his classes and limiting himself to a beer or two when he wanted to relax, but there were times that simply called for the hard stuff.

He poured himself a generous glassful and tried not to let the words ring in his ears. You’re worth it. It was worrying, how hard such things still were for him to hear. No one had thought him worth much of anything for so long that he’d come to believe it himself. To internalise it, in the terminology of this realm.

He knew of course that he had some good qualities. He was intelligent and quick to learn, resourceful and decisive and courageous. A man couldn’t survive centuries in command of a pirate crew without at least a few of those attributes. But they counted for little when his shortcomings were constantly cast up at him by the one person he most wished to impress. Well you are a pirate… I’ve got magic, he’s got one hand… let me guess, with you?

Emma had certainly never thought he was worth much. Not worth staying in Storybrooke for. Not worth taking a chance on. Not worth loving.

While he, fool that he was, could never stop loving her.

He was deep into his fourth glass when his doorbell rang, and he knew without even looking who it was. Ignore it, whispered his sensible voice in his ear, but Killian was too drunk and too angry for the sensible option.

The moment the door swung open Emma charged in, shoving him back and slamming it behind her. She rounded on him, fisting her uninjured hand in his shirt collar and pulling him against her.

“I lost my skip because of you,” she hissed.

In her heels and his stocking feet they stood eye-to-eye, pressed together from chest to knee, and every nerve in Killian’s body screamed in pleasure at the contact. He grabbed her hand and yanked it off him, pushing her away so forcefully she nearly fell. “You lost your skip because you broke your glass,” he snapped. “It was nothing to do with me.”

“You distracted me. While I was working.”

He glared at her. “What are you on about? I was having dinner, or about to—”

“You were flaunting that woman—”

“Flaunting?”

“With the rose and the pulling out her chair and—”

“That is simply how I treat the women I date, Swan,” he said, stepping closer to her again, backing her against the wall.

Emma’s cheeks flared bright pink but she didn’t back down. “What, even when I’m not watching?” she sneered.

“I wasn’t aware you were watching tonight!”

“Oh, like you didn’t notice me as soon as you walked in.”

Her breath was coming in short pants, the tips of her breasts brushing against his chest with each inhale, and his lust clawed inside him like a living thing desperate to get out. Killian leaned in until their lips were almost touching, torturing himself with her little gasp and the way her eyes darkened. “No, actually,” he growled. “I didn’t.”

He pushed away from the wall and smirked at her. “I know this is difficult for you to grasp, love, but not everything in my life revolves around you,” he said harshly. “Until two weeks ago I thought I’d never see you again.”

“Oh, so you just happened to be out on a date at the same place I was?”

“That place being my girlfriend’s favourite restaurant, where we’ve dined many times before, you mean?”

Emma’s lip curled. “Your girlfriend—”

“Aye. Of nearly a year.”

“—you expect me to believe that Captain Hook has a girlfriend?”

“No, Killian Jones has a girlfriend,” he hissed, stepping closer again. “What, Swan, did you imagine I would pine away in celibacy forever because you wouldn’t have me?”

“Of course not! That was never—we were never—”

Abruptly all his anger, his frustration, his lust, the electric thrill of sparring with her again drained away, leaving him numb but for the gnawing ache in his heart. “Indeed,” he said, and turned away. “We were never.”

“That’s not what I meant, Killian.”

“Isn’t it?”

He stalked into the kitchen and retrieved his glass of rum, tossing it back and refilling it with a hand that was not quite steady. Before he could pick it up again Emma appeared at his elbow, whisking the glass away and taking a long drink.

“Help yourself, love,” he snarked. She handed the glass back to him and he drained it, setting it down on the table. She refilled it without a word and took another drink. He sighed.

“Why are you here, Swan?” he asked. “What do you want from me?”

“I don’t know.”

Fury licked at him again. “You don’t know,” he hissed. “Is that so? Well perhaps I can enlighten you.” He took the glass from her and emptied it, then slammed it down. “You wanted to make sure that I was still your faithful pet,” he spat. “That I would still come running the moment you crooked a finger, desperate for any scrap of your attention—”

“That’s not true—”

“—despite your utter rejection back in Storybrooke and your complete lack of interest in me or my life in all the time we’ve been apart.”

“I asked about you, or I tried—”

“You tried.”

“Yes! Every time I talk to my parents I ask—well, not ask but I try to—I thought you were still in Storybrooke!”

“And so you thought you’d just use your parents to check up on me? And it never struck you as odd that they didn’t know anything?”

“I just—I couldn’t—”

“You couldn’t ask them directly because then they would know you were curious,” he concluded. “And we couldn’t have that, could we darling?”

She grabbed the rum glass and refilled it. He watched as she tossed it back, wishing he could ignore his body’s reaction to her—that constant itch to touch, to trace the curves outlined by her clinging dress and sink into the softness of her hair. He still remembered how it felt beneath his fingers in Neverland, the taste of his rum on her tongue… he wanted to taste it on her again, to lick the traces of it from her lips and then deep into her mouth, wanted to rip that dress from her body and plunder her. The dark heat that flared in her eyes as she caught him staring, as she let the rim of the glass trail across her lower lip, said she knew exactly what he was thinking and she wouldn’t stop him. That she wanted everything he did.

Slowly she set the glass down and stepped closer, close enough that he could smell her hair and feel her breath against his cheek. His cock was rock hard and he cursed it, cursed his helplessness to resist the pull she exerted on him. His hand curled around her waist without his permission, and when a small, satisfied smile curved her lips it slid down to grip her arse and pull her tight against him.

She stiffened and for the briefest moment he thought she might pull away, and then she moaned and rolled her hips and he was lost. His arm wrapped around her waist as hers curled around his neck, he plunged his hand into her hair and she tugged at his, bringing their lips together in a clash of heat and lust and fury. She tasted just as he remembered and this time he chased it, battling her for control of the kiss. If they were going to fuck like this, he thought, in anger and animosity and not lovingly, reverently as he had so often dreamed… if they were going to fuck, they were going to do it his way.

He slid his hands beneath her dress and hooked the index finger of his prosthetic beneath the thin strap of her thong, snapping it easily. She gasped against his mouth and he chuckled darkly, trailing into a groan as his fingers found the slick heat between her legs. She was so soft and so bloody wet—wet for him—that his head spun and his knees went weak, and he forgot his anger and their fight and sought only to pleasure her, pushing two fingers inside her and stroking her clit with his thumb, thrilling to the sound of her low moan and the sharp pain of her fingernails digging into his arms.

He tugged her head back and trailed his mouth down her neck as his fingers worked inside her, dragging the neckline of her dress down with his teeth until her breast was freed then swirling his tongue around her nipple.

“Oh, fuck,” she gasped. “Hook.”

He jerked away like she’d doused him in ice water, his anger flooding back.

“No,” he hissed. “Killian.”

Emma’s eyes flashed defiance, “Hook,” she insisted, scraping her fingernails down his chest, popping buttons as she went. He knocked her hands away with his prosthetic and backed her up against the kitchen counter, his fingers still inside her, squeezing his hand to grind the heel of it hard against her clit, wrenching a helpless moan from her.

“You want Hook?” he snarled. “Do you?”

“Yes!”

“Well, you can’t have him. It’s me or nobody and I swear by all the gods in the heavens, Swan, if you call me by that name again I will kick you out of my house as you bloody are.”

She glared at him, chest heaving, and he could see how badly she wanted to defy him. He prayed he’d have the strength to carry out his threat if she did. Their harsh breaths sounded unnaturally loud in the stillness of the kitchen until Emma bucked her hips against his hand and conceded.

“Killian, then,” she said, grudging but breathless, like the name was an intimacy that she resented but also craved. He pressed her clit harder and she moaned again. “Killian,” she breathed, and it sent a spear of pure lust through him.

He pulled his hand from between her legs and stepped back, holding her gaze as he put his fingers in his mouth and sucked them clean. “My bedroom is upstairs,” he said. “First door on the left.”

Her eyes flashed again and then she straightened up, reached behind her back and in one quick movement unzipped her dress and shimmied free of it, smirking when he hissed in a breath at the sight of her naked body. She stepped out of the pile of fabric, still in her heels, and tossed her hair over her shoulder.

“I’ll be waiting,” she said, and sauntered from the room.

Killian ground his fist into the countertop and forced himself to count to sixty before following her.

When he arrived she was sitting on his bed, leaning back on both hands with her legs crossed, one shoe dangling from the tip of her toe. He stopped in the doorway and feasted his eyes on the sight of her toned limbs and smooth skin as he slowly undressed, not missing the catch in her breath when he undid his trousers.

“Curious, love?” he taunted.

“Very.”

He pushed the garments down, trousers and underpants together, smirking as her eyes widened and she drew a deep breath.

“Well,” she purred, “you did promise I’d feel it.”

He ignored the stab of anger, bit back the retort that it was Hook who’d told her that, and put a swagger in his hips as he closed the short distance between them. She sat up eagerly and reached for him but he caught her hand and held it back.

“I want your mouth,” he said. “No hands.”

She shot him a venomous glare but complied, laying her hands flat on the bed as she took his cock in her mouth, swirled her tongue around the tip then sucked hard. He clenched his teeth against an aching moan, wove his fingers through her hair and tried not to perish from the sheer pleasure of living out one of his favourite fantasies.

She took him deep in her mouth, alternating hard suction with lazy strokes of her tongue and quick scrapes of her teeth until he couldn’t take any more and pushed her away, shoving her back onto the bed where she lay panting and looking very pleased with herself.

“Too much?” she taunted.

“For now.” He leaned over her, running his hands up the insides of her thighs and spreading them wide, then slipped his arms beneath them and buried his face in her cunt. She gave a strangled cry as he licked through her folds then sucked on her clit, pressing the tip of his tongue hard against it. Her hips bucked as she tried to push them up against his face but he held her down, licking her far more gently than he knew she wanted and forcing her to accept it.

“Damn you, Killian,” she snarled, clutching at his head. He laughed and she gasped at the feel of the vibrations on her swollen flesh, then moaned when he resumed his onslaught, as hard as she liked this time, licking and sucking her roughly until she lay teetering just on the edge.

“No…” she whimpered when he pulled away, blindly reaching for him as he leaned across her to yank open a drawer on his bedside table and withdraw a condom. He handled it with practiced ease, holding it securely in his prosthetic and tearing the packet open with his hand.

Emotions flitted across her face as she watched him, anger laced this time with a touch of hurt. The hurt cut deep into his heart and made him furious. She really did think she’d had him on such a leash that he wouldn’t sleep with anyone else after she rejected him, he thought, giving her a nasty leer as he rolled the condom down his length. Her nostrils flared but she didn’t look away, and when he finished she grabbed his shoulders and shoved him onto his back, straddling him, kissing him roughly and digging her fingernails into his skin as she positioned his cock at her entrance and took him inside her.

They groaned together at the sensation, the tight, slick squeeze of it. He thrust up as she ground down, groaning as she tilted her hips and arched her back to take him deeper, dragging her sharp nails down his chest.

“Ugh that’s so good,” she moaned, and as they found their rhythm and began to move in perfect tandem Killian could only agree. Emma's head was thrown back, her hair curling wildly over her breasts and down her back, her muscles squeezing him as they rocked together in the most glorious dance of his life, and had he not already been as deeply in love as a man could be Killian knew that he would have fallen then. His hurt and anger ebbed away and he lost himself in sensation, in the indescribable bliss of sinking into the woman he loved and feeling her clenched tight around him, the sound of her sighs and moans in his ear. It was a feeling he never thought he’d know again after Milah, and certainly never dreamed he might know it with Emma.

You don’t, he tried to remind himself. This is only sex. She doesn’t love you. She never will.

He didn’t care about that though; in this moment with this woman he couldn’t care. He could only feel, and make the most of this one chance to feel these things with her.

Emma’s breaths grew faster, harsh and short and catching in her throat, and as her rhythm began to falter he could tell that she was close. Gripping her arse tightly he flipped them over until she was spread out beneath him. She hummed in approval and hiked her leg up over his hip as he thrust in deep, driving her hard into the mattress over and again until she gasped and cried out, her eyes squeezed shut and back arching as a pink flush spread across her skin. It was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen and it sent him flying over the edge, choking out his own cry as ecstasy gripped him harder than ever before. He collapsed onto his side and pressed his face into the crook of her neck, conscious of little more than the smell of her skin and the gentle caress of her fingers through his hair.

They lay like that until their breathing calmed and their skin cooled, and gradually reality began to encroach. Killian forced himself against every will he had to move, untangling himself from her and rolling over to remove the condom and dispose of it in the bin next to his bed then grabbing a handful of tissues to clean them both up.

He dreaded what he would see when he turned back again but Emma still lay where he’d left her, her face calm and showing no signs of panic or regret. She took the tissues he offered without comment and cleaned herself, grimacing a little when she handed them back. He dropped them in the bin along with his own and took a deep breath, waiting for the excuses he knew had to be coming, for the sound of her getting up and running away, leaving him yet again. When the bed shifted but none of those things came he risked another look at her.

She was snuggling back against the pillows, and as he watched she pulled back the blankets and slid beneath them. He held his breath and did the same, swallowing hard when she slid over to him and curled herself against his chest.

“Emma—” he began.

“No,” she said firmly. “No.”

She cuddled closer, slipping a leg between his and an arm around his waist. He tangled his fingers in her hair, stroking a silky strand between his thumb and forefinger as she hummed in contentment and closed her eyes. A moment later so did he.

He didn’t know how long he lay there, his eyes half-closed and his nose in her hair. He was adrift in the moment, this extraordinary, unbelievable moment of softness between them when Emma not only allowed him to hold her but actually snuggled into him, fitting her body to his like it belonged there, like there was nowhere else she wished to be. Killian suspected she would regret it in the morning and when she woke she would push him farther away than ever. But now, here, in this moment, she was his.

Her skin was so soft, he marvelled, so silky beneath his fingertips that he couldn’t stop himself from touching her, gently stroking down her body, the dip of her waist and the curve of her hip, down her thigh and up again, over her arse and along the ridge of her spine to sink once more into her hair.

Slowly he became aware that she was touching him as well, her hand trailing over his thigh and hip, up his back and down his shoulder, pausing briefly to explore the tattoo there then slipping further on to sift her fingers through the hair on his chest. He caught his breath as she discovered the scatter of tiny stars tattooed across his heart, almost lost among the dark strands, and traced the pattern they described with unnerving accuracy.

She looked up at him with eyes hazy with desire, blinking slowly as he brought his hand up to cup her cheek, his thumb caressing the dimple in her chin. He kissed the dimple, thrilling to the little hum of enjoyment she gave. He kissed her nose and her forehead and both her cheeks, and then, finally, her lips.

The kiss was slow and soft and and achingly tender. Killian poured his whole self into it and everything he felt for her, fully aware of what he was confessing but unable to care. Emma knew his feelings whether she wished to accept them or not, and he had nothing to lose.

She opened her mouth with a soft moan and took the kiss deeper, pulled him closer, her tongue on his sending heat licking up his spine, her hands stroking it across his skin. He wanted to touch her everywhere, worship her as he had in his dreams, distil a lifetime of devotion through the prism of this one act. But there wasn’t time for all he wished to do and so he made do with what he craved the most. The soft weight of her breast in his palm and the hard peak of its nipple, how she moaned into his mouth as he stroked it with his thumb. His fingers caressing her, slowly down her belly then between her legs, sinking deep into her velvety heat. Her tongue soft and wet as she licked down his neck, nipping at him, leaving marks that would linger on his skin for days and break his heart anew each time he saw them.

Emma shifted beneath him, aligning their bodies and lifting her knees to cradle him, holding him close and kissing him hard as he slid inside her. The wet warmth of her mouth and her cunt made him dizzy; the squeeze of her legs around his waist and the clutch of her hands on his shoulders and back urged him on. He tried to go slowly, to make this last as long as possible, but the sounds of her pleasure, the way she clung to him, the sheer elation of sharing this with her—however illusory it may be—was too great to withstand, and far too soon they fell.

She gasped and he groaned as ecstasy gripped them both, her fingers curling through his hair and pressing his forehead to hers, their eyes locked as she fluttered around him and that gorgeous flush suffused her skin once again. Caught in the delicate tenderness of the moment, wrapped in intimacy and awash in sensation, Killian struggled to contain the words he longed to say to her. He tried his best to hold on to what he knew was true—that this was just an interlude, a moment soon to end—but against all good sense, his better judgement, and even his will, he felt that tiny, stubborn bud of hope bloom yet again in his heart. Perhaps, it whispered to him as he rolled onto his side and Emma followed, curling herself tightly around him and sighing contentedly against his chest as they drifted off to sleep. Perhaps.

…

A prickly sensation in her arm woke Emma. She resisted it, groaning internally and trying to will herself back to sleep. It was far too early to be awake, she could tell that much even through her drowsy haze. It was early and she was so comfortable but for the prickly arm, warm and contented and relaxed, with Killian’s chest beneath her cheek and his arms tight around her.

Killian— With a jolt Emma came fully awake, staring up at his sleeping face with eyes gone wide in dismay. What the hell had she done?

Slept with Killian Jones was what she’d done—God, she couldn’t even call him Hook in her head anymore. She’d charged into his house and drunk his rum and had sex with him—twice!—and it had been just everything she had ever fantasised about and more. So much more. Far, far too much more.

She forced herself to pull away, away from the warmth of his arms and of him. The fact that she had to force herself had panic gripping her chest. She wanted to stay, she realised with a flash of the same terror that had sent her running from him in Storybrooke and the same regret she’d felt on realising, not even a week after her return to New York, that leaving him had been a terrible mistake. For three years she’d tried to bury her regret over that one rash decision, buried it and ignored it and denied it, without success, and now here, finally, she had the chance to make things right. All she had to do was slip back into his arms, curl up where she wanted so badly to be and go back to sleep.

But she couldn’t—it was too much, too fast, and she wasn’t ready. His feelings were too big for her to deal with and hers… hers she couldn’t even bear to think about. She scrambled away, trying not to jostle him, but his eyes blinked open anyway and she froze just on the edge of the bed, caught by the look in them. He had such expressive eyes, true windows to his soul as the saying went, laying bare his every thought and feeling, and it had always amazed Emma that he never seemed to mind how vulnerable they made him. He’d hidden nothing from her, not since Neverland and not until these past few weeks when the cold, shuttered blankness in those beautiful eyes had cut her more deeply than she’d realised. They weren’t blank now, though, but brimming with emotion—with hurt and anger and a weary, hopeless resignation that clawed at her heart.

“I...” she began, trailing off when she realised she had no idea what to say, how to explain. How to make him understand.

Killian sighed and leaned over the edge of the bed. She heard a drawer opening and then a soft t-shirt landed in her lap. “You can wear that downstairs,” he said. “Your dress is on the kitchen floor.”

“Killian—”

Emma groped for the words to tell him that she didn’t want this to be the end, that she wasn’t trying to run from him again. She just needed some time and a bit of space to process all the things that had happened and how she felt about them. But his face was blank again and his eyes so terrifyingly hard that the words wouldn’t come.

“Don’t,” he snapped. “Don’t fucking bother. Just go.”

She swallowed over the aching lump in her chest. “I never meant for this to happen,” she whispered.

He snorted. “Let’s not kid ourselves, love,” he said, and she flinched at the bitter edge in his voice. “You’ve wanted to know how I fuck since the beanstalk. Now that you’ve finally got it out of your system perhaps we can both move on.”

“Move on,” she choked. “You’ve done that already.”

“I’ve certainly tried,” he said. “Anabel makes me happy. She actually likes me for myself and while you may not think I deserve that I choose to believe I do. I’ve worked bloody hard to put my past behind me and build a respectable life in this realm.”

A life that doesn’t include you, his words implied, and she nodded, fighting the tears that prickled behind her eyes. She slipped the t-shirt over her head and scrambled from the bed, grabbing her shoes as she fled, desperate to get away from him before he could see her cry.

…

Killian managed to hold off his own tears until he heard his front door close behind her and then they came in a torrent. All the anguish he’d kept so tightly locked away these last three years—the heartbreak and the guilt, the regret over the life he’d led and the choices that had shaped him into someone a woman like Emma could never love—came rushing forth like the sea through the hull of a sinking ship. He turned his face into the pillow that still carried her scent and wept for all he had lost in the course of his long life, for every terrible deed he’d done and every beautiful thing his touch had destroyed. He wept until he had nothing left inside him, until he sank into a restless, dreamless sleep.

When he awoke again the sun was pouring in through his windows with offensive brightness and he groaned, rubbing his eyes and wishing that just once the habits born of centuries on the sea would leave him alone to wallow in his bed. Instead he dragged himself up and stumbled into the bathroom where he splashed cold water on his face and ignored his hollow-eyed reflection in the mirror as he brushed his teeth, then went downstairs.

In the kitchen he found his t-shirt, folded almost neatly and draped across the back of a chair. With shaking hands he picked it up and pressed it against his cheek—just for a moment—then with a guttural cry flung it away against the wall.

…

Emma spent the next week driving herself as hard as she could, working the toughest cases, the longest hours, hounding the staff at the new office with her demands. Anything, anything, to avoid having to think. If she stopped moving even for a second she saw Killian’s face in her mind’s eye and heard his voice telling her to go, and the ache of loss would hit her again, as fresh and raw as the moment it happened.

Losing something she’d never really had shouldn’t hurt so much, she thought, and frankly she resented it. She felt swamped by a strange sort of untethered frustration, an uncomfortable feeling and uncomfortably familiar. She’d last felt it back in Storybrooke, that antsy itch under her skin whenever Killian was near, in the few quiet moments they’d shared in between battling flying monkeys and breaking curses. She’d managed to ignore it then, seizing on the witch and the curses and Neal as convenient distractions, excuses not to think about Killian or her feelings or what he wanted from her. What she wanted from him, what they could have. And as soon as those distractions were gone she had run. Just as she always did. As she would continue to do, damn it, until she found something that made her want to stay.

She refused to think about how badly she’d wanted to stay in Killian’s bed.

...

“Mom,” said Henry the following Saturday, coming into the living room to find her dusting the corners of the bookshelves, “can I ask you something?”

“Hmmm?” Emma dragged her attention away from her determined assault on the cracks in the wood. “Sure. What’s up?”

Henry shifted uncomfortably. “Um, have you—have you seen Hook at all since we moved here?”

“Killian,” said Emma automatically.

“What?”

She felt her face grow hot. “He prefers to be called Killian now.”

“So you did see him!” cried Henry.

Emma set her dusting rag down with a sigh. “Yeah. I did.”

“Did you guys have a fight or something?”

“Kind of, I guess. It’s hard to explain.” She cast a sideways glance at her son. “Grown-up stuff.”

“Mom,” sighed Henry, with his special ‘I’m a teenager now’ eyeroll. “I’m not a kid anymore and I’m not stupid. I know that you and Killian—that there was something going on with you guys in Storybrooke and I know that’s part of the reason you left.”

“Henry—”

“And I saw how you reacted when I told you he was here. It’s okay to talk to me about it.”

Emma made a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob.

“I mean, no details,” he said with a grimace. “But like, in general.”

“Henry.” Emma rubbed her temples. “I appreciate it, really. But I can’t. I can’t even think about it.”

“You really should. It’s not a good idea to hold stuff like that inside.”

“Stuff like what?”

“You know. Feelings. You hold yours in too much.”

“I know. I know I do.” She frowned at him. “How did you know there was… something with us in Storybrooke?”

“It was pretty obvious, Mom. He came all the way from the Enchanted Forest to New York to get you, and then when we got back to Storybrooke you two were always talking together or at Granny’s, and when you weren’t with him you asked him to babysit me. Which you wouldn’t do unless you trusted him.”

“That’s true,” Emma whispered. She had trusted Killian. She did.

“And then after we moved back to New York you never asked about him,” Henry continued. “When you talked to Grandma and Grandpa you asked them about everybody in Storybrooke, even my mom. Even Leroy. But you never asked about him. If he’d only been a friend you would have.”

Emma shook her head. “Kid, when did you get so smart?”

“Duh, I always have been. Thanks for noticing.” They were silent for several minutes before Henry spoke again. “And you know,” he said, “I wouldn’t mind. If you wanted to, you know. Date him.”

“Really? Would you really want me to be with a pirate?”

Henry shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s kind of hard to think of him that way anymore. But I always liked him, mostly. He took me sailing and told me about my dad. And he’s probably the best teacher I’ve ever had. And he’s been looking really sad all week.”

“He has?”

“Yeah. Everyone’s noticed. He’s all quiet in class, not like he usually is. And he hasn’t been having lunch with Miss Hartfield.”

Emma’s heart gave a painful thump. “Miss Hartfield?”

“The physics teacher,” Henry clarified. “They always used to have lunch together. All the girls in my class thought they were dating and now they’re all crying cuz they think they’ve broken up.”

“Is Miss Hartfield a very pretty brunette with dark blue eyes?”

“Yeah.” Henry looked surprised. “How did you know?”

“I—met her. Last weekend. She was having dinner with—with Killian. I guess they really are dating. The girls in your class should be happy.”

“Oh.” Henry’s eyes filled with sympathy. “I’m really sorry, Mom—”

“It’s okay.” Emma swallowed hard and forced a smile when he gave her a skeptical look. “Really! I’m okay.”

“You’re not—”

“I am.” Emma wrapped her arm around Henry’s shoulders and pulled him into a hug. “Or I will be. I just—need a little time. Is your homework done, by the way? Speaking of your teachers.”

“Oh, yeah, nice segue.” Henry rolled his eyes, playing along, though it was clear from his face that he didn’t believe her. “It’s nearly done.”

“Well, get it all done and then what do you say we order pizza and watch some bad movies. Unless you’ve got other plans?”

“Nope. I’m all yours.”

…

By the next Thursday, Emma had almost convinced herself that she was fine. Killian still crept into her thoughts far more than she’d like but the ache he brought she convinced herself was less severe. She didn’t have to fight so hard to stop the tears from welling up or keep herself constantly distracted.

It’s like he said, she told herself fiercely. It was just an itch that needed scratching, and now it’s scratched that’s it. No hard feelings. No feelings at all.

Thursday afternoon as Emma was leaving work, Henry texted her that his friend Becca was having some problems and wanted to talk and he was going to her house for a little bit. His homework was nearly done, he said, and he promised to finish it when he got home.

Said homework was spread out over the dining table when Emma returned and she went to gather it up and put it to one side so she could sit there herself and have some dinner. Her heart skipped when she saw it was astronomy he’d been working on, the book still open to a page illustrated with several constellations. One of them caught her eye. It looked like a slightly tilted cross with bent arms, and it tickled something in her memory.

She frowned and bent down to get a closer look. That pattern of stars looked so familiar. Emma racked her brains trying to remember where she could have seen it before. It couldn’t have been that long ago, she thought, and—oh. Oh. She flushed as the memory resolved with uncomfortable clarity, and her heart began to pound.

She recognised that pattern because she had traced it herself through the hair on Killian’s chest, connecting the sprinkle of stars tattooed over his heart. She remembered thinking how odd it was, him having a tattoo there where it was practically invisible. His other tattoos were elaborate and brightly coloured and on places where he had less hair, but those tiny stars she would never have noticed if she hadn’t had her face pressed right up against them.

It did make sense, she reasoned, for an astronomy teacher to have a constellation tattoo, though all his others featured names and clear associations with people from his past. But this one—Emma peered more closely at Henry’s book looking for the constellation’s name, and when she found it sank slowly into the chair, her knees gone too weak to support her.

It was the constellation Cygnus. The swan. Killian had a swan tattoo. Right above his heart.

He was in love with her.

Emma let her head fall into her hands as the full force of that realisation hit her, with the strength and fury of a hurricane. She was aware he had feelings, strong ones, and though she’d never let herself think too much about them she couldn’t pretend she hadn’t known. But this… this was serious. He wouldn’t put her permanently on his body with Milah and with Liam unless it was big-L love. Killian loved her, or at least he had. Did he still? Could he still, after what had happened between them?

She closed her eyes and thought about the last words he’d spoken to her, about his girlfriend—Anabel—and how happy he was. Her breathing sped up an her hands trembled as she recalled it, the memory she’d tried hardest to escape and with the least success. The closed expression on Killian’s face and the flat tone of his voice were etched into her mind as clearly as if she were back there in his bedroom living that terrible moment all over again, and she realised with a flash of shock that he’d been lying. She’d been too upset to see it at the time but now her superpower was screaming at her. He’d lied to her, and not even well.

A bubble of hope rose up in her heart. If Killian was lying about being happy, about having moved on, then maybe… maybe there was a chance that he still loved her. Maybe if she told him how much she missed him… if she reached out, if she tried… maybe they could actually talk. The way he’d acted the other times they’d met… his coolness, his distance, his anger… of course he was just trying to protect his heart from further hurt. She could certainly understand that. But if she told him, if they talked, then she could fix this. She could get the old Killian back again—the one who looked at her with warmth in his eyes and always believed in her. The one she could now admit to herself that she deeply and desperately missed, not the way you miss a friend you haven’t seen in a while but like a part of herself was gone.

She sent Henry a quick text telling him where she was going and raced out the door. Ten minutes later she was standing in front of Killian’s, practically leaning on the bell.

Killian opened his door and for the first time looked surprised to see her standing there on his small porch.

“Swan!” he exclaimed. “Is Henry okay?”

“Um.” Emma frowned. “Yeah, he’s fine. Why would you think he wasn’t?”

“Why else would you be here?”

“I wanted—” She took a deep breath. “Can we talk?”

“Talk,” he repeated in an incredulous tone, then eyes moved from her face to something behind her and he smiled a huge, fake smile and waved his hand. Emma turned around to see a middle aged woman waving back as she walked down the sidewalk, a similar smile on her face and a very sharp look in her eye. The moment she looked away Killian grabbed Emma’s arm and pulled her through the door.

“Come inside, Swan, before the whole neighbourhood sees you,” he hissed.

“Since when do you care about the neighbourhood?”

“Since I have to live in it.” He glanced around then shut the door tightly. Emma went into to the living room and perched on the edge of the sofa, trying not to fidget. Killian followed but remained standing in the doorway, watching her with a dark scowl.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“I told you—to talk.”

“I don’t believe we have anything left to say to each other.” When she didn’t reply he sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. “What is it you wish to discuss?”

“Your tattoo.”

Emotion flashed in his eyes, apprehension and a hint of alarm. It flared just for an instant and then was gone, as thoroughly as if it had never been. Had she not been looking for it, Emma thought, had she not known how to read him as easily as he did her, she’d have missed it completely. “I have many tattoos,” he replied.

“I’m talking about one in particular. The stars over your heart. It’s a constellation, isn’t it?”

Killian’s face was like stone. “Aye.”

“Which one?”

“Swan—”

“Exactly.” Emma pounced. “It’s Cygnus. The swan. You have a swan over your heart, Killian.”

He shrugged. “What of it?”

“What of it is I don’t think you get tattoos that have no meaning. You’ve got Milah on your arm, Liam on your shoulder, someone called Alice on your hip who I’m willing to bet is your mother, and over your heart is—is—”

“Is you,” said Killian flatly. “Is that what you want to hear, Emma? The swan is obviously for you. Because I love you, and because I can’t resist torturing myself with permanent reminders of everyone I loved who is lost to me, etched into my bloody skin. Is that what you came here to get me to confess? It’s a poor confession when you already knew.”

Guilt swamped her, heavy and suffocating. “I didn’t know,” she attempted to protest, her voice quiet but falling like lead in the face of his stark confession.

Anger snapped in Killian’s eyes, fuelled by a pain she hadn’t seen before. Hadn’t allowed herself to see. “Don’t lie to me, love, and don’t lie to yourself,” he snarled. “Of course you knew. You knew when I all but begged you not to go back to New York, and you still left. You knew when you slept with me and you still tried to sneak away before I awoke. You’ve always known exactly how I felt and it has never once stopped you from breaking my heart.”

“Killian—”

“No. I can’t hear this.” He ran a hand over his face. “Go now, Swan, and don’t come back.”

“Don’t come back?” she choked.

“What would be the point? We both know where we stand and I—” his voice broke “—I can’t live with a gaping wound in my chest.” He turned to look at her, his face for once not blank but open and raw and with a plea in his eyes that tore at her heart. “Please, Emma. If you care anything at all for me, leave me alone now. Let me have the chance to heal.”

Emma’s brain was screaming at her to say something, stop him, don’t let this happen, don’t let him go. FIX THIS. But everything he said was true, every angry, hurtful word of it. She had known his feelings and had she had taken them for granted, even used them against him, never thinking of how that might hurt him. She’d caused him so much pain already that she couldn’t now refuse this one small, heartbreaking thing he asked of her.

It’s too late. You pushed him away one time too many and now he’s gone.

“I talked to your girlfriend, you know,” she said, forcing the words past the clawing ache in her chest. “At the restaurant, before you got there. She seems really nice.” She risked a look at his face and almost cringed at the wariness in his expression. “I’m glad you’ve found someone like her, Killian. I really am. You do deserve it. You deserve to be happy.” She stood and moved towards the door, refusing to be hurt by the way he visibly tensed as she drew near. “I—I hope you’ll be happy.” With one last look to fix his face forever in her memory she turned and ran from his house.

…

When she got home Henry was back, sitting at the table with his homework. He looked up to greet her, the cheerful words dying on his lips when he saw her face. He jumped to his feet and hurried over to wrap her in a huge hug. Emma gripped him tightly and let the tears she felt like she’d been holding in forever finally, finally fall. She cried as she could never remember crying before, great heaving sobs that left her empty and drained and clinging limply to Henry’s shoulders.

“What can I do?” he begged. “Mom, tell me what I can do.”

Emma sobbed again, wondering what she’d ever done to deserve him. “Do you think it’d be okay if I came back to Storybrooke with you this weekend?” she asked. “I just really don’t want to be alone.”

“Are you kidding?” Henry smiled, a bright smile that did nothing to disguise his worry. “Grandma and Grandpa would love that!”

“They would. What about Regina?”

“Honestly, I think she’d be glad to see you too. Everyone would. People have missed you.”

“And you wouldn’t mind me tagging along?”

Henry hugged her again. “I’d love it.”

…

They drove up to Storybrooke as soon as Henry finished school the next day, arriving at her parents’ loft just in time for dinner. Snow and David were as thrilled as Henry had predicted, hugging her between them, smiling widely with damp eyes. Emma found her own eyes growing damp as she leaned into the comfort of their embrace, her heart tripping when David gently cupped the back of her head.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” said Snow when they finally pulled apart, cradling Emma’s face between her hands. “Why don’t you and Henry go sit at the table?”

“Is there anything I can—”

“Nope,” said Snow firmly. “It’s all under control.”

Emma seated herself at the table between David and Henry and looked around at the loft. “Wow, have you guys changed anything in this place since I was here last?” she asked.

“Um, I think those curtains are new,” said David absently as he attempted to wrestle a protesting Neal into his high chair. Henry grabbed a toy and distracted his uncle with it long enough for David to get the toddler’s legs through the holes and settle him in. Emma’s heart tripped again. Henry was so comfortable here, far more comfortable with her father and brother than she was, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

“We’re thinking of moving, actually,” said David, sitting down next to Emma. “There’s a farm just outside of town that’s for sale, we might buy it.”

“You want to be a farmer?” said Emma blankly.

“I grew up a shepherd,” he reminded her. “And this place won’t be big enough once Neal is older and wants his own room. Plus we haven’t entirely ruled out the idea of more kids. So I think it’s an opportunity we shouldn’t pass up. Your mother, on the other hand—”

“I don’t object to it, exactly,” said Snow as she set a bowl of salad and a large platter of chicken on the table. “It would just mean a long commute if I’m going to keep working with Regina.”

“You’re working with Regina?”

“I’m the deputy mayor,” said Snow.

“You are? Since when?”

“Um, about two years now?”

“Oh.” Emma fell silent as her parents launched into a debate on the merits of farm vs town in a way that made it clear that this was an old, comfortable discussion, frequently rehashed. Henry chimed in with a comment every now and then, egging them on, and Emma ate her chicken rather sullenly and tried not to feel left out.

“So what’s it like being back in Boston after so long?” David asked her, when the conversation hit a lull.

“It’s fine, I guess.” She shrugged. “A bit weird. I don’t normally like to go back to places I’ve left.”

An awkward silence fell and Emma felt herself flush. “I mean, I’m not saying I never would, but—”

“How about you, Henry?” Snow jumped in. “How do you like Boston?”

“It’s pretty cool. I like that there’s so much history. And my school’s really good.”

“Are you still having a hard time with math?” asked Snow, smiling fondly. “I remember that was always your downfall when you were in my class.”

“No, actually, I’ve got a really great teacher at the new school.” Henry shot Emma a questioning look and she nodded. “It’s, um, actually it’s Hook.”

“Hook?” David frowned. “What, like Hook Hook? He’s your teacher?”

“Captain Hook?” said Snow.

“How many Hooks do you know?” snapped Emma, irritated by their disbelief.

“Well,” said Snow, now looking surprised at Emma’s vehemence. “It’s just a bit strange, isn’t it? That Hook’s a teacher?”

“I don’t think so,” said Emma. “He always taught Henry stuff when he used to watch him before.”

“And my dad too,” said Henry. “In Neverland.”

“Really?” asked David, still frowning.

“Yeah. He’s the one who taught my dad how to navigate and how to sail. Seriously, Grandpa, he’s really good at it,” said Henry decisively. “Everyone loves his classes.”

David shook his head. “Not that I don’t believe you, Henry, it’s just hard to imagine. It’s hard to imagine Hook as anything but a pirate.”

“It’s not that hard,” retorted Emma, stabbing at a piece of lettuce on her plate.

“Well, you know, after Pan’s curse when we all landed back in the Enchanted Forest he could hardly wait to get back to his pirate’s life,” David pointed out. “He barely stayed with us for an hour.”

“Though to be fair, it was mostly his ship he wanted to get back to,” said Snow. “And it’s not like that was an option for him here.”

“That’s true,” David conceded. “I guess it’s hard to be a pirate when you’ve got no ship. He could’ve stolen one, but I genuinely did have the feeling he wanted to turn over a new leaf.”

“Wait, wait—what do you mean, no ship?” demanded Emma. “What happened to his ship?”

Snow, David, and Henry all turned to her in surprise. “Don’t you know?” asked Snow.

“Know what?”

Snow and David exchanged a glance. “Hook traded his ship,” said David. “For the magic bean he needed to get to New York to find you. Didn’t he tell you?”

“He traded his ship…” Emma’s head began to spin. “For me?”

“Well, yes, in a way,” said Snow. “Did he really not tell you?”

“No. He never said a word.”

“Well I guess we only know because David basically dragged it out of him,” said Snow.

“He was moping around the town so much after you left,” said David. “Drinking and getting disruptive. I threw him in the cells for a night and in the morning tried to gently suggest he might be happier if he took his ship out for a few days to clear his head, and he said that would be a bloody challenge when Blackbeard had his ship.”

“Blackbeard!” Henry exclaimed. “I didn’t know that part. He hates Blackbeard. Said he’s the worst kind of pirate, a man with no code and no honour. Why would he trade his ship to Blackbeard?”

“He didn’t say. I guess he just really wanted to get back here and find Emma.”

No one was looking at her but Emma could feel the weight of their attention, and she groped desperately for something to say, some way to respond to this revelation. But as always when she was overwhelmed with emotion, no words came. She poked at her food, feeling frozen and numb and so terribly sorry, and desperate for a distraction.

One came a minute later in the form of a knock on the door. Emma had never been more glad in her life to see Regina, come to pick up Henry with Robin Hood and a delighted Roland at her side. In the bustle and confusion that followed their arrival, Emma slipped away to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water, downing half of it in one gulp then pressing the cool glass to her temple as she tried to calm her turbulent thoughts.

Regina hugged Henry and watched as he hugged Robin and Roland, smiling a smile that made Emma blink with a new shock of astonishment. It was unnervingly soft for the erstwhile Evil Queen, warm and happy.

“What the hell happened to Regina?” she whispered to her mother when Snow came into the kitchen with their empty plates.

“What do you mean?” Snow frowned. “She looks just the same to me.”

“Yeah but remember I haven’t seen her in three years. She looks… well, she looks happy.”

“She is happy,” said Snow. “She and Robin got married last year you know, and—” she broke off when she saw Emma’s face. “You didn’t know.”

“Huh-uh.”

“But didn’t Henry tell you? He gave her away.”

“I—don’t really ask Henry about his visits here. And you never mentioned it.”

“You don’t ever seem to want to talk about Storybrooke with me either,” Snow replied. “You ask how everyone is, but whenever I try to offer details you change the subject. Have you left this place behind so completely, Emma?”

“I’ve tried to,” said Emma, in a burst of honesty. “I wanted to get away from all of it—magic and villains and being the Saviour. I never wanted any of that and I never really felt like I belonged here.”

“You never really tried,” said Snow. “But there’s always a place for you in Storybrooke, sweetie, whenever you want to take it.”

…

Killian parked his car in front of Granny’s and got out slowly, taking in the sight of the familiar streets and buildings with a resigned sigh. He hadn’t been back to Storybrooke since he’d moved to Brookline, hadn’t had any desire to return until seeing Emma again had stirred up all the old feelings he’d worked so hard to bury. This past week his new life had felt like it was suffocating him—the students who looked up to him, the colleagues who respected him, Anabel who loved him. All of them so obviously concerned by the shift in his mood, caring about him, and the weight of all the pretence he’d built around himself threatened to crush him. Not a single one of them truly knew him, what he was and the things he’d done, the life he’d led for so very many blood-soaked years, and Killian hadn’t been able to bear another second of their kindness.

The Rabbit Hole was just as he remembered, loud and raucous and full of people playing their own game of pretend, fuelled by alcohol and shielded by the brittle jocundity of such places. He looked around for Tink but couldn’t see her, and though he strained his ears could hear nothing over the pounding music. He pushed through the crowd towards the bar where he finally caught sight of her, perched on her knees atop a barstool and waving him over.

“Hey!” she cried, leaping down from the stool and throwing her arms around him. He froze in surprise for a minute then tentatively hugged her back.

“Tink,” he said cautiously. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, fine.” She released him and stepped back, grinning as she took him in. “I guess I just missed you.”

“That’s new,” he snorted.

“Well you used to call me, if you remember, the first year or so after you left. Now I barely hear a word for months on end until suddenly you text to say you’ll be here in three hours and can I put you up for the night. So I have to ask, is everything okay with you?”

Killian tried to summon his old cocky grin and some quip to reassure her, but they refused to come. Everything wasn’t okay, far, far from it, and he knew this was at the root of his spur of the moment decision to come back to Storybrooke. He needed to talk to someone who truly knew him, all of him, and who had known him at his worst. Tink was, as strange as it may be to think about, his best friend.

“No,” he said, and watched her eyes widen at the stark honesty of his reply. “I’m not okay. At all.”

Tink’s face softened and she looped her arm through his, and he let her lead him to an empty pair of stools at the very end of the bar. They sat and Tink ordered a bottle of rum and two glasses, then rested her hand just above his prosthetic and listened, keeping his glass filled as he told her everything. He told her of how hard he’d worked to make a place for himself in this land and build a new life to go with it, and how at times he felt that he’d succeeded in that aim but at others felt a complete fraud. He spoke about his job and how much he loved it and the joy of helping his students learn, but how he still felt unworthy of the trust placed in him by the school and by their parents. He told her about Anabel and how much he wished that he was whole enough to love her and then finally, haltingly, he spoke of Emma. About seeing her again and all that had occurred between them, and the way he’d spiralled afterwards into a depression so deep he wasn’t sure he could recover.

“I’m so tired of living sometimes,” he said. “You know what I mean.” It wasn’t a question but Tink nodded anyway, memories of long nights spent sharing rum and companionship in Neverland hanging thick between them. “Obviously time passes differently there, you have less of a—a sense of it passing, but—”

“But it still passes,” she said.

“Aye. It still passes, and I’ve passed so bloody much of it. And sometimes I think about how in terms of the physical age of my body I’m only about thirty-five. I could live another fifty or sixty years, easily, what with the medical marvels in this realm, and at times I just wonder—” he drew a deep breath “—I wonder if that’s really what I want.”

“You want to die?” Tink asked carefully.

“Not precisely.” Killian tossed back his rum and she poured him some more. “I’m just exhausted by the prospect of more living. Does that make any sense at all?”

Tink nodded, sipping her own drink before speaking. “Years can be a burden,” she said. “Fairies are immortal so we don’t feel them the same way humans do, but we see how they affect you. Most humans your physical age would still have a lot left to look forward to but you’ve already lived the lifetimes of at least three men. It’s understandable that the prospect of living another might feel overwhelming.”

“So what the hell am I supposed to do about it?”

“Well, assuming you don’t actually want to end your life?”

“I don’t,” he assured her. Though he couldn’t deny that the thought had crossed his mind in his more desperate moments, Killian had fought too hard for his survival to ever end himself by his own hand.

“Then you have to find something to live for,” said Tink. “Or someone?”

He shook his head. “Emma doesn’t want me.”

“It doesn’t have to be Emma.”

“It can’t be anyone else,” he muttered, glowering into the depths of his glass. “Not for me.”

“You felt that way about Milah too.”

“I thought I did, but this is different. Milah and I—we were in love but our relationship wasn’t healthy. I can see that now. We didn’t bring out the best in each other; in fact we probably brought out the worst. She wanted the cocksure pirate and so I leaned into that role, for her. We both leaned into it, and we enjoyed it, the plunder and the destruction and the casual cruelty. I think it made us both feel powerful.” He sipped his rum and shot a sideways glance at Tink, who was watching him attentively and still without judgement.

“But Emma, though,” Killian continued, setting his glass down and flexing his fingers around it. “Emma makes me want to be better. Even when I thought I’d never see her again, even though I know we’ll never be together I still want to be the man she inspired me to become.” He squeezed the glass harder, almost hoping it would shatter in his hand. “But then, if I’m only being that man because of her is that truly who I am? And how can I try to build a life with someone like Anabel when I know I can’t love her as she deserves and I’m only even remotely like someone she might want because of my feelings for another woman?”

Tink wrapped her arms around one of his and squeezed it sympathetically, resting her head on his shoulder. “I wish I had an answer for you, Hook,” she said. “But who you truly are, or can be, is a question you have to work out for yourself.” She paused as they both drank. “Have you ever considered telling Anabel about your past?”

He snorted. “Tell a sensible science teacher from the land without magic that I’m Captain Hook? Oh yes that would go over brilliantly.”

“That’s not what I meant,” said Tink. “I meant telling her a modified version of what happened to you, with your parents and Liam and Milah. Letting her see a bit more of who you are and what shaped you.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Killian sighed and ran his hand over his face. “I’ve thought about it. I genuinely don’t know if it would help or just be a burden on her. For all she knows I’m just a normal man born in Bristol, England in 1981. How would I even begin to fit parental abandonment, a dead brother, and two tragic romances into that man’s life?”

“Two?”

“She already knows about Emma.”

“Right. Well, you’d have to get creative, but if it helped her know you better? At least you could try.”

Killian drank again then tightened his arm to pull Tink closer, resting his cheek on her head as the the pleasant haze he craved began to settle over his mind. “Do you know why I fell in love with Emma?” he asked. Tink shook her head, her hair tickling his nose. “It wasn’t her courage or her kindness or her beauty, though those are all contributing factors. It was because she understood me. We understood each other, from the very beginning, in a way I’d never known before. It scares her but I—I crave it. And that’s what’s missing with Anabel and with every other woman I’ve known, even Milah. That connection of the whole self. It’s something that can’t be forced or—or brought into being. It is or it isn’t, and that’s that.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure that I don’t have the energy to sort through all of this realm’s women in hopes of finding a pale reflection of it. I’ve found the love of my life, Tink. It took three centuries but I found her, and I offered her my heart, and she refused it. I don’t think the answer is to try to patch over that wound with another woman. I don’t know what the answer is. Perhaps there isn’t one.”

He frowned as Tink tensed against him, her eyes going wide. “Perhaps the answer is Emma,” she said. “And you just haven’t asked the right questions yet.”

He followed her gaze and felt his jaw clench. Tink clung to him for another brief moment, whispering in his ear. “She might still be your answer, Hook. Don’t lose hope just yet.”

…

Once Henry left to spend the night with Regina and her parents went to put Neal to bed, Emma muttered something about taking a walk and fled the loft, desperate for some space and time alone to sort through her muddled thoughts. As painful and chaotic as they were she knew she had to think them, and feel the feelings that they brought. Already she’d lost so much by trying to run from her feelings. More even than she’d known.

Killian had given up everything for her. That was the thought that kept echoing in her brain. He’d given up his ship, his home, his most prized possession. He’d given it to a man he hated, all so that he could get back to her, knowing she wouldn’t even remember him. All to bring her back to her family. Her home.

And what had she done? She’d scorned him and pushed him away, denied her feelings and run away from them and from him the first chance she got. No wonder he was so hurt. No wonder that pain had turned to anger. He should be angry, she thought in disgust, he should hate her. Yet she knew that despite everything he didn’t. He may not want anything to do with her anymore but he didn’t hate her. She almost wished he did. It might actually make the weight of her guilt and regret easier to bear.

For the first time in her adult life Emma actually, genuinely faced her feelings, and thought seriously about what they were and what they meant. She didn’t love Killian, not the way he loved her, but she could. All the elements were there, from the way they had always understood each other to how easily she’d trusted him to the electric sizzle of their sexual chemistry. It was that could that had scared her, sent her running three years ago. The vulnerability it represented, the loss of control, terrified her. It felt like standing at the edge of an abyss with her her toes hanging over the edge and a gale force wind at her back. She’d fallen into that abyss before with terrible consequences, but then Killian was not Neal. She knew, somehow, beyond any doubt, that if she let Killian Jones into her life he’d never leave her.

If she had let him in. It was too late now.

She began to cry again, not with the wrenching sobs she’d cried the day before but with heavy, drenching tears that flooded her cheeks and dripped off her chin faster than she could wipe them away. Her chest felt hollowed out, aching and empty and hopeless.

She caught sight of the neon sign for the Rabbit Hole and swerved abruptly to her right, cutting across the street without looking for cars. Fortunately there were none. This was Storybrooke, after all, even on a Saturday night. And she really, really wanted a drink.

The Rabbit Hole was fairly busy, its noise and bustle comfortingly familiar. Emma kept her head down as she moved towards the bar, hoping no one would recognise her. It wasn’t until she was nearly there that she spotted Killian.

He was sitting at the end of the bar with a half empty bottle of rum and Tinkerbelle beside him, her arms looped through his and her head on his shoulder. The obvious, comfortable intimacy between them sharpened the ache in Emma’s chest and reminded her of her suspicions about what their relationship had been in Neverland. She was certain it was more than either of them had let on.

As she stood frozen and wondering what to do, Tink looked up, her eyes widening in recognition. Killian frowned and followed her gaze and when he saw Emma the look that flashed across his face nearly broke her heart. He shook Tink off and stood up, tossing back the rest of his glass of rum and heading for the door.

Before she could think better of it, Emma spun on her heel and took off after him. She caught his arm just before he could reach the door and he spun around, yanking it from her grip.

“Bloody hell, Swan, can I never be free of you!” he cried, and the hopeless defeat in his voice made her tears well again. She forced herself to remember that his feelings were justified, that she had done this to him and that he didn’t owe her forgiveness or anything else.

“I’m sorry,” she said in a small voice. “I didn’t know you’d be here and I don’t want to bother you, but Killian—”

“What?”

“My dad—he told me what you did. How you traded your ship for a magic bean to come find me in New York.”

A faint flush coloured Killian’s cheeks and he shifted uncomfortably. “It was nothing,” he said. “Anyone would have—”

“No, anyone definitely would not have,” cried Emma fiercely. “You gave up everything you had to get me back here and then I just turned my back on it, and on you. And I’m sorry. I’m truly sorry, Killian, and I don’t expect you to forgive me. I just—I wanted you to know.”

He swallowed hard and gave her a small, guarded smile. “You made what you thought was the best decision for yourself and Henry,” he said gruffly. “That’s all anyone can do. I’m just glad you’re happy.”

“But I’m not,” she burst out. “I’m not. I mean, I’m not unhappy exactly but I miss—I miss you.” She heard his sharp intake of breath but barrelled on before she could lose her nerve. For once in her life she knew just the words she wanted to say and she was going to say them.

“And you were right,” she continued. “I knew how you felt about me and I threw it back in your face and pushed you away whenever I could. I was scared of my own feelings, of how strong they were, and I know that’s no excuse but all my life I’ve always run from things like that. I run from things that make me feel too much and I still can’t believe that anyone could really care as much about me as you seemed to and so I ran before I could find out that you didn’t. I know I hurt you. It wasn’t always unintentional, and God, Killian, I am so fucking sorry for that too.”

She swallowed hard, twisting her hands together, feeling the intensity of his gaze on her but not daring to meet it. “And I know that there’s no chance for—for us anymore but I wanted you to know how much I regret it. There’s nothing in my life I regret more than ruining things between us before they could even really start.”

Gathering her courage she looked up at him, and caught her own breath at the expression on his face, that soft, intense expression she’d missed so much. “Do you want there to be a chance?” he said hoarsely. “If there was a chance, would you—could you take it?”

Emma gasped again as hope exploded in her heart and it began to race. She nodded. “Yeah. I think I could. I would.”

“You think?”

She stepped closer, looking up at him, hardly daring to breathe. Music pounded through the air around them, voices shouted, bodies danced, and they were the only two people in the world.

“I could,” Emma whispered, “I can and I will if—if that’s what you want too?”

Killian drew a shaky breath and his fingers trembled as he reached up to caress her face, brushing softly across her cheek before sliding into her hair. He pressed his lips to hers in the gentlest kiss of any they had shared, a butterfly’s wing of a kiss, a kiss of promise and forgiveness and hope. Emma sighed into it as it slowly deepened, as Killian’s fingers tightened on the back of her head and hers gripped his jacket and she couldn’t suppress a moan.

When they broke apart she was breathless and dizzy and he was beaming, a bright, dazed grin that made her heart soar as he leaned his forehead against hers. “Do you really mean it, Emma?” he whispered. “You really want—”

“You,” she said. “Yeah. I want you, and I want us.”

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. “I’m yours, love,” he said. “As you know.”

“Just like that?” Emma pulled back enough to look at his face while keeping her arms tight around him. “After all the hurt I caused you, you can just forgive me?”

“Aye, just like that. I’m not saying all the hurt is healed or that we don’t have things to work through. But of course I can forgive you. I love you.”

“Killian—”

“Shhhh, let’s just leave it there for now,” he said. “It’s nothing we didn’t both already know. We’ll work on the other half later.”

“Later,” Emma murmured, snuggling back into his arms. “I like the way that sounds.”

…

@thisonesatellite @katie-dub @mariakov81 @stahlop @teamhook @kmomof4 @shireness-says @thejollyroger-writer @snowbellewells @jennjenn615 @tiganasummertree @lfh1226-linda

#cs fic #captain swan #canon divergence #3b divergence #angst #smut #angst with a happy ending #cs ff #cs ff au #lots of feelings #some heartbreak #they get there in the end #all the perfect things (that i doubt)#profdanglaisstuff #birthday fic #ohmightydevviepuu

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fanfoolishness · 5 years ago

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a world for the birds (1/10)

Andy DeMayo took up birding years ago, but his favorite hobby takes on new meaning when shared with his nephew Steven.

A series of looks at Andy and Steven’s growing family relationship.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

***

Chapter 1: learning how to see

Andy breathed in the salt air. Another visit back to Beach City in Delmarva; a good place. He’d forgotten how good, somehow, years of flying on his own and watching folks move away. But there were new reasons to come back here, Greg and his kid, their weird space family. He liked having a home base again, even if still he only visited once a month or so. Some habits died hard.

Andy and Steven sat on the porch, watching the waves as they waited for Greg to come on over. They had dinner plans at the crab place down the street. Andy was looking forward to it. He’d seen Greg last month, but it’d been a while since he’d gotten a chat with the kid, who’d apparently been spending an awful lot of time in space lately. It was still hard to wrap his mind around sometimes, though Steven seemed to take it in stride.

Andy let out a sigh, watching the laughing gulls on the beach fighting over a crab. He found himself asking a simple question.

“Hey Steven, you ever been birdwatching?”

Greg’s kid wasn’t quite as open and excitable as he used to be. Typical teenager, Andy supposed, especially since the kid had finally started growing. He’d been weirdly tiny when he met him the first time. Maybe now that he’d hit that growth spurt, he’d figured out how to get moody, too. Or maybe it was all the space stuff. Andy wasn’t sure.

Steven shrugged. “Uh, I mean, I’ve seen birds…”

“Nah, I mean, you ever actually watched ‘em? Like those laughing gulls out there?” Andy rummaged through the knapsack at his feet, pulling out a battered copy of Sibley’s Guide to Birds of Eastern North America. He waved the book at Steven. “I see a lot of birds when I fly, and after a while I got tired of not knowing their names. If, uh, you ever want to give it a try, it’s pretty fun….”

Steven’s face lit up. Oh, there was that excitable kid again. “Sure!”

***

Andy mulled over the destination for their first birding foray for a few weeks. The weather had been crummy for the rest of his stay last time, so they made tentative plans to bird the woods around Beach City and the local marsh nearby. Andy sorted through some of his old books. Was Sibley better for a beginner? Peterson? Maybe he’d throw in the National Geographic guide. He went back and forth about it for longer than he would have liked to admit.

He knocked on Steven’s door bright and early, having landed the plane well above the high tide mark. “You ready, kid?”

Steven opened the door, strapped to high heaven with binoculars, a camera, and a bulging messenger bag. He was also wearing a bright pink jacket over a blue shirt. Not exactly nature colors, but it would be fine. “Oh, I’m ready, Uncle Andy. I was born ready.”

“I… admire your enthusiasm,” said Andy gruffly. “Here ya go. Take your pick.” He held out two different guides. Steven grabbed the Sibley’s, leaving Andy with the Nat Geo.

“So I just look up the bird I think it is?”

“Yeah, but you gotta have an idea of what type of bird is, or you can get confused real easy. There’s like seven hundred birds in that book.” Andy nodded to a pair of terns flying over the water. “Any idea what those are?”

“Uh, seagulls?”

Andy tried not to grimace. “Ain’t no such thing as a seagull. Just gulls. There’s lots of different species.” He showed Steven the right section of the book, and the kid’s eyes widened.

“Whoa. I had no idea! I just thought they were all seagulls, and that they like to steal my food.”

“Well, yeah, that they do. But those there are terns. Caspian terns, you can tell by the size of ‘em. And that bright red bill.”

Steven raised his binoculars, struggling with adjusting them for a moment. Then he grinned, lowering them. “I see the red! That’s awesome, Uncle Andy. I can’t believe I never noticed those before. Are they rare?”

“Not really, no. Now that you’ve got an idea of ‘em, you’ll see ‘em all over. See the thing about birding is, it teaches you how to see birds instead of just looking at ‘em. It’s not the same thing.”

“What do you mean?”

Andy thought about the kid’s question. They walked along the sand to the plane, Andy pointing out a few willets and a lone killdeer as they went. As they neared the plane, he came up with something, huffing and puffing as they hiked up the hill.

“I mean… so many people see a bird, and they don’t even think about it. Or if they do, they think, ‘oh, it’s just a bird.’ But there’s more to it than that, ain’t there? You look a little deeper and you start to see it. A red beak on a bird you thought was just a gull. Or the flashy colors of a hummingbird or a painted bunting. Or a little peep, just digging and digging away until it comes out with a huge clam in its bill. And it just makes you think, you know? Like what else am I missing?”

“You mean about birds?” asked Steven as they reached the plane, not the slightest out of breath.

Andy wiped the sweat from his brow. “Well, yeah.”

***

The birding went great. Andy found a smooth field to set the plane down in on the edge of the Beach City woods. It was no Magic Hedge out there -- not that he’d expected that level of activity-- but he was pleased with the different types of environments the little wood and field had. The field itself, full of horned larks; the deep part of the wood, where a woodpecker lurked frustratingly out of sight; the edge of the wood, where the flycatchers perched and watched for passing bugs. Steven almost looked like he was gonna cry when Andy showed him the pages of Empidonax flycatchers, all of them almost exactly alike.“You don’t have to get those right away,” said Andy gruffly. “I’ve been doing this twenty years, I still mix ‘em up if they don’t sing. People just call them Empids a lot in their notes because you can’t tell ‘em apart. But I’d guess that one’s a least flycatcher, sitting here on the edge like it is, and that sharp little call.”

Steven wrote the bird’s name down in a brand-new waterproof notebook in pencil, tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth. “So now I have… twelve birds for my life list? How many do you have, Uncle Andy?”

Andy laughed. “I don’t know off the top of my head. I have a list back in the plane, though. I think last time I checked I hit somewhere ‘round eight hundred? Flying takes me all over, you see. Picked up some great birds when I flew you and your dad to Korea.”

Steven gaped at him with eyes like dinner plates. “How many species are there? Now I wish I’d been paying attention when Dad and I went on that trip.” He frowned. “I guess I was thinking about other stuff, though…”

Andy looked curiously at the kid. Pensive was an odd look on him. “Uh, there’s a ton of species, almost ten grand. A damn lot of them. Always new ones to find,” said Andy. “Ooh! Look there! Tufted titmouse.”

They ended the day with forty species, not bad at all considering it was the beginning of summer and migration was over. Andy had managed to start impressing upon Steven the importance of birding by ear, especially for warblers, and Steven had immediately downloaded something on his phone that did bird calls, promising to study.

Andy left him with the Sibley’s, Steven giving him a bonecrushing hug. He’d hugged him back, awkwardly. He still wasn’t sure what to do with his nephew’s affections, but he thought it was a good problem to have.

*** Bird photos: Cornell Ornithology Lab, Caspian tern; Empidonax flycatchers, Peterson’s field guide (was too lazy to take a good picture of my Sibley lol).

#steven universe future #steven universe #andy demayo #uncle andy #uncle andy su #birding #fanfoolishness' steven universe fic #a world for the birds fic #this is up on ao3 too #but honestly i often don't go to AO3 from here #so I figured i'd post it here as well even though chaptered fics are a pain in my ass here #i'll post the next one tomorrow though there are more chapters up on AO3

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eyesofsteelandsky · 4 years ago

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Too Good To Pass Up

First in a series of story posts related to an on-going effort to restore Brem’s eye. Includes violence and blood. Future stories will have a LOT more of both.

The crunch of sand under the heavy, pacing bootfalls had almost withered its way into being as much white noise as the occasional lapping of the mild tide in the long stretch of waiting. Several well-worn lines and circular trails around the heavy crate she had been watching over marked Brem’s impatient path. Even with the more frequent visits and having been in the area for the better part of a week now, the East’s winds and seas didn’t bring that same feeling of home as the sandy beaches of La Noscea. As she was settling into the internal debate if they were the comforts of a stranger, or simply she was the stranger in someone else’s comforts, a familiar pudgy figure called out from the tunnel into the small cove.

“Miss Abylnpfefwyb! I’m so glad to see you learned punctuality since our first meeting! And I do see you came alone as well. Were it that everyone in our business that could take instruction so well.” The bespeckled Hingashi hyur made his way forward from that cave passage, waving at those behind him to start filtering in. An entourage including a handful of muscle, some set with swords on their hips and others with long rifles. The last threw were a pair escorting a thinly, if particularly tall woman in cuffs. Though the woman’s long hair hung over most of her face, there were still clearly a few bruises over the visible portions of her cheeks. “I do believe you’ll find that the merchandise is exactly what you asked for. I do hope my.. adjustment in payment wasn’t too demanding.”

“I wouldn’t want you walking away from this thinking I didn’t respect you, Kubo. Like the obvious respect your rather extensive negotiation assistants clearly represents for me.” One of the sea wolf’s gloved hands grips the front of the crate she had been pacing around for so long, letting it crash forward firmly enough to erase much of her trail from the sand. A faint blue glow illuminates the machinery with, as well as the pair of tanks at the back end. “One Garlean magitek engine and enough ceruleum to get any prospective magitek business’s R&D going. Though as far as I can tell what you’ve brought is a tall woman with a black eye..” The Hingan man’s smile stretched so broad it threatened to chase his hairline even further into retreat as he snapped his fingers to have the captive brought forward. Once the muscled pair had her close enough to present they forced her to hunch forward so Kubo could raise his hand to push her hair up and out of the way, revealing the Garlean third eye in her forehead. “I believe you’ll find she has two entirely untouched eyes, even if the one looks more like a clam spit it into her head. “May I present Fulcinia lux Protus. Or is the ‘lux’ reserved for those who aren’t traitors to the empire? Ijin naming habits are so hard to keep track of..” The woman in question turns the eye that isn’t swollen shut or in the middle of her forehead out Brem’s way, but it’s clear any desire to resist had already been beaten out of her.

“Looks like short of tossing an Allagan puzzle for her to solve at your feet, I’ll have to take your word on it. I -am- rather disappointed that you’re asking full price for damaged goods.” Several heavy strides draw her pointedly away from the crated engine, with one hand waved back towards the man’s payment. “Though seeing as I can’t imagine paying with most of an engine is going to work, perhaps you’ll consider a friendly discount the next time we do business?”

“Oh, of course, of course. We’ll take a bit right off the top next time, as a show of good faith. The man’s smile lingers on as he snaps his fingers again and the Garlean woman was drug over Brem’s way, with one of the burly xaela men escorting her offering the chains of the woman’s cuffs forward. “Though there is one thing I should mention, I suppose..”

“While I do so greatly appreciate the business you’ve brought me today, Miss Abylnpfefwyb, you do have to know the value of what we have here in this bay. A woman who’s made a fortune blowing Garleans out of the sky, here with a traitor and and a salvaged ship engine. Do you have any idea how much that trio of treasure would be worth, even to a fractured empire?” Kubo raised his hands and gave a loud clap, leading to several fully armored Garlean soldiers to pour through the cave tunnel into the cove, as well as the magitek whirr of several armors, predators, and vanguards activating and stepping up from the rocky ridge, and several of the true constructs walking up out of the hiding places within the waters behind the sea wolf. “And I’m afraid if I have to choose between long term business partners with an army, or a bitchy sky pirate with a superiority complex, it’s not so hard a choice. Now then, you can come peacefully or we these fine imperials can take home the obsidian we can blast you into. Your choice.”

Her fingers curl around the chain she was holding, drawing that single teal eye up from the woman she was here for to the shit-eating grin being beamed down at her by the triumphant hyur. “It’s a good trap, well sprung Kubo. Even I know better to take on everything you’ve brought with you by myself. So there’s not really any choice is there? Though I must say..” The warm leather her hand was bound in subtly tightens it’s grips over Fulcinia’s bindings once more. “There’s an important talent in our kind of negotiations. The ability to recognize the look in someone’s eye when they’ve decided to piss on a good thing. And you, Kubo, don’t hide that look well.”

Though his expression soured briefly as she spoke, eventually a laugh burst from the Hingan’s chest, waving both arms out at the overwhelming force he’d brought along with him. “And what good has that ‘talent’ brought you, pirate cunt? You’ll leave here chained like her and I’ll be spending my imperial coin before the day is done!”

“The thing is, those who don’t hide it well usually don’t know to look for it themselves.” A swift yank sent the bound Garlean flying past her to land face-first into the sand as aether went ripping around the pale pirate’s other hand, eventually forming a spear that went flying towards the engine and it’s crate, landing in a pipe that fed the ceruleum tanks into the engine. Immediately after she flung herself on top of Fulcinia and immediately forcing the aether around her into plate after plate to drop onto the pair.

A few stray rounds from Kubo’s riflemen made it past the initial defense, one even tore into the roegadyn’s shoulder, but as she’s finishing the cocoon of protection the magical spear she’d flung erupts into flame, rushing into the pair of tanks. There’s a brief hiss of build up before the engine and its fuel supply violently burst, catching the swordsmen rushing forward in the explosion while the concussive wave slams into the rest of the crowd within the enclosed cove, knocking a few unconscious outright while others are simply sent flying backwards onto the ground.

With the signal sent and received, the roar of an airship’s engine announces the presence of the pirate’s vessel only moments before it rose into view from its hiding place among several several sea vessels. The First Mate was already shouting the command to fire as the heavy Garlean machinery on the ridge tries to whip around and chase the mobile arial target, catching each in a steady stream of cannon fire. Shouts of retreat from both Kobu’s men and their Garlean cohorts sounded almost immediately, though it wasn’t slowing the fire from the ship above.

Though the heavy aether around them distorted the sound, the shift in the battle, it was enough to get Brem to drop the spell and yank the chained Garlean up with her. “You want out of this alive? You come with me.” The intensity of her rushed words, half of a metal face, and the battle raging yalms away was enough to get a bobbly-headed nod from the shell-shocked woman as the pair rushed past the burning wreckage of the engine crate. With one arm wrapped around Fulcinia’s core as best she could manage, the roegadyn flung the other upward with another ripple of aether, launching the familiar shape of a frog tongue up to an anchor built onto the side of her ship. As soon as the magical shape tried to pull back, the anchor itself whirred to life and instead yanked back with equal force so that the sea wolf and her ‘cargo’ were hauled rapidly skyward, tumbling out onto the main deck of her airship.

“Welcome aboard, Cap’n! Orders?” The bright faced First Mate flashed that energetic and occasionally frustrating grin down to the bleeding pile of roegadyn.

There’s a snarl as she hauled herself up to her feet, motioning down to Fulcinia. “Get her below deck, keep someone with her and get that eye looked at.” Stalking over to the weapon rack on a nearby wall she yanked a long rifle free, stepping to the edge of the deck to raise it. Aiming one-eyed always had it’s challenges, but hours of practice and a burning pit of fury in her stomach steadied her hand. One loud crack of gunpowder and the paunchiest of the figure’s fleeing the beach collapsed just short of the tunnel out, blood flowing readily from the freshly formed hole in his throat. “Get us the fuck out of her. Once she’s cleaned up, me and my ‘guest’ are takin’ the ‘cutter. You need to get the ship back to home port before the Garleans start swarmin’.”

#Brem #ffxiv roleplay #Air Pirate shenanigans #Eye Plot

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bijoharvelle · 5 years ago

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it’s the ‘dean definitely has ptsd’ deancasbenny thing i’ve been promising! just, like, soft domestic DCB. warnings: ptsd & anxiety related mutism, nightmares mentioned

Some days, Dean doesn’t talk. It’s the halfway point between won’t and can’t – Benny can never be sure which side it lingers closer to.

Either way, when Dean startles awake, eyes darting, the only noise he makes is the harsh push-pull of air through his chest. Benny chants a quiet, “Hey, hey…” and puts a hand through Dean’s hair. In the artificial predawn, Dean looks around like he expects to be alone, or expects to be somewhere else. Part of the kink in his spine soothes at Benny’s touch, but not all of it.

Between them, Cas sleeps like the dead. (On his own, the angel won’t stir for hours. Benny generally loiters in bed for an hour or so before getting up. He’s teased Cas and Dean about it before, says he has a whole day, practically, before either of them pull themselves awake.) Dean shivers, crushes himself further into Cas, closer to Benny.

The unfortunate thing with Dean’s life (with all of their lives) is that it could be any number of things. Hell coming back to haunt him? The time he spent locked away while Michael ran point? The time he spent fighting every minute to keep Michael cordoned off? Building his own water-proof coffin? That stretch of him as a demon? Any number of childhood traumas coming out to play? Knuckles painted with Sam’s blood, with Cas’s, with his own, Benny’s arterial spray Pollocking over his face? Frankly, Benny thinks they’re lucky it manifests as nothing more than a few days of selective mutism, a Dean that’s a little more touch-hungry than usual.

After a minute of Benny humming quietly, pretending it’s not to give Dean something solid to focus in on, Dean shifts. He carefully uncurls from Cas, levies his weight, fits himself between Benny’s legs and presses the whole of their chests together. Cas makes a snuffling noise into the pillow, adjusting to the loss of body heat, and Benny lays one big, warm hand directly center of Dean’s back. “Hey there, sweetheart.”

Dean hides his face into Benny’s shoulder and Benny lets him.

The better part of an hour passes that way.

Benny eventually climbs out of bed. By turns, he coaxes Dean to stay there a little longer and jostles Cas awake. The angel shoots him a look brimming with piss and vinegar until he clues into the way Dean is holding onto his wrists, the way Dean’s eyes won’t quite focus. Benny doesn’t amble out to the kitchen until Cas is fully alert and muttering Poco lyrics into the creases over Dean’s forehead. They share a look over the mussy peaks of Dean’s soft bedhead and Benny circles back to press his nose into Cas’s temple.

Sam makes an appearance about halfway through Benny’s breakfast preparations. He always, somehow, knows. Benny has tried to figure it out -- is it the weather or the cast of the moon or some shift in the atmosphere? But there’s nothing to track. Maybe it’s just from the puzzle-piecing of their families trauma, maybe it’s some pluck on the threads of their brotherly bond, maybe Dean feels it coming and gives Sam a heads-up. Either way, like always, Sam fusses with the coffee pot for a minute and then sighs, loosens the hinges of his shoulders and looks over to Benny.

“Is he okay?” he asks and his voice is rough and worn like he hasn’t gotten enough sleep, or has gotten too much (it’s a fine line for the younger Winchester).

Benny nods, whistles a low tone. Says, “He’s with Cas; he’s all right.”

Sam nods and gets through preparing the coffee. He watches a minute as Benny cooks, a little bleary around the edges. It’s not expectant, his gaze, but Benny shoves the first plate of food into Sam’s hand and directs him to sit down and eat it, before he collapses. Sam finds a genuine, if tired, smile at that and does as he’s told.

Not much later, Cas and Dean shuffle in, Dean following in Cas’s shadow, one hand just trailing along the hem of Cas’s flannel. Once they clear the threshold, though, Cas immediately goes for the coffee and Dean immediately goes for Benny.

“Heya, cher,” he greets low, putting a gentle hand to Dean’s waist, just for a moment. Behind them, Cas and Sam’s voices drone about translations they want to get done that day. Dean stays close -- his hair has been smoothed, by Cas’s hands if Benny had a guess. He tips a hand through the back of it and asks, “Would you get me some coffee?”

Dean does as he’s asked and when he hands a mug over to Benny, he has one for himself in his hands. He watches, silent and crowded into himself, as Benny finishes off two more plates. Handing them over to Dean, he tells him sternly, “One of those is for you, got it?” Dean nods, manages half a smile. He slinks to the table and slides one of the plates to Cas, comes back for his coffee, and then sits in front of the other.

Sam asks if Dean wants to help him and Cas with their research. Normally, it’s a question that doesn’t need asking -- of course Dean doesn’t want to help with research. Especially when they don’t have a case, when Sam and Cas are just doing their codexing, translating thing. But days like this, Dean is happy to have a place between his brother and his angel, specific tasks that he can see the other side of, that he can complete successfully. Getting coffee, delivering a plate of food, fetching books, looking up references.

So Dean just finds his brother’s eyes and nods and sets about eating his breakfast.

Superhuman strength means there isn’t much need for training, but the routine of it is close to meditation for Benny. He’s so far into his own mind, and Cas steps so softly, that Benny doesn’t notice Cas’s presence until he’s standing right next to his bench in what passes for the bunker’s weight room.

“Personal space,” Benny teases, a joke he wrung dry from Dean. Sitting up, he catches Cas between his knees and presses his face into the former-angel’s stomach. Cas keeps one hand on Benny’s shoulder, gentle, while the other tucks up through his hair.

“Where’re the Winchesters?” Benny asks, not pulling away so his voice is muffled. His arms tighten around Cas’s waist, holding him close so he can nose along the span of his torso, tip his face to trail toward his chest.

“Into town. One of the texts reminded Sam about strawberry rhubarb pie and they went to get ingredients.”

“Weren’t y’all reading about witchcraft?” Benny asks, leaning back to pass a quizzical look up.

Cas looks just as incredulous but it melts to a smile. “Yes. I stopped being surprised about their associations awhile back, though.”

Benny grins and nips playfully at Cas, getting more shirt than anything else. “Fair enough.” He lets Cas scritch fingers through his hair, sighing at how good it feels, how Cas goes against the grain. “How’s our boy doing?”

Cas makes an elegant gesture with his shoulders that’s half-shrug and would be half the spread of wings, if he still had them. “Well enough, I think. Still…” He waves a hand to indicate the general circumstances. “But he seemed enthused at the prospect of pie, when Sam brought it up.”

“Dean Winchester excited by pie, news at eleven,” Benny jokes. Cas gives an amused huff that isn’t quite a laugh. Benny stands, then, crowding into Cas’s space and pressing their bodies together. “Y’know what we haven’t done in a minute? Spar.”

There’s a dangerous look to Cas’s eyes because he’s human now and Benny is decidedly not. Cas is not lightweight when it comes to hand-to-hand but still. He blinks up at Benny but all it takes is a well-timed smirk to undo his hesitation.

Benny lets Cas topple him in the first few minutes and Cas would be indignant about it except that he wraps his legs around the former-angel’s waist to hold him still and kisses him like that’s what they had been doing in the first place.

Cas laughs at him but goes easily, presses into Benny’s front, plants his hands on either side of his head, kisses him until they hear the sounds of Sam and Dean coming home.

They end up making the pie right then because Sam’s puppy dog eyes paired with Dean’s earnest look is pretty unstoppable. Besides (Sam whines) it has to cool overnight and that means they can have pie for breakfast. Benny takes helm, directing the brothers easily and nudging Cas aside playfully when he attempts to sneak tastes from the bowls. Even with Dean still silent the brothers manage to bicker through the process but all it does is bring a fond smile to Benny’s smile. When he looks back to raise eyebrows at Cas, the former angel has a similar smile on his face, warm and worn-in.

They drink beer and eat leftovers in between checking the oven until Dean deems the pie finished. Sam scoops some of the filling out and suffers a burnt tongue for his trouble. Cas volunteers himself and Sam to clean up and Benny redirects Dean to his “cave.”

They’ve barely stepped into the hallway before Dean stops him, shoves him against the wall, fits his body against Benny’s. It’s not aggressive, or at least, there’s no heat there. No teeth and tongue and fierce movements. Just Dean slotting himself into Benny’s space. Benny leans back against the wall, easily taking the hunter’s weight. “Yeah?” he hums, keeping one hand slung low on Dean’s waist while the other trails over his shoulder blades.

Dean huffs a heavy sigh through his nose and it brushes warm along Benny’s throat. They breathe together, three long breaths, and then Dean murmurs, “Yeah.” Benny’s eyes slip shut because it’s an encouraging sign -- sometimes it’s days before they get even a sound out of him. He tries not to react beyond a bit of positive reinforcement, a dry kiss to Dean’s temple. Sometimes if they get too excited, Dean clams back up further from the pressure of it.

They end up sprawled on the couch, Benny with his head in Dean’s lap and Dean silently mouthing along to The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance. Cas comes in just as James Stewart (supposedly) kills Liberty Valance and wastes no time in settling himself atop Benny. The vampire huffs a little but easily rearranges himself so they’re more comfortable. Dean ends up with a hand in Cas’s hair, the other petting at the hollow behind Benny’s ear.

Once they learn the parable of the West (when the legend becomes fact, print the legend), Cas shuffles them off to bed. Dean goes without complaint but he lazily mouths against Cas’s neck as they change and get washed up. Benny drowsily watches as Dean gets the former angel against the wall and noses along his jaw. Maybe he dips off, because the next thing he knows Dean is pocketing himself into Benny’s side and Cas is sinking along the hunter’s back. Dean sighs, Cas has his fingers through his hair.

Maybe he’ll be back to speaking tomorrow morning. Maybe he’ll laugh and cut himself a slice of pie for breakfast and kiss them through the tangy-sweet. Maybe it’ll come gradual through the day, half-words and short answers. Maybe it’ll be a few days down the line before he finds his voice, maybe next week.

Benny drops his forehead to Dean. Feels Cas’s fingertips tease over his temple. He kisses Dean deep and slow and mumbles into his mouth, “Good night, cher.”

Dean hums and closes his eyes and falls asleep.

#deancasbenny #deancasbenny fanfic #my stuff #dean winchester #benny lafitte #castiel #shoutout to my brother who - when i had my first bout of mutism - pounded on my door screamed 'THIS IS NOT VERY PUNK ROCK' at me #and then made me a porkroll egg & cheese sandwich

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xmalereader · 5 years ago

Text

The Mandalorian X Male Reader

1/3

|| Masterlist ||

Summary: Reader used to train with Darth Vader before the falling, noticing that the dark wasn’t for him he decides to bury away his past and keep himself hidden but somehow he allows himself to share his story with a specific mandalorian.

Warnings: Language, ex-sith, baby yoda, training, angst, fear, lightsaber, mentions of sex, some dark shit.

Living on a small planet was better than he thought, it was nice and clam and not many people would recorginze him. I mean he was actually hidden from life for a few years before the falling, he enjoyed his time working for the empire but each time he watched them destroy planets and kill innocent people he just couldn’t take it anymore. He was a trained to be like them but he always hesitated and could never hurt anyone or anything, he was weak and he preferred to remain that way then be dark.

The planet he was staying was covered in green and rivers were hidden away into the forest where it would take days to find, luckily for y/n he was living in a small lodge that was located to the nearest river where he could get easy access to water and smell the fresh air. His life was great and he enjoyed it, he’s been living here for almost five years now and was still recovering from everything. He had kept his light saber hidden away in the deepest darkest part of the forest where he would never get it back. Even if it called out for him he would finds ways to block out the little voice and continue on with his life.

Y/n worked in a bar that was located a few miles from where he lived but he didnt mind the walking distance, as long as he had a place to work and earn credits he was fine with it. It kept him distracted from everything else and remained focus on his costumers that came from different places of the galaxy, holding up a smile as he greeted the travelers and offering them food and drinks. The place was only full during busy hours which was around the afternoon, mornings were less crowded and only a few people would come and go.

But about a year ago Y/n had stumbled upon a mandalorian, he’s heard stories about their culture and religion and how they never remove there helmets. He remembers Darth Vader actually killing some of the mandalorians right in front of him so seeing this man brought him fear, its been five years. He wasnt here for you, was he? Turns out that he had no idea who you were, he thought of you as a Normal civilian who worked hard to get what they earned.

The mandalorian didnt just come once but twice and the third and then a four and so on, he continued to visit the cantin. At first y/n was curious about him, watching him closely each time he visited. It took him awhile before he got the courage to talk to the mandalorian that sat on the bar table one day, he noticed how the other wasn’t much of a talker. Soon it became a routine for the two, Mando would order his usual and speak to Y/n, the two quickly bonded and became close friends.

Well, more like friends with benefits.

He remembers spending nights with the mandalorian, lying in his own bed as the two kissed like their was no tomorrow. The nights were passionate and steamy of course, he remained blindfolded. He wanted to keep his promise to his mandalorian from seeing the others face, he knew how important it was for him and he didn’t want to ruin this between the two.

Then he disappeared.

Mando stopped appearing during dinners and Y/n was left on his own, again.

—

“No. No, no, no!”

Standing in his front door was none other than the mandalorian that disappeared on him for almost two years, but this time he wasn’t alone. He was carrying a child in his arms.

“Y/n—“

“NO!” He shouts again and stomps over to the mandalorian, jamming his finger against the baskar on his chest. “You disappear for two years Din, two years and now you come back?! And with a child? Who did you fuck this time a freakin—“ he reached over to uncover the child’s face and his eyes widen. His breath was caught in his throat as he stared at the child, he could feel the force on this child.

“Where did he come from?” He immediately asks, his anger quickly fading away. His body was replaced with fear instead. “He was placed as an asset for the guild, I turned him in once I found him but I went back to get him. During my time with the child we sort of became a clan of two now.” Y/n noticed the child staring at him, he could feel the force.

“Get inside.” He hesitated a little before turning his back and heading back inside his home, his eyes were still widen in fear. The child wasnt just force senstive but he was also the same species as the legendary Jedi master; Yoda.

Din follows the other inside, once they are in he sets down the child on one of the chairs. The child coos softly as he made grabby hands towards Din, his ears lowering down as he whimpers. The mandalorian was confused by the child’s reaction, sighing in defeat he picks up the child again but he feels the child cling onto him harder.

Y/n notices this and bites his lip, “He can sense me...He’s scared.” He whispered out and looks down, rubbing his temples. “I thought Luke was the last Jedi but it turns out that this child is too.” He laughs out dryly and nervously.

“I heard someone talk about Jedi’s and how they have the ability to move objects with their minds.”

Y/n glanced at Din. “you dont know much about force senstive do you?”

Din shakes his head.

“Of course, everything was destroyed. The history the people, the findings, everything. Which explains why no one knows where Luke is right now.” He mumbled out and turns to Din. “You May want to sit down and the keep the kid close because from the looks of it he doesn’t seem to like my presences.” He eyes the child and watched as it curled against Dins chest, it’s ears still pinned down in fright.

Y/n can only sigh and lean back in his own seat as he rubs his eyes. “Din you and I met about four years ago, correct?”

“That is Correct.”

The Mandalorian glanced down at the child and gently touched its ears to put him at ease. “What does this have to do with anything?” He questions this time.

“What I’m about to tell you is something that I’ve never told anyone and—“ He could feel Din staring at him through his helmet, he was slowly feeling guilty about everything. Din and him have known each other for two years and he was the first person that Din has ever actually opened up too and the first person to know his real name and now he felt bad that he couldn’t tell Din about this dark secret.

Y/n knows that it’ll hurt Din once he finds out the truth but it was the only way, he inhales softly and began to explain. “About seven years ago I used to work alongside the empire, I was actually made second in command, I wasn’t a general or a trooper I was a lord.” He looks down. “I was powerful and did everything their leader did and it was awful, really awful to the point that I couldn’t stand to watch anymore. I—Din I watched innocent people die I watched as he destroyed planets with millions of lives!” He buried his face in his hands.

“Once the empire fell I immediately escaped, the world had no idea who I was or that I even existed but I’m like the child. I can move objects with my mind, read peoples thoughts if I wanted too and can sense another force sensitive.”

He noticed Din suddenly hold the child closer to him, he knows that he was slowly losing his trust and their was no way for him to get it back.

“I spent 7 years keeping that dark side away from myself but part of it is still there.” He mumbled out, looking away. “I’ve hurt people Din, I was forced to watch as the Imps killed many.”

Din hears the child’s whimpers, he adjusts the child in his hold and looks up to face y/n, he may not know much about the empire but he did know one thing. They were very bad people that have hurt so many and had killed innocent, he had to battle his way through a small army just to make sure that the child was protected and yet here he was, standing in the home of an ex-lord. A man that he knew and opened up too, now he doesn’t know if he should be here.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He simply asks.

“Because I was afraid, I wanted to keep forget about the past. It hurt so much Din, god it hurt so much that I just had to keep it all away.” Y/n shakes his head rapidly as he held back tears from all the trauma and pain he had to go through those seven years.

Din remains quiet. He gently lowers down the child, allowing him to wonder off for a bit. “Y/n that was seven years ago, it’s all in the past now so you shouldn’t have to be afraid.”

“No, NO!! You don’t understand!” Rage filled his voice as he suddenly jolts up from his seat, causing the Mandalorian to pull out his blaster by instinct. Y/n was panting in anger for no reason, it was slowly coming back to him and he had to keep Din and the child away. “Just go! Go before I hurt you and the child!” He hugs himself and glared at Din but the Mandalorian didn’t move. “We can work this out.”

“No we can’t!”

“Dammit y/n, let me help!!” Din shouts this time which causes y/n to flinch. He’s never heard Din raise his voice like that before he was usually a quiet man but who the hell knows anymore, y/n was a killer. An enemy to everyone.

He glanced down at the blaster and steps forward. “Kill me.” He whispered out.

Dins own eyes widen in disbelief. “No I’m not gonna do that.” He lowers down the blaster but before he could put it away he feels y/n grab his wrist and pull it back up, placing the blaster against his head. “Do it Din!!” He shouted back.

Din tries to escape from his grip, shaking his head. “No!” He says again. Y/n bites his lip, he knows that Din won’t pull the trigger so he needed to find a way for him to do it without forcing him.

“Din.” He mutters out. “Do you want to know how many people I slaughter and butchered? Hm?” He suddenly says. “I’ve killed your people Din, hundreds of them! I watched as each Mandalorian was struck down, being forced down on their knees as each and everyone one of them is killed in front of the others!!” He steps forward, closing Din in against the wall. The mandalorians grip grew harder as he listens to the other. “For all We know I could’ve been the one that killed your parents when you were just a boy, leaving you all alone.”

Din growls as he shoved y/n down to the ground, his hand caught y/n’s wrists and keeps them pinned above his head. His blaster against y/n’s temple. “Please...” he hears y/n sob out as tears trail down his face. Din was frozen in shock, not knowing what to do anymore. He couldn’t kill him, he was the only one he had now and he couldn’t lose him like this.

“No.” Din says once more as he lets go of his wrists.

Y/n looks away from the Mandalorian as he continued to sob in anger and in sadness.

“This isn’t the y/n that I met two years ago for all I know he’s probably already dead.” This causes y/n to stiffen and chuckle darkly to himself. “You mandalorians are all idiots.” He suddenly said as he slowly sits up to face Din. His eyes were a darker color now, not showing any sign of the y/n that Din once knew. “Like you said Din, the y/n that you once knew it gone. Burried away from you, you kept getting in the way. He wouldn’t allow me to ride but now here I am.”

Din steps back. “Theirs always a way to solve this, you’ve helped me many times. Now it’s my turn to help you.”

And with that Din hits him he’s enough to knock him out. He bends down and cuffs him up. Gently picking him up bridal style he turns towards the child. “Come on, we’ve saved many people before now it’s time to save y/n.” The child squeaks and follows Din out of the small house and towards the razor crest where Din will be able to keep a close eye on y/n.

He sets y/n down on one of his beds and sighs. “Y/n mentioned a Jedi that went by the name Luke, maybe we should search for him. He could help y/n.” He picks up the child and closed the doors as he enters the cockpit and began to punch in the coordinates for their next destination.

#the mandalorian spoilers #the mandalorian x male reader #male reader #star wars #din jarren #din djarin x male reader #pedro pascal x male reader #pedro pascal

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bloodycassian · 4 years ago

Text

Detour

In the woods amidst falling leaves, something creeps within. /// Sam fic - Self insert/”reader” fic - READER HAS NO ASSIGNED GENDER- Angst/declaration of love. Shortish stories by a short writer. Skip to *********** for angst and no background/story setup

Shifting, crunching leaves painted the immediate, and foreseeable path in front of you. Something about the trail was unsettling. Your head twisted with doubt, and anxiety as you paced the short distance between the tree lines, debating if you should continue or move deeper into the wood for a better shot at finding the beast that surely lurked within.

“Shit” you breathed to yourself, knowing that you’d have to leave the false safety of your current position. Being able to see the guard rails you’d hopped over to get this far was a small amount of comfort. Comfort in knowing that your car - and the full arsenal of your weapons weren’t too far off.

Maybe it was just the jitters of not being with your team - the safety of someone having your back while something was hunting you. Dean’s false confidence laced “goodbye” rang through your head once again - “Dont get caught- we’ll be fine, you focus on being a target”

He smiled grimly, Sam giving him a dirty look. Sam handed you a knife you assumed was sliver, and a couple of flares before taking separate cars to each of your trails just before dusk.

The road in front of you now, laden heavily with yellow, orange and red was ominous as it got darker. The yellows turned slightly purple, then to dark brown until they all blended together in the same, dark nothingness as you moved deeper into the woods. The sky darkened, no moon in sight. The trail was an offshoot of a main jogging trail that was now abandoned for the season. You wondered idly, if people felt unsafe here as well. As they should.

Darkness usually was associated with quiet as well, which was why your shuffling feet through the deep blanket of leaves - wet, and sloppy sounding - was unsettling. Finally, though the trail was beginning to narrow. Cut off by briars and unkept overgrown ferns. Your instincts were to turn back and get to the safety of your car, but you knew for the plan to work, you’d have to be vulnerable.

A Weindgo wasn’t the most difficult monster to get rid of, but finding them and luring them was a task like no other.

The stillness was now foregin to your ears, with the crushing sound of the leaves now gone. You took a moment to take in your surroundings, the briars to your back and spilling over the fallen trees at your sides. Their long, thick vines creeping up all around and making the area seem almost like a room of nothing but dark leaves. You knew this position was exactly where the brothers would approve of, but also detest. Having only one way to escape, you ran through the plan in your head again.

Yours and Sam’s idea was far, far more in the realm of possibility than Deans. Neither of you said it though, in fear of Dean not allowing the team to be separated at all. As you were the most agile, and experienced with Wendeigo, you’d play bait. Both the brothers knew not to bother questioning you on this particular beast. They were waiting on the trail opposite to yours, but they had hiked deep enough to reach a turn that neared your trail.

They shouldn’t be too far from you now, you promised yourself. Your knuckles were strained on the flair you held, fingers beginning to ache. This was your lifeline. You took a deep breath, the chill of the air stinging your nose and lungs. Your eyes watered slightly, the cool night air rustling the leaves around you.

So you began your session of waiting.

Time seemed to no longer care for logic. You checked your watch several times, sighing to yourself after two hours of nothing. Your toes were numb, and your nose was running in protest of the cold. Your phone buzzed, “anything?” from Sam. You sighed, setting the flair down to type a response.

As if the universe was waiting for the most minute distraction, there was an enormous howl, a low guttural cry of agony that shook the entire forest. Your ears were stunned, the bleak silence following the roar was cut only by a scream. Not exactly a scream, but a gurgling, hollow attempted yell for help.

The beast hadn’t followed your intended plan. It didn't fall for the trap. Despite your anger, and total fascination of how and why the plan hadn't worked - Your legs were moving before you could think, everything flying by you in sharp clarity now.

Your heart thundered in your ears, adrenaline made the sharp stings of the briar you ran through seem like nothing but a dull ache. The fire that it should have ripped across your skin seemed to transfer into the pit of your stomach.

You paused for a split moment, willing your breathing to hold and settle long enough to hear something - anything that would point you towards the boys. Your team. Dean was right, and you only hoped that they weren’t hurt because of your idiocy. Nothing, not a sound or sight to help you find them. You began to shout “Sam!” when relief flooded your sight.

A light flared bright against the shadows of the forest, painting everything white for a moment before your eyes could adjust. Your stomach plunged again, they were far away - much farther than they should have been if things were to work out like the plan had been laid out. There was another growl, and then shooting, more yelling. You were flying through the forest, heading for the flickering with your knife drawn.

The creature was the perfect picture of death, easily double the size of the normal wendigo you’d seen your entire life. It’s claws were sharpened, teeth much more...terrorizing. As if it had adapted to fully hunt other prey on its own when human blood bags weren’t providing enough for it. You were fascinated, but to your dismay, Dean was hurt enough to require immediate attention. Sam snapped your attention back to his brother with a shout of an obscenity. You took one last glance at the creature, - so monstrously fascinating - before throwing your flair onto it, and turning to help Sam hold Dean up so you could hobble to the Impala together.

Your head swam with so much information, but was quickly prioritized once you got into the car. Sam ran to the driver’s side as soon as you could lever Dean into the back seat. He almost took you down with him, and no wonder. His abdomen was wet, slick with blood. Dark, very dark blood coated his jacket, and his hands that were weakly holding on to the injury. The thick smell of copper and salt made your head swim, so much blood. Dean’s face was gaunt as the overhead light came on, and you were truly afraid for Dean. Of all people. The one man who would never admit a fault - to a fault. Who wouldn’t tell you if he had a broken ankle if you asked him to run a mile. Your hands went to knock his out of the way, holding onto the wound tighter. “Drive fast” was all you managed to get out to Sam, and he happily complied.

***********

Dean’s doctor was a little too curious for your liking. Very intrusive, constantly asking questions about how it happened and how you all knew each other. You followed Sam’s lead, pretending to fuss over Dean’s hair like a worried mother. Once the doctors had given him a once over, and cut away his clothes to reveal the deep gash lining the side of his stomach, you knew he’d be fine with some blood. Dean was eaily the luckiest - and you had no doubt it was sheer dumb luck - person you knew. No organ, bone or internal damage at all. The claw mark had just missed his intestines. You idly wondered if it was because the claws were so large that they missed, the gap between each too big for a non-four legged creature.

“Thanks, you have a good night” Sam was saying, politely ushering the doctor out and flicking off the light as the doctor glanced back over his shoulder at Dean, still looking remarkably pale under the bandages. His normally tan, rugged hands looked stark and almost childlike resting on his abdomen. His wounds would heal, but you wondered what his mobility would be like following. You knew he would want to be up and out of the hospital as soon as possible.

Sam blew out a breath, running a hand through his hair. The strands flopped lazily back to where they were, making him look so much older than he seemed with the dark circles under his eyes. He flopped into one of the plastic chairs, his legs sprawling out with exhaustion. He stared out the window, the full moon now uncovered from the clouds. White reflected from the machinery in the room. There was pain hidden in Sam’s eyes, just behind the rage that simmered in the forefront. You understood why and blamed yourself.

“Sam I am sorry.” You stated, no getting around it. You knew if you tried to make an excuse it would only make the situation worse. “I should have checked where we were, I didn’t know there were so many trails - I don’t know how I missed that.” You felt your hands clamming up, and your words began pouring out. You were afraid of the anger regarding his brother. You knew they would always put each other before everything.

And you didnt know where you stood with them, and Cas and everyone else. You knew that they cared a great deal for you,by the way they were letting you help them on these hunts. But maybe this would be the last. You didn’t want to imagine not being around Sam, having a team at your back again. And not having Sam around felt… wrong. You had paired up with Dean for these three pronged attacks before and it went fine every time but you never truly felt settled until you could see Sam again.

“I don’t-” Sam caught himself, sighing again.

You felt your eyes stinging. The pain you’d caused him. Your feelings for him aside, you were truly sorry. Injury or not, it could have been much, much worse. You all knew that, and Dean would probably take it as another “dumb luck” moment. But you knew in your heart that it was your fault. No matter the reason you were so far off the mark with the trails, even if it was the park marking them incorrectly it was your fault at the end of the day. Guilt, fear and anger at yourself all boiled - joining at your eyes to create silent tears. He didn't want you around, you knew it. He had been distant since you had joined them semi-permanently.

Before, meeting so casually he had been the most you could hope for in a friend, but nothing more. He would send you articles on more than just monsters in your area. He would send you science and space and other interests he thought you’d share with him.Some of the texts would turn into phone calls arguing about the logistics of Star Wars. It was the most care you’d ever been shown by a fellow hunter. But now he wouldn’t want to be near you in any sense. You were a curse.

Your incompetence was too dangerous. “I can’t have… have you-” He broke off, clearing his throat and staring at his brother for a moment. He blinked quickly, his eyelashes catching the soft light of the moon streaming in. His eyes glinted with the blue silver of it, glassy and full of an emotion you weren’t used to seeing on him.

“I understand” You nodded, wiping your face quickly. You felt bad about crying when he should be the one upset with you. His head snapped to you, hearing the thickness in your voice as your breathing hitched. You took a deep breath and looked at Dean’s relaxed breathing. You’d have to do at least two blood donations to make up for what he had taken.

“No-” Sam smiled faintly, standing up and taking one easy step to your side. You tensed, unsure if he would just kick you out now or wait until Dean was awake to at least say goodbye. “I can’t have you off on your own. I can’t stop...worrying about you.” Your heart swelled, like that pit of heat before but now in your chest. “I can’t have you end up like this -I cant see you… in a hospital bed. I dont know what I will do... and I should have told you before.” He looked into your eyes, his rimmed with red, you could tell even in the glow that shone everything silver. “I’m sorry.” He was the one apologizing? You understood though. Your cheeks flushed with flattery. He felt the same way. You were soaring, your heart was singing.

“I’m sorry” He breathed, shoulders sagging as he took a step back from you. Butterflies, but also despair. You hadn’t rejected him. You took his hand, reclaiming that step between you. “I-” You didn't know what to say. Your heart hammered, and you smiled. “This really isn’t the best place to be doing this is it?” You sighed, giggling at the absolutely absurdity of the situation. You wondered if you were dreaming. Your stomach dropped as you considered if the Wendigo had gotten to you first… You stopped the thought dead in it’s tracks.

“Probably not-” Sam agreed, a smile tugging at a corner of his mouth. “But hospitals are second nature to us, if you wanna stick around I think you should get used to it.” his hands adjusted and he intertwined his fingers with yours. A silent invitation for something more, closer and more intimate. You knew exactly what he meant. You pulled him closer to you, urging him to meet you half way.

A kiss like no other - maybe it was the nerves..or the adrenaline. It felt truly electrifying. Simple, sweet yet utter sparks seemed to tingle on your lips as you parted. “I... “ Sam leaned away, heavy eyelids making him seem even dreamier than before. Your heart swooned. “Have wanted a long time to do that.” He shuddered a laugh, his shoulders relaxing, curling towards you.

“So tips for next time… just put the man’s brother in the hospital to get him to kiss you?” You were giddy with excitement, uncontrolled joy.

His smiled faded slightly, and he pulled you back towards the chairs, pulling one closer to his for you. “It’s not your fault, I looked at those maps too. Dean just...dammmit.” He rubbed his forehead with the hand not grasping yours. So firm, yet soft and caring. Your eyes did another once over of Dean, looking for something wrong, or something that had changed. “What?” You asked, concern heavy in your voice. Your hand loosened in his, ready to get up at any sign of a problem.

“Well, we’re gonna have to tell him he was right….Then we’re gonna have to explain this.” He squeezed your hand gently, rubbing a thumb along the side. “But I think we can handle him while he’s immobile for a little while.” Sam looked at you, almost tensely - something wild about his eyes now. Was he thinking the same thing you were? No, there was a question in that remark he had made. Were you going to tell Dean? Was this a relationship or just momentary comfort? Your heart cracked, understanding his pain.

“Well, we have an IV hooked up to him if he gets too….vulgar.” You played along, hoping to soothe his tension, make him understand you were serious too. His eyes lit up, his teeth stark white against his russet face. He kissed the back of your hand, seeming almost jittery with happiness. You could see yourself then, sitting side by side like this through all the hospital visits.

Side by side on a porch with him, gray hair and wrinkles. Side by side through the rest of this life - no matter how short it may be.

#sam winchester imagine #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester #spnfic #spn fic #reader insert #spn reader insert #sam winchester fic #nb reader

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imaginesandideas · 5 years ago

Text

I’m in love with my funster

a collection of snippets from your life with Roger

I did it! Here’s my gift for all of my lovely 1.3k followers and for sticking with me throughout this hell of a year. Hope you’ll enjoy, cheers! 🥂✨

it’s the last monday of the decade yay!!

writer’s note: read as separate stories or following chapters

~~~~~

“How was it!?” You jumped on the seat beside Roger, successfully scaring him shitless.

“Christ! You want me dead, huh?”

“Oh please. If I wanted you dead I wouldn’t have asked first.” You cheerfully exclaim while making yourself comfortable on a couch next to him. It’s the middle of the week and your dear friend of many years prior has just gotten back from a set-up date. Of course you’ve arranged it since he wouldn’t stop whining about how he longs for something more real than hookups he’s been having on the regular. And now you’re more than keen on hearing all the details.

“So?”

“Stop mocking me Taylor! How was the date?!” You jump in your seat excitedly and he just stares at you with that doe-eyed puppy look on his face. If he only looked like that at that girl... she’d be his in a matter of seconds.

“Well, not great you know...”

“Ow.”

“Yeah. I mean, uh, she’s a fine looking lady, not stupid either. ‘S just that, y’know... I didn’t feel anything special.”

You inch closer to pat his back comfortingly. He’s your mate after all, you were really rooting for him.

“I’m sorry Rog. I’m sure-“

“There’s that other one though.” He doesn’t even sound upset and you barely can keep up with his changing spirit.

“Well okay then. Do I know her?”

“Partially. But I’m pretty sure you’ve heard a lot about her. I need to get her to come with me to that Italian spot they just opened around the corner.”

“Yes Roger! You already think like a romantic!” You nod enthusiastically but his eyes are so different. They’re hooded like he’s already planned something evil and you know you won’t be able to stop him if he actually did.

And he keeps smiling sweetly. His whole aura is so bizarre. Like he’s an angel or a serial killer, that you can’t quite decide yet.

“What’s that look, huh? You need me to help you out with it or something?”

To your own surprise he laughs.

“Actually - yes. I mean, there’s no way a girl like you would agree on a date with me, so... maybe a tip or a trick for forcing her to go out with me would be nice.”

A girl like you. You shake you head and start thinking of ideas. But it’s really hard to focus with those dreamy eyes following your every movement.

And did he just compare a girl of his dreams to you?

“Okay, so maybe- no that’s bad. Hm...” You sit back with your arms crossed over your chest and he replicates it. Only he cannot seem to wash that look off his face. “Maybe tell her to give you that one shot y’know? And promise to fuck off later if she’s still not interested?”

“Would you give me that shot?”

“Yeah I guess? We’re friends anyway, so I couldn’t be mad at you forever if it turned out terrible.”

“Deal.” He sits up suddenly and before you can even react his lips are gently pressed to yours. When he pulls back your face is a mix of shock and perplexity. “See you at 6 tomorrow aye? Just dress nicely love. It’s our first date.”

And he was gone. Before you could blink he was out the door, happy as a clam. It was adorable. And suddenly you’re left with the realisation that you’ve managed to miss all signs that he’s been sending your way for years, and that you’re set for a date that you don’t have an outfit for.

~~~~~

“Can’t we just cancel it?” Roger pleaded in between kisses he placed adoringly on the exposed skin of your plunging neckline. His hands running down your sides to change direction on your thighs, exploring underneath the material of your dress.

“Roger, they’re... a-already on the way.” You gasped out, encouragingly.

“What was that?”

“Huh?” you opened your eyes to meet his blue ones, so close you could note all the slightest shades of grey in them. And his brash expression.

“You don’t really want them to come now, do ya?”

Rolling your eyes and huffing ever so slightly, you gripped his forearms in attempt to push him away enough to roll off the couch, but he sensed your plans and laid on top of you, trapping your body under his own.

“Rog.”

“Oh don’t get upset on me now! What can I do? You look blinding today love, can’t help but wish they weren’t coming.” He was grinning, lewd gaze wandering down your throat, followed by trace of index finger. You let yourself sink back into comfort of the couch, let his worshipping eyes and fingers work their magic. You were soaked in a matter of seconds and that thin fabric between your legs was not enough to cover it up. Just like your dress was not enough to cover your decency as Roger dived in lifting the material to attack your thighs with his perfect teeth. And you could feel his swift, calloused fingers climbing up, building up the tension that begged to be relieved. So wrong, so inappropriate.

“Oh for fucks sake!”

“Shit! They’re here!” You whisper-yelled sitting up rapidly. The knocking intensifies with each passing second which only made Roger groan in frustration.

“Can we hide? Act like we’re not at home or something?”

“Oh Rogie.” You roll your eyes and gently push him off you and he lands on his back between the pillows, completely resigned. And visibly flustered.

Was it your fault? Yes. But you just couldn’t help the perfect opportunity and now it came around the corner and right to your doormat. Quite literally.

You were at the door in a blink of an eye, passing by a mirror to fix your disheveled hair and adjust the hem of your dress that rode up far too high to be considered presentable. Just mere seconds before, you were having a heated makeout on a couch, hands desperately seeking skin to skin contact. And now?

“Get up blondie! The quicker we wrap this visit up, the quicker we get to finish what we started.” He only responded with another muffled groan.

“I got rid of my panties if that changes anything for you.”

~~~~~

“I don’t understand why would you put so much milk there.” You glance up from your mug frowning.

“Why do you care? It’s my coffee not yours.”

Roger rolls his eyes leaning back in the armchair and folding back that newspaper he’s been passionately reading for the past hour.

“Yeah but what’s the point of espresso when you add so much milk to it?”

You chuckle and place the mug on coffee table that separates his armchair from the comfort of sofa you’re sitting on.

“First - it’s not so much. It’s cappuccino and it’s supposed to have milk in it.” You reach for blanket on the other corner of the sofa and continue your point. “Second - you drink way too much black coffee and I’m pretty sure it affects your moods.”

He sniggers at your exclamation and sits up straight. You know you just struck a nerve.

“I beg you pardon, love? I need it to function alright. Morning coffee, pack of cigarettes and newspaper is a inseparable set. It keeps my mind bright.”

You sigh tucking yourself under the duvet. There is no point in continuing the argument, but you know Roger’s restless nature will make him do that nevertheless. You gaze up to his awaiting your comment expression and even more antsy demeanour. His brows has ridden up ever so slightly, as if to signalise that he’s expecting some sort of snarky remark coming from you. Only you weren’t in the mood to fight so you just shrug instead reaching for the book you brought yourself to catch up on.

“That’s it? You’re not going to fight me on this? Prove your poor excuse for a point?”

“These are your habits not mine, I’m not about to throw a tantrum over your own life choices.”

“Y-you what?” If you’d dare to look up from your book you’d be able to see mouth-agape shock turning quickly into a deep frown topped with his brows and wrinkles forming a combination of waves. “What, now you don’t care about m-my life choices?”

“Not a bit.”

“Wow.”

“What?” Fed up you finally turn your head up and he’s up, arms at sides.

“You have someone else, don’t you?”

“Oh god. Roger Meddows Taylor, you’re really overdosing caffeine...”

~~~~~

“Roger what the fuck!”

“Surprise?” You were supposed to meet him at the airport. Regular welcome-home hugs and all that before you two would head home, eager to finally spend some time together. Yeah. Only Roger didn’t leave for tour this time, and knowing his bandmates you were about to spend the rest of the day hearing stories about all the dumb shit they’ve gotten themselves into.

You weren’t angry at Rog, they were his best friends after all. Only you couldn’t help but get that tingling feeling at the back of your head that one day they’re going to get themselves into some sort trouble. But in your most inventive dreams you did not expect this.

Your hands mindlessly reach out to touch the top of his head, expression depicting various stages of shock you were currently going through.

“You like it?”

“Wha-I, oh god. What were you thinking?!” You cannot help the bugging of your eyes as your fingers could barely hold the strands of hair you once could tug at so deliciously. The smooth, luscious golden waves were gone and instead you were met with much shorter, mullet-like rather irritating haircut. You survived the sideburns, you survived occasional wigs for gigs (and giggles). But this? This was too much. Now he almost looked like every other guy you’d see on the street these days. Almost. “Can you at least explain why?”

He sighs and pulls you closer by your hips, palms coming to rest above the curve of your ass. But you’re more than determined to receive a reasonable explanation, so you build a visible barrier with your arms crossed over your chest and brow raised expectantly.

“Can we discuss it later love? We’re in the middle of the airport.”

“What did you do?”

“_____, love-“

“Rog what was it?”

He sighs, his hands coming up to rub circles around his eye sockets. And you’re waiting. Impatiently waiting and observing how his skin is becoming increasingly red with each passing second. He’s embarrassed and it only makes the rate of your anxiety rise. And now there’s a small smile forming underneath the shadow his hands are providing. You don’t even know if you should be worried or maybe just as red as him.

“Are you going to tell me or-“

“There was a bet.” You’re being immediately shut up with his sudden response, the one you should’ve expected all along. He stretches his arms up and behind himself, and you hate yourself for losing your focus for a moment. Those arms have always been a huge distraction for you. His lips tighten to form a fine line curved around the corners. He’s fucking proud of himself isn’t he.

“And?” You blurt out as nonchalantly as possible, in a way trying to cover your chocked up swallow. You don’t need to let him know what he does to you just yet. Though he probably knows the tiniest details of your non-verbal expressions by now.

“I lost.”

“What a surprise.”

“Yeah.”

Somehow you can’t miss the feeling that you’re playing some sort of game for everyone to see. Cause if one would squint their eyes enough, they could notice the light heaving of your chest, the blush on his collarbone from beneath his shirt, the impatient dancing of his fingers against his thigh as he forces himself not to pull you into him roughly and devour your exasperation then and there.

From afar it looks almost silly, like horny teenagers who have lost their tongues and would rather have them tangled instead. Funny how despite the unexpected haircut you hated so much, he still has you by the collar. As if nothing could ruin him for you.

“Well, what was the bet about then?” You exclaim reaching for one of his bags - the small one, since you know he keeps the heavier stuff in the suitcase. Your eyes are bright as you look at him, the glint quite unmistakable.

His cheeks seem to glow as his grin widens and it’s the kind of smile you only see when he’s nervous or excited. Also when he’s worn out and panting next to you, but that’s a different story and your own cheeks heat up at the thought.

“Well... They teased me a lot about how I get letters and calls from you all the time.”

“Men.” You roll your eyes and he chuckles. His hands find their way back to your waist before he continues with a long intake of air.

“Aaand, umm, there was a bet that: since it’s a mates-only kind of trip, we shouldn’t contact our partners so much. And the rule was that if someone gets a letter, or a telegram, you have to read it out loud-“

“Oh fuck.”

“- or, there would be consequences.” Your mind is sweeping through dozens of things you wrote to him last week and suddenly you remember that one time you were oh so incredibly horny and slid into the envelope not only some not so subtle hints, but also some rather interesting pics you spontaneously took with your polaroid. Putting the two together was relatively easy. You gaze up at him shaking your head but he only clamps his lips and nods.

“I believe you didn’t read them, right? That’s why your hair is shorter?” He inhaled sharply.

“At first I read all of them-“

“Until when?”

“- until you started adding those pictures.”

“Oh thank god.”

“Cause there’s no way I would let them know how filthy my babygirl is.” He exclaims quietly, holding your chin up between his fingers to make you look at him. His lips almost touch your earlobe when he whispers “You can only make me hard like this, and nobody else.”

And maybe, just maybe, you could eventually love that haircut. Because you already love that entire head of passion, talent and wit. And some other things too...

~~~~~

“This is ridiculous. I’m not going out in this.”

“Come on Roger. It’s just for the video, right?”

“I’m not a bloody clown!”

He turned around from the mirror, hands on hips and discontent written all over his features.

If not for his grimace of disapproval he looked almost cute with those puffy sleeves.

White, smoothly folded furbelow reflected the light, slightly illuminating his cheeks. The doublet was beautiful, perfected in every detail, from silvery threads, through patchwork-like design combined with finest materials, to white enlarged cuffs. He looked... amusing to say the least. Not in a bad way, contrary to Roger’s personal opinion.

With perfectly curled, fluffy hair and what seemed like tons of hairspray he looked quite strutting.

“Stop looking me up and down _____.”

“But it suits you!”

“Don’t be silly.”

“I love your hair.” You say as your fingers gently brush the strands of hair above his forehead. Your fingers gently point at his cheek. “And that little pattern you’ve got there. Matches the shirt.”

You’re so focused on fixing the material on his chest that you miss that glint in his eyes.

“Oh, you really like it, don’t you.”

“What?” You look up and he smirks.

“Come on love, you’ve been checking me out all day. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

Crimson blush creeps up on your cheeks but before you’re able to respond you’re being interrupted by assistant director telling Roger to join the rest on the set.

Once the door is closed again he turns around with a huff.

“I guess you gotta go like this anyway.” You step closer and wrap your arms around his waist, not wanting to ruin the flounce around the neck. “It’ll be over before you even know it.”

“You’re probably right darling. And then I’m taking you, Mrs. Taylor, out for a fancy dinner.” He points out at you before leaning down to plant a quick kiss on your forehead.

“We’re celebrating something?”

You call out after him as he nears the door. He smiles.

“What? Can’t I, the most stupid looking drummer in the world, just randomly celebrate my amazing life with the love of my life?” You roll your eyes playfully but send him a flying kiss nonetheless. “And I’ll need a lot of drinks after this shitshow. I swear, this is going to be the most stupid music video ever made.”

“Okay okay, Mr. Rockstar. Just go! They need you.”

“Not more than I need you.” Roger teases, already standing at the doorstep. And that’s when you spot something that doesn’t feel right.

“Wait!” You call out and he pops his head back around the door.

“Yes love?”

“What about the shoes?”

“The shoes?”

“Your sneakers. Aren’t you supposed to wear something more... matching?”

„Oh fuck that! I’ve already sacrificed my sense of style today. They won’t take my sneakers too!”

taglist: @rogersdrumkit @rogersfalsettos @cyborgfromthesupermarket @sabbrriiinnaa @wolverinesbeer r @simplyvictoria-93 @laubluered @ceruleanrainblues @shae-is-not-ok @i-am-sarah @imamazzellhoe @shishterfackisback @rockyroadthepastryarchy @tanya-is-dead @twistingrealityagain (and also @jennyggggrrr @juliarvra bc they were the ones to motivate me to finish these :’))

#roger taylor x reader #roger taylor fanfic #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor x you #queen fic #roger taylor drabble #full fic #drabble

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kara-dolan · 6 years ago

Text

Coachella -Day 1 ~Part 1~

A/N ~ hola it be a while since i have posted but whats up hahaha i am so so sorry ive had writers block and ms. vivi aka @notanotherdolantwinsblog was moving during the time she agreed to help with this so once both of our lives calm tf down things will return to normal scheduling.

Word Count~ 4,309

Warnings ~ Soft feels, Fluff, Fun, Flirting?, Possible use of cannabis aka weed

Summary~ Fun and music festivals with your best friend? What could possibly happen? Oh right running into anyone and everyone you adore looking absolutely devin with sweaty bodies touching and bass booming under your feet. But what adventures are to come when Y/N and Viviana come face to face with Coachella ?

“Viviana I can’t believe you actually got tickets for Coachella. I can’t believe the house you got for Coachella weekend. I can’t believe that we are here!” I say excitedly gripping her arm.

“Bitch, I can’t believe that we might run into the Dolan Twins!” she says to me smiling.

“Okay yes that is a huge plus but, Day 1 will be the most exciting especially since it’s the first time we’ll be going!” I say releasing her walking up to the house.

She shook her head at me and opened the door revealing the Greek interior architecture. I walk in setting my hand bag on the ground taking everything in.

“Holy shi- is this real life right now?” I questioned looking up and spinning around to view everything.

“If you think this is amazing just wait till you see the backyard and bedrooms, not to mention the bathrooms.” Viviana says.

I looked at her and smiled then found my way to the stairs that spiraled up to the bedroom I was staying in. It was completely white with a sliding door that led out to the balcony that overlooked the backyard. Below me I saw the pool that had a huge baby blue clam bed next to the pool with a pearl shaped pillow that was silver and sparkled in the sun.

“V, I am never leaving.” I say looking away from the pool and up at the view of trees and mountains that were decorated by the sun’s beautiful rays and wind causing them to sway.

“Okay, sure, you say that every time you visit a new place. Watch once we get to Coachella you’ll never want to leave there either. Speaking of which, we have to get unpacked and set up for tomorrow after that we can get pizza and just chill.” Viviana says walking out onto the balcony.

“Ha. Yeah, I fall in love with places too easily. But, have you seen the view and the trees? It’s so beautiful. We should camp outside tonight and just watch the stars.” I say leaning against the railing watching the beautiful scenery.

“You’re fucking crazy. There’s bugs and animals. No way in hell am I sleeping out here, especially the day before Coachella starts. I am not getting dirt in my pores and you shouldn’t either,” she says stepping away to go back inside.

I sigh and look down pushing myself off the railing and going inside to unpack.

It took about an hour to get everything unpacked an organized, I had brought makeup and wigs, so I didn’t have to dye my Y/H/C hair and damage it. I also brought any and all facial cleansers because we were going to be in the desert for 3 days. I had hung all 3 outfits up in the closet and folded extra clothes I brought because no way in hell was I not going to shower and be forced to wear glitter covered outfits for the week that we were going to be staying at the house. Y/F/N and I had gotten walkie talkies set up on a private channel to find each other if we got lost and 3 cases of water so we could take 5 bottles of water with us for each day. After everything was unpacked and organized I made my way down the spiraling stairs and through the living room and into the kitchen where V was sitting at the island scrolling through her phone.

“Hey, you order the pizza yet?” I asked going to the fridge to get a water.

“No, I was waiting on you. I did see some updates on Twitter though, involving the twins and well, the drama is crazy.” she yawned out.

“When is it not though? Like honestly people need to leave them alone. But let’s not get into it. I’ll order a pepperoni and Hawaiian pizza and set up a movie.” I say after taking a drink of water.

“Sounds good. I’m getting blankets and pillows to fort up the living area.” She yelled to me running upstairs.

I smile and pull my phone out of my pocket and order the pizzas.

After the pizza arrived, we watched a random movie as we ate in the fort. Halfway through the movie and one pizza gone we fell asleep surrounded by pillows and blankets. The next thing I knew my phone was going off at 6 am which resulted in Viviana hitting me in the face with a pillow followed by groaning which signaled me to turn it off. I grabbed my phone and stopped the alarm. I made my way to my room and changed into some shorts and a loose tank and pulled on running shoes. I quietly made my way out of the house and into the woods near the park for a morning run.

I found myself at an overlook. The view was impeccable with the sun rising and colors blending together, putting me in a trance. The trance was broken when I notice movement below, a tall broad figure jogging through the hiking trail. The figure belonged to a man, as the sun rose more his golden shoulders glistened with sweat, his hair flopping with each step. It was like the trance from the sunrise was transferred to him. I couldn’t stop watching him until he disappeared deeper into the trail.

“What the hell was that?” I asked myself. I shook it off and ran back towards the house. By time I got back it was 7 am and I was drenched in sweat. I took a shower once I got back. After my shower, I put on my first Coachella outfit. I was wearing a white tank top with strings that tied in front of my chest with high waisted black shorts and a hunter green jacket. I put on black ankle boots and accessorized with a necklace that reached my waist.

Once I was dressed I applied my makeup, natural smokey eye and maroon lips. I put on my pink Ombre white high pony wig and grecian leaf new forehead crown. I went to the kitchen and saw Viviana wearing a black crop top with maroon jean shorts and black knee-high boots that had fishnets underneath. Her hair was loosely curled draping around her shoulders, she had dark smokey eye and a light pink lip.

“Okay, V. I see you.” I squeal out and she looks at me and laughs.

“Stop… we have to get going soon if we want to make it on time.”

“Okay. Okay. I am so ready to see Kyle perform today. Oh my gosh and The Neighborhood, St. Vincent, SZA, and The Weeknd. Just today is going to be crazy.” I say while packing up our bags for Day 1.

“For sure, not to mention how many social media stars and celebrities we will be seeing there.” V says taking her bag. I nod.

“We should get breakfast on the way there. I mean it is only 9 am. Coachella gates don’t open till 11.”

“You just want to go to an acai bowl place to see if you can run into Grayson” She teased.

I rolled my eyes and smiled.

“Maybe it’s a little true but if we run into Grayson we also run into Ethan…” I wink and nudge her. She laughs and grabs her car keys.

“Fine, you win. Using my love for Ethan against me. That isn’t fair.”

I scrunch my nose at her and smile. After our playful teasing ended we headed out and went to the closest acai place. Once we arrived we saw girls squealing and crying. I looked over at Viviana and raised my eyebrow while smiling.

“No. We are getting the acai bowls and going.” She scolded me.

“Ugh, fine. I won’t go and ask them if they are acting like that ‘cause of the twins. Mainly ‘cause I already know they were here… thank you, Instagram… but fine let’s get the bowls and go.” I replied rolling my eyes.

“You’re entirely something else. In a good way.” She reassured me.

“Thanks, I guess.” I say while laughing.

We were waiting in line to get the acai bowls when I realized everyone was staring at us.

“Well this isn’t awkward or anything.” I mumbled out.

“What?” she questioned.

“We are the only ones dressed like this here. Seriously, everyone is wearing normal clothes. We need to hurry up and get the hell out of here.” I say looking around getting uncomfortable.

“Why? We look hot. Stop trying to cover up. Let them stare it shows them what they can’t have.” She says making me loosen my grip on my jacket and letting it slip down my arms. “Okay. I got this. We got this.” I say smiling and nodding.

We got our acai bowls and left. We were about 5 mins away from Coachella grounds and we had finished our acai bowls. Now we were just blasting music and getting hype as we got closer to the festival. We pulled into the most available parking spot. Once V put the car in park I got out throwing my bag over my shoulder and adjusting my VIP wristbands.

“I can’t believe were actually here...” I say shutting the car door.

“Neither can I. Now let’s go before we miss any performances!” She shouts while pulling my arms and entire body towards the entrance.

“Okay! Okay! I can walk on my own!” I laugh out.

“I know just hurry the hell up!” she shrieked out and took off running. I shook my head and ran after her, I finally caught up at the entrance because we had to scan our wristbands.

We were finally inside, I grabbed at V tapping her like crazy.

“Look, Look, We’re here. Oh my gosh we’re here” I screamed out.

We ran to the Sahara stage until it was time to head to the main stage. When we reached the main stage Los Angeles Azules were performing and we saw Bryant recording some of the performance on his phone. I look over at V who was already looking at me. We walked closer to Bryant but not close enough for him to notice, we stood there enjoying the performance.

“We literally just saw the Yodeling Walmart Boy perform with Whethan and now we see Bryant right here. What is happening?” I whisper to Viviana. She laughed.

“Life. Life is happening and giving us this amazing opportunity.” She whispered back. “Opportunities?” I question at the last minute when she bumped into me causing me to stumble back only to be caught by someone.

“Oh my gosh I am so sorry. My fri-” I stopped once I saw who caught me.

“It’s fine.” He said chuckling. I stood up.

“Sorry, again. Thank you for catching me though.”

I turn my neck to glare at V who was smirking.

“No problem. Not everyday I get to catch a beautiful girl from falling.” He flirted which made me look back to him.

“I think I did fall though… Umm… sorry. Bad attempt and now I am making a bigger fool of myself. Bye.” I say nervously while laughing a bit while turning to walk away.

He grabbed my right hand with his left spinning me around.

“You aren’t making a fool of yourself. I’m Grayson.” He smiled down at me.

“I know, but I’m Y/N and the person behind me is my best friend Viviana.” I say looking up at him through my lashes.

He smiled down at me and I looked away and as soon as I did Bryant came over

“Hey Gray we should go find E and get more photos.”

“For sure. Y/N want to come?” he asked me. I looked at him bewildered.

“You mean like go with you and Bryant to find Ethan?” I questioned. He smiled and nodded “That’s the general idea. You can even bring um... V- Vivi-”

“Viviana.” She interrupted him. “We would love to go with you. Right Y/N?” she nudged me “Oh yeah. Totally, for sure.” I mumbled out.

“Great. Yo, Bry, Y/N and Viviana are going to come with.” He shouted towards Bryant.

Bryant smiled and nodded, we all began walking away from the main stage to find Ethan. We found him by the food trucks drooling over the acai bowls.

“Ethan!” Grayson called out to him pulling his attention from the trucks. He ran over to join us “Yo Gray. Who’s this?” he asked.

“I’m Y/N. Just met Grayson when my friend Viviana “accidently” bumped into me and Grayson caught me” I said smiling a bit while air quoting.

“Oh cool. I’m Ethan.”

“This is Viviana or V. By the way.” I say pulling Viviana’s’ arm.

“Oh. Hi” she waved shyly. I heard everyone near the main stage start chanting Really, Really, Really, Yeah,

“V, we got to go. Kyle is performing now!” I grab at her arm. “Sorry guys. Just been waiting all day to see him.” I yell over my shoulder as we run to the main stage.

We reached the main stage finally.

“Y/N are you stupid you just left Ethan and Grayson. We aren’t going to ever see them again.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that. Grayson loves SuperDuperKyle.” Ethan whispered between us which made me jump.

“E you can’t just scare them like that.” Grayson said coming from behind me smiling. I laughed and rolled my eyes.

“Glad you guys could join us” I smiled at him and started jumping and chanting with the rest of the crowd.

“Don’t Wanna Fall in Love” played and I looked at Gray and smiled.

“Yo, you gonna show us some moves, possibly the same ones from the warehouse?” I asked him.

“I remember that I gave him so much shit about it.” Ethan said laughing. I rolled my eyes.

“You did great. Just ignore him.” I looked at him placing my hand on his shoulder.

He grabbed my hand and spun me around in front of him, he gripped my waist and rested his chin on top of my head. We swayed to the rest of the set until iSpy came on and we had to move to avoid a mosh pit. We gave up on finding a new spot, so Grayson offered to go get ice cream for us, I decided to wait with Ethan and Viviana. I was listening to V and E talk about which bands they were excited to see, I left them alone to talk and headed over to the food trucks to see if Grayson needed help. When I saw him, he was talking to a girl.

“Hey, I know you from YouTube. I love your videos and they’re super inspiring.” She said to him awkwardly laughing a little.

“Really? Thank you so much that means a lot.” He replied to her smiling, “Want anything?” He asked her pointing to the menu.

“Oh my god no. Of course not. Thank you” She said sweetly.

“Oh okay.” He said, and she gave him a hug which he returned.

“See you around” he said.

“Yeah see ya” she called out as she walked off.

I walked over to him and smiled at him.

“Hey, why are you looking at me like that?” He asked.

“Okay, it’s kind of weird…but, I like seeing how you interact with fans.” I explained.

“It’s an amazing experience I appreciate you guys. If I can make you guys happy even just taking a picture or talking to you it is completely worth it.” He says while paying for the ice cream. “Grayson, you literally just looking at us is enough to make us happy” I giggled out. He laughed and handed me the ice cream he got for me

“It’s kind of shocking to hear that. Not entirely used to this still.” I smiled at him.

“I mean majority of your fan base is female which you should know from tour. You’re attractive and athletic and you have a great personality at least from what I can tell from your videos and well now that I’ve met you and hung out with you. I honestly can’t believe that I am here… That I even got to meet you…” I say staring up at him losing my words.

“Yeah… I don’t meet a lot of people who are quite like you though.” He finished looking down at me. I laughed breaking the gaze.

“I bet. Not a lot of girls would walk away from you to go and enjoy a music performance like 4 minutes after meeting you” he grabbed my hand as we walked back over to Ethan and Viviana. “You’re not going to do that, again right?” He asked.

“Hmmmm… I don’t know. If I do what are you going to do about it?” I ask cocking my eyebrow while smiling.

“Guess I have to stay close then.” He let go of my hand and draped his arm carefully around my neck pulling me closer towards him and I wrapped my arm around his waist.

“Yo, Gray. Where we headed now?” Ethan asked him taking note on how close me and Grayson were.

“I don’t know. Where to now, Y/N?” he inquired.

“I kind of want and need to see The Neighborhood.” I say looking up to Grayson licking the ice cream from the cone.

“Alright, The Neighborhood it is. Let’s go.”

We walked back over to the mainstage where Kyle was performing, and The Neighborhood was now setting up. Bryant met back up with us from taking photos of other YouTubers that were here.

One of the first songs they played was Scary Love which I adored and sang along with every word. Grayson just watched me the entire time and spun me around a couple times. Ethan and Viviana were exchanging numbers which made me think about giving Grayson mine. He noticed my dancing falter and pulled me into him. I stumbled into his chest in which he took the opportunity to hug my waist as I collected myself.

“You okay?” He asked me. I nodded.

“Yeah, why do you ask?” I retorted reaching my arms around his neck. He chuckled.

“No reason…”

I pulled away from him when I heard Daddy Issues come on.

“Hey, Grayson can I borrow y/n for a minute?” V asked pulling my hand. He nodded, and I stumbled trying to keep up with her as she dragged me away

“What is going on?” I questioned her.

“Okay so Ethan and I were talking, and I somehow talked him into coming back to the house later tonight, but he wants to bring Grayson too. I was wondering if you could keep Grayson busy while I try to get closer to Ethan?” she pleaded.

“For sure. Like it’s honestly so weird how close we have gotten in just the past couple hours that we’ve been here, and we haven’t even had a ‘get to know you’ talk it is just a comfortable thing as if we’ve known each other for years. I wouldn’t necessarily call it keeping him busy though as much as just hanging out with him and getting to know him more.” I respond.

“Ahh yay! You’re the best.” She squealed while hugging me then running back to Ethan.

I smiled and rolled my eyes I looked around for a little before making my way back to Grayson, when I got closer to the main stage where The Neighborhood was performing Sweater Weather I noticed Grayson wasn’t there anymore and neither was V or E.

“Okay. Don’t really know what to do. I literally just saw V though.” I thought out loud.

“Yo make sure you get some of those cotton sticks!” I heard Ethan shout from behind me. I turned around so quick.

“Ethan what the hell are cotton sticks?” I yelled to him while laughing noticing the same girl who was talking to Gray earlier laugh.

“Cotton candy.” He said smiling like a 3-year-old getting called adorable.

“Okay then… Where’s Gray and V?” I asked him.

“Ryan met back up with us so Gray is with them by the disco ball trash can. I am on my way back to them. Come on.” He said nodding his head over towards where they all were.

“Ethan wait up!” the girl called after him in which he made a confused face.

“I’ll see you when you get over there.” I say walking away slowly just listening in on the conversation.

“What’s up...?” he asked.

“The sky, pfft… you’re the best youtubers who’ve lived on planet earth.” She said after a small awkward moment. “Oh, oops... That was cringe.”

At this point I was half way out of earshot.

“Are you enjoying ‘Chella’?” he questioned.

“Heck yeah. It’s awesome.”

I stopped listening when I saw Grayson adjusting the part of his ripped jean armband.

“Hey, there you guys are. Kind of wondered off for a while. Sorry.” I say which made Grayson look up from his armband.

“Hey. I was going to look for you, but V said you would find us.” He said pulling me into a hug. “Well okay then someone missed you.” Ethan chuckled wrapping his arm around Viviana’s waist.

“I mean can you blame me?” Gray asked.

“Oh my gosh. No. Stop. Both of you.” I say pulling away from Gray laughing.

“Oh, by the way this is Ryan. Ryan this is Y/N.” Ethan introduced us.

“Hey. I actually know who Ryan is. You guys have collabed before and it was fucking hilarious I loved it.” I blurt out.

“The amount that Y/N watches your old videos is crazy.” V interjected.

“Hey! They’re funny, leave me alone. You freaking binge watch them with me you have no room to talk.” I defended.

Grayson and Ethan laughed at us

“Oh yeah., you guys want to laugh? Cause I have things I can say that will make you cringe instantly.” A teasing smile played on my lips after I spoke those words. The twins exchanged a worried look.

“Here are your ‘Cotton sticks’ Ethan.” Bryant returned with at least 8 of them and his camera. “Bryant do you want some help with all of that?” I asked, and he nodded.

I took a couple of them and handed one to V.

“Cotton candy yum.” Grayson said taking a bite out of one that was in my hand from over my shoulder.

“Hey! If you wanted one you could have just asked.” I smiled at him holding one out for him to take.

“Nah, I like it when you hold it.” He licked his lips and grinned.

I was going to respond but Ethan came over and took 3 of them from me leaving the one Gray bit from.

“Well okay then…” I say as Grayson takes another bite. “Damn I might as well just hand feed the cotton candy to you” I joked.

“That’s a fantastic idea.” He said while smiling at me, I shook my head

“Are you serious?” I asked raising my eyebrow.

He nodded while grabbing a piece of cotton candy and holding it against my lips I shook my head no.

“I’m not eating that.” I laughed out

“Yes you are” He grinned now

“No… I’m really not. Grayson, I mean it. Oh my gosh stop.” I backed away from him while laughing.

I ran around our group as he chased me playfully, he ended up grabbing my waist from behind and spinning me around.

“Grayson!” I managed to yell out in the middle of my fits of giggles.

“What?” He asked putting me down, so I could face him. Once I turned around, my eyes immediately made contact with his and I was entranced. He wrapped his arms around my waist pulling me closer not breaking eye contact until he looked at my lips. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pressed my lips gently against his while standing on my tippy toes. He placed his hands on my waist ho

lding me steady and kissed me back.

We were in our own little world, unbothered and carefree smiling into the kiss.

“Grayson!” Ethan screamed which made us break the kiss.

“What E?” He asked annoyed.

“You know we can’t do that. Not here. Fans might see.”

“He’s right Gray… Look me and Vivi will go and check out some more bands. We can meet back up during the Weeknd’s performance.” I say placing my hand on his shoulder.

“Come on bro.” Ethan said dragging Grayson away letting my hand slide down his arm.

Vi pulled me back to the main stage where Vince Staples was setting up to perform. We were having fun dancing around like no one was watching which they weren’t, after the set we went to use the bathrooms.

“What are we doing after we leave?” Vivi asked.

“Well I know for sure we are going to go home but maybe on the way stop for some In-N-Out.” I answered.

“In-N-Out sounds amazing.” I hear Grayson suddenly say from behind me as he wrapped his arms around my waist and resting his chin upon my shoulder.

“Grayson, we talked about this.” Ethan warned pulling him off of me.

“Right sorry E.”

“Okay so I guess you guys are coming with us after to get In-N-Out too?” I questioned. We all agreed to it after me and Vivi went to the bathroom and were walking back to the main stage to see SZA perform.

On the way back to the stage I tripped over my own feet and stumbled into a bleach blonde girl wearing a two piece purple bikini.

“Oh my gosh I am so so sorry-” I say going to help her up.

“Wait… you're Tana Mongeau-”

#dolan twins #ethan dolan x reader #grayson dolan x reader #fanfiction #grayson dolan #ethan dolan #y/n #tana mongeau #tana mongeau x reader #bryant eslava #Viviana #notanotherdolantwinsblog #coachella 2018 #i am so so sorry this is this late #smut will most def be in next chapter tho

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